Change comes slowly at
The New Yorker. From its inception in 1925 until sometime in the 1960s — I once nailed down the date by combing through old issues in the library at Cal — it didn't even sport a table of contents. When Tina Brown became editor in the 1990s, photographs and letters to the editor appeared for the first time. (When
Spy magazine was still around, it used to print "Letters to the Editor of The New Yorker," since
The New Yorker didn't.)
The current (masterful) editor, David Remnick, has made a few evolutionary changes to the pub himself, but none as striking as the magazine's
first-ever endorsement of a presidential candidate, which has grabbed a lot of buzz today. It's no surprise who they're behind — the mag has been relentless in its coverage of the Bush administration's lies and missteps — but the rather lengthy argument presented (which apparently unfolds over five full pages in print!) is perhaps the best cohesive piece I've read thus far about why Bush has got to go. And if, in two weeks' time, the people of this country return Bush to power, this piece will stand as a fine explanation for why so many will hold their face in their hands and weep for our country, so hopelessly ignorant and misguided, stumbling behind an intellectually dishonest and morally bankrupt leader, into the once-promising light of the 21st century.
John Lennon might have turned 64 years old tomorrow had he not been gunned down in 1980. A new exhibition of his paintings to mark the occassion makes me wish I were in New York. Luckily, the Guardian has some of the images up on the Web.
