I recently started getting the New Yorker delivered to my apartment, in a last ditch attempt to try to gentrify my neighborhood. I keep pulling it out on the train and hoping that by some sort of smart osmosis the influence will rub off on everyone. Usually, when people talk about pulling things out and rubbing off on the subway, it means something different. It's making me feel special this holiday season. (We still don't know if I'm talking about the New Yorker.) Except there is just one thing that I can't figure out; I never know what to not read. (Ok, I'm talking about the New Yorker, not jerking off.)
I feel as though I should read everything in the New Yorker, right? Like I'll read the add for Chantix. And then I'll say something like "Hmm.... it's not really the drug for me, but damn it was well written. I didn't know you could list that many side effects so succinctly. It has a definite style to it." That's where I'm at right now. Still figuring things out.
The cartoons are different from the ones that I'm used to in the newspaper. Not as funny. More thinky. Like in the newspaper you'll have the classic Charlie Brown Peanuts. And in the New Yorker, you'll have a Peanut feeding an elephant with the caption "You should see what I trained him to do in my pajamas." And you're just like "Ha. Funny."
Well, I'll keep reading the New Yorker if you keep reading this. Let's try something. If you've read this post this far, please share it. Like hit the share button on Facebook. That might get me out there. Let's see what happens. Happy Monday!