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I meant to make a laudatory post last week to the effect that, where other than The New Yorker might you find a smart, funny, informative article on a literary figure as obscure as Alfred Lord Dunsany

I took that test when we applied to adopt! Picture was from the 30's: any idiot could tell that you were supposed to translate the stallion and the shirtless man in the picture into something sexual.

Mitchell is right on this precise point, though: as a classical music fan, I find its use in classical venues to be an outrage.

Every issue that arrives, the next day at breakfast I scan through all the cartoons. If there's anything that even garners a chuckle out of me, I pass it over the table to Significant Eater.

 

There hasn't been much passing lately.

 

But I did read to her (yesterday) the 2006 Nora Ephron piece entitled "My Cookbook Crushes," and we laughed heartily at a few of the late Ms. Ephron's observations.

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That issue seemed a bit pointless. If you subscribe, you can read the entire archive. Some of the pieces I knew.

Somebody searched the archive, so I don’t have to!

 

The weakness of the cartoons started a year ago pretty much exactly.

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  • 4 weeks later...

There has been some strange stuff in the magazine recently, but perhaps nothing stranger than the first paragraph of Vinson Cunningham’s theater review in the holiday issue. Trying to figure out how it applies to my marriage.

 

Reminds me of the time a black stand-up comedian picked us out in the audience and asked if I was a slave owner. Expect better from the New Yorker.

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The Adam Gopnik piece about café culture contains the following sentence:

 

Emma Goldman, as a young Russian immigrant, found herself at home in New York when she arrived at a Lower East Side café that was well known as an anarchist hangout.

 

Gopnik doesn't mention it, but the space is still a place of hospitality, now operating under the name Wu's Wonton King.

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The Adam Gopnik piece about café culture contains the following sentence:

 

Emma Goldman, as a young Russian immigrant, found herself at home in New York when she arrived at a Lower East Side café that was well known as an anarchist hangout.

 

Gopnik doesn't mention it, but the space is still a place of hospitality, now operating under the name Wu's Wonton King.

 

I did not know that!

 

The curious thing about that piece is that it's as if bars (let alone pubs) didn't exist.  I know the book is about cafes, but it just seemed odd to me.

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