The New Yorker magazine.
This magazine was always present in Bossy’s house growing up, and occasionally she would read the things that appealed to her and then flip through looking at cartoons. But it wasn’t until Bossy began her own life as wife and mother that Bossy’s dad gave her a subscription to this magazine, which he’s done for every year since.
The New Yorker isn’t just about New York and it isn’t just for New Yorkers. Orchids, amnesia, Roseanne Cash, and beer is an example of the myriad of topics you could find existing within the same issue.
The New Yorker is a weekly magazine, so it’s easy for Bossy to fall behind on issues until she loses all will to live. As a matter of fact, as Bossy types there are six of them stacked on the floor next to Bossy’s bed, stretching back to early fall.
A subscription costs $39.95 for 47 issues, or $0.85 an issue, or a dime per concept, a half-penny per cartoon.
A bargain at twice the price.
I think “The New Yorker” spawns in the night, and that’s why I keep finding more and more issues every time I try to clean up. That, or my mother-in-law takes them to her room, so I THINK I’m getting ahead of them, but then she brings them back out and I fall into a New Yorker-related depressions because of the clutter.
Thank God for my nearly hour-long commute each way to work on the subway. There would be no other way I’d be able to keep up with my “The New Yorker” subscription.
The subscription price is so great, how can you afford NOT to subscribe? I’d give up a lot of things before I’d drop my subscription. Some things are necessary for a life worth living.
Most you can kinda skip around in, but if you’re backed up, just wait til you get to the Obama issue – that’s one you have to read from cover to cover.
I wish Steve Martin would write for them more often (specially now that he’s married to ms. editor lady). Do you remember the Lexicographer’s Lament? That’s one of my all time favs from him.