The New Yorker

I quoted a passage from the New Yorker in the previous post and thought I'd add a bit more.  Those of you who dutifully read the 400,000-some words that comprised The Year of Magical Painting will know that I sometimes complain about how some publications charge the same amount for you to receive the hard copy of a magazine as they do if you choose to receive it electronically.  And anybody who's ever read, say, Vanity Fair on their iPad knows that it's a vastly superior way to consume that sort of content.

Anyway, I was mucking around the New Yorker in the service of both you, dear reader, and the previous post and up popped a window that said I could subscribe for $1.00 an issue.   And I thought that was a heck of an offer.  Then I went to the "subscribe" site (which is here) and found that for a dollar a week I could have the magazine mailed to me or, for a dollar a week, I could read the electronic version or, for a dollar a week, I could receive both.

Who, I have to ask, would choose options one or two in the face of option three?  Now I'm in a rage.

Nonetheless, I also came up with, in my exploration of the magazine's exploration of Smash, this line about Slings & Arrows -- another show about which I've waxed ecstatic many times on these pages ...

We’re also not talking about “Slings & Arrows,” the single best TV show about theater ever made. 

See.  If you won't listen to me you should listen to Emily Nausbaum.

Further on the Slings & Arrows front, the bit where Rachel McAdams' character is stoned and talking to a friend in a bookstore about Danish makes me laugh just thinking about it.  The humor, if you have to know, stems from the potential confusion between the language and the pastry.

Anyway.