I crawled out of my toasty bed at 7 a.m. Saturday in a cheerful mood usually reserved for post-10 a.m. wake up calls. It was a nippy 62 degrees outside, the newspaper said, so I put on a pot of stovetop espresso and steamed some two-percent milk.
With my Moka pot coffee in tow, I made way to the backyard patio where an inviting wooden rocking chair sat cold and lonely. I threw my legs over one side and tossed my head back, looking through the morning fog to clouds overhead. Too chilly, I decided, so I retreated inside for a thick Auburn hoodie, Christmas-patterned pajama pants and bright green fuzzy socks. I returned comfortably swaddled and with an armful of technology – my iPod, Sony Walkman cell phone, and a digital SLR.
My indifferent dog, a pug I call Busta-Boo or General (I often imagine him as a reincarnated military man – perhaps General Stanislaw Maczek with his round face and protruding eyes), was snoring beneath a wooden bench just feet away.
The morning light made him look particularly worthless, so I snapped a picture, waking him. He thanked me with a putrid whiff of his nauseous morning breath.
I abandoned the photography after snapping a few close shots of a rather peculiar beetle and returned to my rocking chair. I flicked on the iPod, sipped the smoking coffee, and updated my Facebook status from my cell phone.
How could I already be bored with all this technology?
I opted for something less techy and more manual – a book. A journalism book. Bill Kovach and Tom Rosenstiel’s “The Elements of Journalism,” to be exact.
This was a book assigned to my class in college, but I’d never bothered to read it. I was much too busy running the school newspaper, I said to justify my laziness. Besides, “The Elements of Journalism” implied a stodgy, “this is what a lede is, and that is what journalism ethics are” kind of writing.
Pedantic, I assumed.
I was wrong.