All the News You Never Wanted

There it was, sitting smack-dab in the middle of the front porch.

My housemate cursed, shook her fist at the heavens, and vowed revenge.

It was... the daily newspaper. And this marked the first move in an epic struggle of right and wrong, free-will and oppression, technology and Ludditism, between my friend Scoobie and the very-determined people at the Post-Gazette.

It all started a couple of weeks ago when the P-G called for the housemate, apparently telling her how marvelous it was that she was getting the newspaper on Sundays, and now, because of her Sunday subscription, she would be lucky enough to receive even more newsaliciousness each day every day for FREE.

Scoobie, as I understand, relayed to them that she did not, in fact, want this paper every day, because she:

1. Did not have time to read it
2. Did not have the physical strength to carry pounds of newsprint to the curb for recycling every other week

The conversation, as Scoobie tells it, then shook out this way:

P-G: Oh, but it's free.

Scoobie: I don't care if it's free. It being free doesn't give me more time to read it, or make it lighter to carry 12 extra newspapers down for recycling.

P-G: Couldn't a friend or neighbor help you carry it to the curb?

Scoobie: Why should I have to have a friend or neighbor help me carry a paper to the curb that I don't want? Plus, as I said, I don't even have time to read it.

P-G: Well, you don't have to read it. Just take it.

Scoobie: Why would I have you deliver me a newspaper each day, with absolutely no intention of reading it?

P-G: Our drivers need the money.

Scoobie: So I should have you deliver papers I'm not going to read so your drivers get paid more?

P-G: They really could use the money.

Scoobie: So could I. Hey, maybe I should become a paper carrier! It looks like they've got a pretty good racket going here. I could buy a house, upgrade my car, finally finish paying off those student loans...

P-G: (Crickets)

Scoobie: I don't want the paper. Please do not send it to me.

So Monday morning of this week, that is when I heard the oaths cursed to the dawn sky. Because there the paper was, its folded faces to the floor as Floyd would say, serving as a testament to the fact that purveyors of news have no Listening Ears.

And every day since then, there has been a newspaper sitting on that front porch. I know it to be true because I can hear the cursing all the way up in my room.

Scoobie has called them before about this, of course. And they say she won't be receiving the newspaper seven-days-a-week anymore...

But then every single morning-- "THUMP!"

"G-AAGGGGGHH!"

So I think Scoobie is just going to have to look at this as, not an Inconvenience, but an Opportunity. I think it's a sign that she should start a shiny new business endeavor... hand-made papier mache pinatas.

It would solve her cash flow problems, PLUS give her a unique way of recycling all of those newspapers. In fact, I'll even clean out one of those third-floor attic rooms and let her have that for her Pinata Workshop. This could be an lucrative business, and I wish her a lot of luck with it.

Because we are both aware she will be receiving these newspapers for the rest of her life, or until she moves. And then I imagine I will inherit this problem.

Anyone local want to help me carry some papers to the curb? How do you feel about some hand-crafted pinatas?

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