My feelings about the New Yorker and New York Times are

uncannily similar to my feelings for my parents. All three were

once paragons of truth and taste, defining the upper bounds

of intellectualism as it had been explained to me.

Now they serve more as comforts: familiar, rich with anecdotes,

and very nice to spend a Sunday afternoon with.

Here is my joke about the New York Times.

Here is my joke about the New Yorker.

House & Home