Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

As Ol’ Robbo made his way down to the office yesterday, it suddenly occurred to him that he was the only person on the Metro, as far as he could see, reading a genuine dead-tree book.** Everybody else had their noses stuck in their personal electronic devices.

It made me feel like an outright dinosaur.

I would assume that some given percentage of said devices were running e-books, but a glance around those in my immediate neighborhood took in only games, chat, and videos.

I mention all this not to sound like a thnob, but instead because the paperless phenomenon has never struck me so hard before. (Then again, I haven’t ridden the Metro consistently for years, so there’s likely been a gradual process while I wasn’t paying attention.)

I know I’ve said it here, perhaps many times, but I could never get comfortable with an e-book. I already get more screen time than I should. (My eyes are usually streaming by the end of the day.) And I just can’t stand the idea of being dependent on a bunch of electrons that can be lost, corrupted, deleted, edited, or taken away from me at a whim. (**Gives WordPress the side-eye**) Give me good, solid ink and tree pulp every time.

I’m just waiting for the day when some little kid on the train points at my book and says, “Mommy, what’s that?“

** P.G. Wodehouse, Money in the Bank. One of Plum’s best, in my humble opinion.