I would like to announce that I hate The New Yorker. Why? Because it just keeps coming. Every week, there's a new issue in my mailbox. And every week it gets thrown on top of the stack on the coffee table, another good intention that will never be realized. I have not even opened the three most recent issues.
I let my subscription lapse while I was writing my thesis. (Harper's also went by the wayside.) I decided I was too busy to be guilted into spending money on a magazine I was not even going to skim. But, as someone who teaches in an English department, takes a class in a creative writing department, and spends a lot of time with literature and creative writing graduate students, I was constantly being asked (or overhearing) "Did you see that story about...?" Or "Did you read that article...?" I was sick of being out of the New Yorker loop, so I sent in my check and that damn magazine -- which I really do love, when I have time to open it -- started showing up in my mailbox again (and on my coffee table, dammit).
Why didn't I renew my Harper's subscription instead? Being published only once a month, it's more user-friendly. Less talked about, sure, but also less demanding. Then again, Poets and Writers and The Writer's Chronicle only show up every other month, but I rarely look beyond the "Call for Submissions" pages in either magazine... . . . .
In other news, the Lawrence Welk Show once did a cover of "One Toke Over the Line." (He calls it a "modern spiritual.") What the hell? Who thought this was a good idea?
I also got a subscription to the New Yorker and had to stop because it showed up waaay too often. In the end I'd just skim each one for the cartoons, because there's just not time to read the whole damn thing!