Monday, March 24, 2003

The New Yorker has gone the way of the Wall Street Journal. Now, it can no longer be bothered to spell the name of Thelonious Monk correctly. Since we all have so much to think about these days, I don't have the heart to embark upon a true rant about the trivial, not even the fact that the high today was 77 degrees but people with air conditioners are already firing them up.

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