Tough mornings

And then it is time for school. I will not pretend I borrow every issue of every newspaper each morning. That would be a big lie. I sometimes take a Libération, read a few pages and drop it. My favorite part of the newspaper is the Expresso, because you can read it quickly. And the noise around is usually not an issue when you read these super tiny articles.

You can call me a lazy print news consummer.

I am more a consummer of digital news.

My best ally is my tweetdeck and my more traditionnal Twitter homepage.

It is one of the worst kind of routine you can become addicted to (except  sniffing glue, liking Beyonce too much, or wearing leather gothic clothing).

First it starts with an alarm ringing. A few seconds of silence, around 8 o' clock. And it is the moment when it all begins. I turn on the France Inter app. It never works the first time. So I have to start it over. Once or twice. So I generally miss the first two or three minutes of the journal. The most important information of the day.  

It is a daily frustration. 

Movies

Movies

Movies

Movies

A day in the news

The app starts working correctly at 8:25, 5 minutes before the most important moment of my first wave of daily news : la revue de presse de France Inter. 

And sometimes the daily morning interview sounds lovely to your ears. 

At school

I also love getting my news from Facebook. My friends are good curators and my feed has understood pretty well what kind of things I like reading : American politics, urban issues, stories of social (in)equality. Weird stories of drug addicts on Vice too.

I guess it is also dangerous because the algorithm ends up selecting only what you read the most about with the sources you like. I am always afraid to become a cliché of zealous close minded journalist (with quick glimpses at meatheads daily routines).

And never forget Facebook is the worst kind of trap. At first you think you open it for work. But you end up stalking your exes. ALL OF THEM (plus a few videos of random people singing birthday songs in your former countryside city. Or even more annoying stuff.)

The evil call of your social life

Of course real news are always somewhere close to me. Available right here, two centimers away from my hand. It is called push notifications, at least in France. It pops up in your phone screen. At first you think you have friends because your iPhone suddenly makes light. Out of nowhere.

But no. It is RTL and BFM TV, the two only apps I enabled to send that. It is as if they forced me to do it. Since then I regret it everyday. Because they always send me all kinds of breaking news. From the obituary of a painter I have never heard of to the results of PSG. Sometimes it is also weather warnings for the South of France.

Even when I have not taken holidays for five months and not seen a beach since last february. 

I hate push notifications. 

And I also feel guilty forcing them out from my life. There could be real breaking news one day. Johnny Halliday, dead forever. Nadine Morano out of politics. 

The dawn of news

There is this big stack of magazines in my deck that I would really like to read. I keep looking at them. It is too late for that. And will be too late tomorrow too when I come back from school. It is always too late.

I feel more like watching the 20h of Pujadas.

I like the opening, the music, the fake smile, and the titles covered by music. I have always thought it was cool. Old school but cool.

And tomorrow it will be the same again. Same early radio dispute, with a new character this time. Same wave of tweets. Same friends sharing the same kind of stuff on the same Facebook homepage. The big stack will remain immobile until Saturday. And I will love hating my push notifications again.

Tant pis.