I am deeply, passionately, monogamously, long-term lovingly committed to The New Yorker magazine. It’s the only magazine I subscribe to, a subscription that, against my character, I simply set to auto-renew in perpetuity.
I adore absolutely everything about the magazine (except the poetry and, with some rare exceptions, the fiction). If you told me I’d be sent to a desert island but could take a stack of New Yorkers with me (and, probably, some food), I’d be happy. Lonely, but happy.
So when The New Yorker redesigns parts of itself it’s a big deal in my life. And thus when I watched this video announcing some of the changes I held my breath and felt both giddy anticipation and a sense of foreboding: what if they get it wrong, I thought.
It’s not that the magazine need never change (although it’s glacial pace of change is one of its most endearing qualities), and I’ve enjoyed some of the small unannounced design touches that have been introduced in recent years. But. I. Still. Hold. My. Breath.
The September 23, 2013 issue, where the “Goings On About Town” changes will be introduced, won’t arrive in Charlottetown until sometime next week (the magazine’s cover date is the date it goes off sale, and it’s a rare week that I receive an issue before that date). I took a peek online to see what’s in store (something I almost never do: The New Yorker is about print for me, and reading it online makes it seem soulless). I don’t dislike it.
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Ours just came him. To hear
Ours just came him. To hear Tim’s exclamations when he opened it, I expected something a little more dramatic. He resents that they have made ANY change at all to his “perfect magazine.”
Ours just came IN. Not “him.”
Ours just came IN. Not “him.” Unlike the New Yorker, I am not perfect. And I need a more competent proofreader.
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