J'aime, j'adore, j'aime beaucoup. I love reading the New Yorker. It's so clever, biting, and unsubstantial. Christmas at the New Yorker brought smiles to my face. It's touching and sad without being sappy or stupid.
The funny thing is, I actually got this book for one of my recommenders as a thank-you present. Unknowingly, one my friends got this for me as a Christmas present. Yup, karma works.
People get annoyed at the New Yorker because it's floofy and elitist at times. That's true, but who in their right mind would actually read the New Yorker for the news? That's what the New York Times is for. The style of the New Yorker hasn't changed much since its inception in 1925 because it didn't have to.
The writing is deeply satirical, and the comics are a riot (to me and none of my friends). There's an extra ooomph to the New Yorker that I love.
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