The Halfstreet has a love/hate relationship with the New Yorker. Like, the magazine, not Rudy Giuliani. My grandmother always read the New Yorker, and when later on in life she was considering cancelling her subscription for financial reasons I did what any good granddaughter would do. I signed her up for a million year subscription. Of course I totally overlooked the fact that this would mean she’d have to live to be one million and ninety two to get the full enjoyment of it. So when she died 1 and half years into her million, my mother transferred the subscription to me.
At the time I thought ‘Cool! I always wanted to be a person that read the New Yorker.’ Note my phrasing there….I didn’t actually want to READ the New Yorker, so much as be a person who did. This goes along with all my ideas of what adult life is like. Adults read magazines that have more words than pictures (damn, that rules out US). This is much like when I decided I wanted to be a person who read the Economist. To further this goal, I tested the waters by finding a friend who actually received the Economist and tried reading it. Damn. Have you read that stuff? The “interesting article” to “mind numbingly boring article” ratio is completely out of whack. My experiment led to great doubt that ANYone actually read the Economist. I think they just buy it and leave it on their coffee table so people will think they are the type of person who reads the Economist, knowing full well that no one will have actually tried to read it, thereby reducing the chances that their cover will be blown when someone wants to discuss the macroeconomic disarray that Pakistan currently finds itself in. (I’m pretty sure I’m going to get lit up by one of my smarty-pants Rice friends for this assumption. Someone who most likely not only reads the Economist, but highlights passages for further consideration. So be it. You're a better person than me.)
Anyways this brings us back to the New Yorker (not really, but I was done with Economist). So several years ago I started receiving it. The thing about a weekly magazine is that it comes, well, weekly. This isn’t an issue when the most thought provoking section of the magazine is how stars (insert totally mundane task of choice)
JUST LIKE US! (seriously, if I were famous, I would pay someone to pump my gas, but that's neither here nor there) But with the New Yorker this has been a problem. I actually enjoy reading the articles but there are just so damn many of them, its impossible to keep up! I don’t want to throw them away because you never know when you’ll find a gem (most practical advice ever read in the New Yorker: when on a long car trip by yourself, roll your hair up in the window so that if you fall asleep the sensation of having your hair yanked out at the root will wake you immediately) This backlog of magazines has proven to be a constant source of anger between the HSH and I. We have stacks of New Yorkers laying around the house, that I’m still trying to get to. On the one side, I don’t want to throw them away because you never know when you’ll find a fascinating article on how baseball jock Lenny Dykstra has started a company that gives financial advice to professional athletes, or on the latest research on hangover cures ("if you have bed spins, sleep with one foot on the floor")* or Ian Frazier's experiences teaching a writers workshop in a New York soup kitchen or any multitude of other interesting topics. On the other side the HSH wants to throw them away, because he’s tired of having to remember to remove them from the stove before he preheats it to cook his pizza.** So far, these are the struggles of married life.
*Yes these words were really printed in the New Yorker.
**I don’t really store them in the stove Mom, that would be dangerous.
4 comments:
I can assure you that I will not be one of the "smarty-pants" who will argue your assumption on the macroeconomic disarray that Pakistan currently finds itself in. First, I am not a Rice Owl (though I did financially contribute to their academic endeavor). Second, I'm not sure what you said.
Foot on the floor, hmmmmm.
I have a similar dilemma with the New York Times. I really feel like I'm missing out if they go in the recycling bin before I've finished them. But, just when you think you're close to finishing, there's a new one the next day! ugh.
The HSGrandma loved Mondays!!! I always kind of thought that the reason was that everyone was back to school, work, whatever, and she had the house to herself. Later, I realized that Monday was the day she got the New York Times Sunday edition in the mail. She read that paper cover to cover, devouring the critical reviews of Broadway shows, learning where the elite meet to eat in the big city and what they said about the newest bestseller. Between that paper and the New Yorker, my mom was THE expert on the big city. For some years, my parents and friends took an annual trip to NYC to eat out, see shows and shop. So I guess that you could say that the HS author comes by her facination honestly. I do have to admit that when I am visiting Houston and all is quiet, I reach for your latest copy and imagine that I can hear EGV mentioning "... according to the New Yorker..." You only have about 4 more years left on the subscription, so read faster!! xo
A job I had sent me a subscription to the NY(er) as a gift. I felt obligated to read it, but week after week failed miserably. So I made a deal with myself to only read the articles I found interesting and usually the book and movie reviews. This system worked out great, but I will admit that once the subscription ran out, I was relieved.
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