It used to be three copies of The New Yorker came to my house every week. Recognizing the insanity of such a situation and the reality that I could walk a few blocks to the Red Lion Shop to pick up a copy, as well as the latest edition of Alimentum, and a flask if I absolutely must, I long ago gave up my subscription, never imagining the day would come when I’d have to go searching for a copy of The New Yorker.
The day was yesterday.
I’d heard there was a piece about Patch, AOL’s futile foray into hyper-local (ArtThrob is already pushing those boundaries), as well as one about OWN, The Oprah Winfrey Network (a guilty pleasure?).
In pursuit, I walked to CVS, Walgreens, two Publix and a Sweetbay. The closest I came was one copy of the Economist. Too bad I wasn’t looking for a National Enquirer.
This is convenience? This is civilization?
A trip across town to Books-A-Million was the only solution. There it was, on the far left side of the store, tucked in to the Science section.