BuzzFeed and The New Yorker couldn’t be more different, right? Well, what if you combined them? In honor (we assume) of the news of tech editor Matt Buchanan’s seemingly unlikely path from the Internet-friendly world of BuzzFeed to the prestige brand of The New Yorker, a hashtag has sprung up on Twitter to mash up the two sensibilities. Meet #BuzzFeedNewYorker.
Here are our nine of our favorites (in no particular order):
Saul Steinberg was the best-loved nonwriter in the history of The New Yorker. He did cartoons, fake maps, trick diplomas and tinkered-with postcards, a sketchbook from behind the Iron Curtain and another on the road with the Milwaukee Braves. Often he just did the doodles (the “spots,” as editors called them) adorning the columns of spotless prose. He even drew some of the advertisements that appeared in the magazine’s margins, until he got so rich he stopped needing the work. The Romanian-born Steinberg did his first New Yorker drawing for Harold Ross in 1941 and his last for David Remnick in 1999, the year of his death. Along the way, he did 90 covers, a number that continues, posthumously, to rise; Steinberg’s ghost most recently had the cover last week. His masterpiece appeared 36 years earlier, on March 29th, 1976: “View of the World From 9th Avenue,” his emblem of New York self-centeredness, in which the expanses of Ninth and 10th Avenues give way to a fat strip of the Hudson, the foreshortened flyover states and the tapered specks of far-off Asia.
If the cover of this week’s New Yorker looked familiar, it may be because you saw The New York Observer back in May of 2005. The illustration for our cover story on Angelina Jolie, by Victor Juhasz, showed Ms. Jolie getting the names of her former paramours crossed off her arm by a tattoo artist. The current cover of The New Yorker depicts Mitt Romney in the tattoo chair as he gets his policy positions erased from his shoulder.
Legends in the Fall
On a recent Friday evening, we headed all the way west on 37th Street to hear New Yorker writers recount stories about being that most exciting of things—a New Yorker writer. The event was the opening night of the blitz of panels, conversations and chances to see what writers look like that is the annual New Yorker Festival.
The hangar-like space was converted into a lounge with the addition of cafe tables and chairs. A cash bar offered wine, beer and snacks in serving bowls fashioned to look like martini glasses. Snippets of conversation—overheard while we looked for a seat—sounded like, dare we say it, the premise of many a New Yorker cartoon.
Condé Nast President Bob Sauerberg and Chief Financial Officer John Bellando are in the middle of going over preliminary budgets for next year and are looking to trim some fat. They are asking all the magazines to cut 5 percent from next year’s budget, the Post reports.
“I think the goal is 5 percent, and there is Read More
The Eight-Day Week
It’s what all the house ads in our pile of unread New Yorker magazines—we’ve been busy!—have been hinting toward. The New Yorker Festival began last night and continues today. Events include
The New Yorker
We found this by accident, skimming languidly through an old copy of The New Yorker on a weekend (as one is wont to do) in search of any articles we may have deemed “passable” the first time around. How we could have ever thought that of Tad Friend’s piece on future director/former gang leader Elgin James is beyond us. It’s truly quite something, and contains the best use of “baroque,” “DustBuster,” and “human thighbone” in the same sentence.
We managed to take a screenshot and highlight the relevant part for you:
So is the Upright Citizens Brigade. And they made a video about it. Because the only thing more terrifying than a stack of unread New Yorkers is getting a phone call from Malcolm Gladwell reminding you that you are 14 issues behind and will never catch up.
It must be something about having our cable indiscriminately taken away from us: we’re all back to watching re-runs of Larry David’s seminal show and getting misty-eyed.
First there was this week’s caption contest from The New Yorker, which ripped off Elaine’s idea from a 1998 episode. It involves a pig going up to a complaint box, and yes, Kramer’s answer is definitely the winner: “My wife is a slut.”
What are you doing from 8-9 p.m. tonight, and for the next nine nights after that?
Tweeting about the shows you’re watching on your ex-boyfriend’s mom’s HBO Go account? Staring at your iPhone until you know shows up at the party? Catching up on your Sexstrology?
Good! Then you’ll be in just the place to catch “Black Box,” Jennifer Egan‘s latest New Yorker story, which will be serialized on Twitter, starting tonight.