The New Yorker

Quebec City Street at Night

Quebec City Street at Night

When I first retired, I subscribed to the electronic version of the New Yorker, both because I like the magazine and they were offering a great introductory deal, ten-weeks for only five bucks. I’m sure that in the T&C of the subscription agreement, which I didn’t read there was a provision for an automatic $90 yearly subscription. However, I used a credit card that has since expired, so no automatic renewal will occur. I still might renew anyway, because I like the magazine, but it will be my decision not theirs. Anne’s mother likes the New Yorker too. She is old school and she reads the print edition, which arrives on Wednesdays, while the electronic one drops first thing Monday morning. This gave me two days to read ahead of her. In addition to the magazine that is published once a week, daily content is also made available. Sometimes these pieces end up in the magazine, but sometimes they don’t.

I read one such candidate article about the University of Michigan’s football coach, Jim Harbaugh, entitled The Mania of the Maize and Blue. The writer is an Ann Arbor native and lifelong Michigan fan. I asked Anne if she knew the woman, Robin Wright, but she didn’t. The six-year age difference would have precluded them from meeting in school. In her article, she describes how in 1975 she was miraculously able to secure a telephone in Mozambique by singing Hail to the Victors. The local phone company bureaucrat was a Michigan alumni. It was a nice article, but somehow, in her singing of praises, she neglected to mention last year’s Michigan State game. I’m just saying…

Last week’s issue featured a short story from our former next door neighbor, Curtis Sittenfeld, entitled Gender Studies. A few years ago she created a little bit of a ruckus with a NYT Op-Ed. There were angry letters to Post-Dispatch flying, because she referred to Saint Louisans as clannish, which they can be. I thought that the overall tone of the Op-Ed was rather favorable. Still people took exception. In Gender Studies she approaches no closer than Kansas City. It is the story of a one-night stand and was sexually charged enough that I googled her, just to see if she was still married and was able to satisfy myself that she still is. Still, it’s not the kind of story that I’ll be discussing with my mother-in-law anytime soon. I’m just saying…

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