Skip the Poetry

After unpacking from my trip to North Carolina where I had taken back issues of The New Yorkers, I counted the ones remaining on my end table.

10.

That's how many behind I am.

10.

*wipes brow*

My New Yorkers make me nervous as they sit patiently on my end table waiting for me to pick one up and read its well-written articles, essays, stories, and reviews.

I have to be in the mood to read this magazine.

I can't explain it -- but sometimes, if I am not in the mood, I can't find one thing to read, and then when I'm in the mood, I read the whole darn thing.

Lookee -- an article on "Robots that Care."
Oh, and I can't wait to read the music review on Kanye West.

*rolls eyes*

When I retired, I thought I would read the New Yorkers as they came in the mail.... not save it for a marathon weekend reading or when I am away from television, the Internet, or novels.

But my favorite time to read them is when I travel.

They're compact, easy to hold, and they fit under my arm. I carry them places --- sit on them, put coffee mug rings on them, and they are no worse for wear. They conveniently fold over to the place where I leave off and are an excellent portable reader.

Edie: You need a Kindle.
Me: Not yet, my friend. I'm just now writing a blog. I'm embracing 2001.

I read about six New Yorkers going and coming on the six hours one way trip to North Carolina.

I left a Hansel and Gretel type of trail of those "use this card to get the New Yorker for 83% off the cover price* cards wherever I went.

They constantly fall on the floor, behind the car seat, or when I open the car door, to the ground.

I grumble when I have to lean over and pick one up.

*grumbles*

They are a literate kind of litter, I guess, except that they reproduce like roaches.

Dang. They're everywhere in that magazine.

When we stop at rest stops or gas stations, I throw those cards in the trash. It feels good to do so. I don't know why -- it's like throwing away a to-do list where all the items have been crossed out -- it's like cleaning up after reading. It's cathartic.

David likes to drive --it's a control thing, and I am one of the few people I know who can read in a car.

David: Reading in the car gives me a headache.
Me: Reading in a chair gives you a headache.
David: Your point?

My friend Wingate gets my New Yorkers when I am finished --- I put Post-it notes on the articles, essays, book and cinema reviews, or fiction that I read and enjoyed. I don't read the poetry because it reads like this:

Water Angst

Ah, now my time has come, Melinda.
You visit me at night while I drink
a glass or twelve of white wine --
water
or
holy water
or
spirits of wet
---you who are from the sky--
for you have children, Paris, and lovers,
and big tumblers.
Still, I got angry with the paper and
the towels. Wet.
Circles the table and clacks her stilettos.
Asian bukkake.

(translated from the Berkerlian by Homer Jones)

Huh?

So I skip the poetry.

If I had more room in the margins, I would underline text and make comments, but that slick paper makes for smears and illegibility. Plus, there is just not enough room. I can do some commenting.

My next issue is November 2 [somehow if fell out of place] and the the last one of December of 2009 -- then I will be to 2010.

*cheers*

No worries, though. The New Yorker is not a timely magazine, unless you read their political articles, which I don't. They're so far left -- I can't see them from the center.

*chortles*

The New Yorkers have interesting covers which I like to scrutinize .....

(a form of visual literacy, I guess, -- and sometimes, I don't get it --but I mostly do)

*pats self on back*

.. and their cartoons are more than clever.

*looks at end table*

10.

That's a lot of magazine.
That's a lot of those subscription cards.

Eh.

*picks up a novel*