Apropos of printed publications metamorphising into online postings

The printed newsletter or whatever is a ding an sich. You can hold it, put it down, pick it up again, read it at your leisure, rather than sitting in front of this confounded screen. Until you consign it to the vertical file, it is there, a readable, tangible, physical object, and not something that will get lost in the swirl of words, words, words that appear and disappear every second on the internet. (Call me a Luddite; my gt. grandfather came from Rochedale, where Robert Owen harangued the natives to cooperate.)