The mildew continues to spread.

I’ve been been reading the New Yorker almost since I could read. I’m sure my parents weren’t the only parents who framed New Yorker covers for art, when they were coming up and poor. I still think of a table of contents, let alone a letters section, as innovations that pander to weak-minded readers, and I loved the five-part series on geology.* And the one on soybeans, too! The Mighty Corrente Building has Departments in homage to New Yorker; I admire—honor—revere the New Yorker, and not least because they publish Seymour Hersh.  Read more