Who were you then?
Here’s a Saturday email from our Official Attorney, Mr. Tulkinghorn — once again off the clock: “One of my partners turns 38 today, so I was reminiscing with her, to wit:
Who were you then?
Here’s a Saturday email from our Official Attorney, Mr. Tulkinghorn — once again off the clock: “One of my partners turns 38 today, so I was reminiscing with her, to wit:
Today’s recommended reading, about one of our all-time favorites, John McPhee:
Website of the Day (responsorial)
Walt of Wayzata read the marvelous article we chose as our most recent Website of the Day — “Field of dreams: heartbreak and heroics at the World Ploughing Championships” — and now reports: “It brought back the memory of when I worked for a few weeks on a farm near Silver Lake during threshing season. It was when I was 12 and 13.
Continue reading “After only a few weeks in the countryside, city boy goes straight!”
We will say (assert? maintain? declare? grunt? snort?) it simply: This is one of our favorite documents.
It’s the guidance Wolcott Gibbs gave to his fellow-editors of The New Yorker, in that magazine’s early years. It’s mostly great advice, still.
It’s lifted (by some other blogger, and copied, many years ago, by us — which might or might not explain the weird typography in Nos. 26 through 29) from the great James Thurber’s “The Years With Ross” — Ross being Mr. Ross, Mr. Ross being The New Yorker’s founding editor, Harold Ross. (What do you think he’d have made of that sentence?!)