True confessions: I recently became a subscriber to The New Yorker. They gave me a subscription offer I found difficult to refuse. Don't worry, I haven't gone over to the Dark Side. Similar to what they say about Playboy: I only read it for the cartoons.
And, yes, it's like a print version of National Public Radio. For
example, notice the image of this week's cover I have
Helpful tip for fellow members of the Vast Right Wing Conspiracy:
permalink for this post, so the next time your local liberal
bemoans that conservatives "demonize" figures on the left, you
can pull it up, point to the graphic, and simply raise one
eyebrow in the sophisticated manner us New Yorker readers
have cultivated. If you want, you can murmur "tu quoque," but be
careful not to mispronounce it, lest you be taken for a yahoo.
The cartoons are still pretty good though, and there's even one on page 37 this week from Mick Stevens that will irritate environmental alarmists and make everyone else smile. Don Boudreaux has it here. (I'd reproduce it too, but I'm probably pushing my copyright infringement luck with the cover.)
But what I really wanted to mention is: Steve Martin has a memoir coming out titled Born Standing Up: A Comic's Life, and there's a hefty excerpt in the magazine. As even the excerpt makes clear, he's had an interesting life, and he writes about it well. This sentence leaped out at me:
Through the years, I have learned that there is no harm in charging oneself up with delusions between moments of valid inspiration.Good advice? Maybe more so for comedians than sysadmins. But I liked it anyway, so if you see any obvious delusions here, you'll know what happened. I just hope I hit on the "valid inspiration" bit someday.