A few months ago, poet/painter friends D&SP gave me the first of what has totalled a few hundred New Yorker magazines, dating back to 2002. I began reading them voraciously with a passion unequalled since getting very lucky on a third date in 1991. About 12 issues into this reading frenzy, I realized that with most of my free time consumed by PBS TV when something appealing was broadcast — usually Mondays thru Wednesdays and then Fridays — and most of the rest of it devoted to aviation history, my arts web site and browsing Internet sites with pictures which used to have staples in them, I needed a way optimize my time with Grade A journalism and humor. The solution: Mine the New Yorkers.
Most of the past three months have been spent turning pages of magazines in the living room while keeping one eye and ear tuned to whatever was on the screen. I’m no speed reader, but I read enough of every article encountered to determine whether or not I wanted to read more. If I did, I pulled the article out, stapled it (three or more pages) or taped it (two pages) and set it aside. Every article by Seymour Hersch, Steve Martin, Woody Allen and Ken Auletta was culled. Those names are gold, and whatever they write is gold. I also pulled every article about art, architecture, the armed conflict in the East, and every poem. These I will read at least once. Outstanding photographs (not the kind you think; I’m talking stunning, inspiring images), memorable front covers, illustrations of art have been saved as well, and will be taped to the insides of cabinet and closet doors around the house. I read every cartoon, and those I enjoyed, I set aside to be added to a collection of humor I’ve been amassing for 15 years, mostly New Yorker and Playboy cartoons. Some of the articles will be kept in a pile to read again or set aside to pass on to friends I imagine will find them interesting. Most articles will follow the rest of the magazines from which they came into the same slightly more cosmopolitan landfill. I’m not confident that most of the poems will stay a part of my collection. A lot of what doesn’t impress me simply can’t penetrate my soft head. But I will be a better man for the poems I do understand, that I set aside to savor again and to share with others, all unofficially of course, in strict compliance with copyright laws.
Pictured above is the sum total of what I saved. I’ve just finished reviewing the set aside cartoons and taping most of them to plastic reinforced loose leaf notebook pages. A few didn’t pass the second cut, and are now in the circular file.
I’m glad this effort is behind me so NOW I can begin reading the articles and poems. From the looks of PBS programming recently — I mean a ballroom DANCE competition hosted by Mari Lou Henner; today’s Patrice Munsell, come ON! — I may have more time for reading than anticipated. I should count my blessings. At least Tucker Carlson’’s off the air.
To be sure, I don’t expect any of this effort to help find me an employer. But if I must languish in near destitution as seems to be my frikking destiny, I am determined to be one of the best informed sycophants in this city, and I have D&SP and New Yorker’s David Remick to thank for making it happen.
About the thumbnailed pictures below I hope. The first I took about 10 a, and the others about 3 p Tuesday.
