On this day in 1925 Harold Ross and Jane Grant launched an entirely new kind of magazine, aimed at an entirely new kind of person - the New Yorker. More urbane than the average urbanite, possessed of a more-sophisticated-than-thou attitude - not to mention über-liberal - whether they actually lived in New York was irrelevant; if they couldn't come to Manhattan, Manhattan would henceforth be brought to them.
For more than eighty years, under the varying guidance of half a dozen editors, The New Yorker has remained the gold standard in magazine publishing; contrasting witty cartoons with serious journalism, relying on quality content rather than gimmickiness, you'd think the magpie on crack responsible for anything as ninnified as this blog would be averse to its quality, but you'd be wrong.
Not only do I hover over the girl at the corner store until she shelves it every Friday morning, only to devour every word of each issue as quickly as I can - cartoons first, of course, then articles, interspersed with poems - both The Complete Cartoons of The New Yorker and The Complete New Yorker (eight decades' worth of issues on DVD-ROM!) have pride of place in the collection of the Pop Culture Institute.
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