I miss all the news that fit to print — not all the news, and pseudo-news, and churnalism, and press releases published verbatim, and gossip, and updates to gossip, and galleries, and listicles that drive just one more page view.
I miss editors who say no.
I miss reading Playboy — or anything — for the articles.
I miss cutting things out to save them for later.
I miss ads that sell hard from a full spread and feel good about it; ads that don’t stalk you, and nag you, and creep you out.
I miss hearing from my friends once a year and spending all night catching up and telling them how much their kids have grown since I’d last seen them because the last I’d seen them was a year ago.
I miss organically yellowed pictures.
I miss the way old film cameras used to smell.
I miss having just one TV remote on my couch.
I miss turning the dial on my radio, and hearing crackling, and static, and then catching a faint song that sounds like it’s played thousands of miles away because it is.
I miss songs on the radio being selected by someone but a playlist algorithm.
I miss knobs, and buttons, and dials, and switches.
I miss running to my mailbox and finding a handwritten letter.