saraewood.com

Why is it that many checkout clerks put only 1 item per plastic bag? (Target seems to hire the worst offenders.) And why is it that when you catch them with a new bag in hand and say, “I don’t need a bag” or “I can just put that in this bag” they then wad that new bag up and throw it in the garbage under the counter? Is there anyone on the planet that doesn’t understand basic principles of waste?

I am an avid long-time reader of the New Yorker. I find the writing provocative and informational. Many articles are on topics I would not have thought would interest me in the least, yet I often can’t put them down. The writing is normally so compelling that I find myself reading theater or film reviews of performances I know I will never see.

For example, in this week’s issue, there is an article by Elizabeth Kolbert on how global warming will affect the oceans. It is both dire and depressing and made me want to stop everything I am doing and join the fight against the use of fossil fuels, among other things. It reminds me of a 3 part series she did last year on climate change, which was similarly dire and depressing yet amazing.

The week before, there was an article on water use and what that means for people who live in places like India, particularly the poor. I found myself underlining interesting lines and quoting from it at the dinner table.

My complaint here is that I cannot find reference to any of these articles on the New Yorker web site. If you search “Elizabeth Kolbert” on the site, you get 324 results (17 pages) - none of which seem to be even remotely related. If you search “elizabeth kolbert climate” you get 487 results. If you search “elizabeth kolbert climate science” you get 874 results. You get the idea.

Magazine content is only listed by the current issue. “From the archive” seems to refer to some randomly selected issue from their past. A very small percentage of any content actually appears full-text on the site.

So, my question is, how can the company that also owns Wired be so web ignorant? Their online attempt is not only pitiful but rude, as subscribers (and non) spend too much time giving them the benefit of the doubt - that they can’t be as lame as it appears that they in fact are. I can only assume this is some sort of knee-jerk reaction by the “old guard” media towards the new - when, in fact, to still make that distinction is just plain silly and SHOULD hurt the business. But seeing as there is no other New Yorker, and nothing remotely like it, I guess they CAN have the world’s worst web site. But they should be ashamed of themselves.

Seems he can dish it out, but is a completely humorless when confronted with it himself. He reacted to Horats the way Andy Rooney reacted to Ali G. What a let-down.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UboPyXH63K0

Warning: Schmaltzy content below. Very schmaltzy.

I don’t think about him often, but when I do it hits me like a brick. My chest tightens and it is hard to breathe normally. I miss gramps like no one else yet that I have had the honor to have in my life. I miss how he would say “come over here and give me some sugar” each and every time you saw him. I miss many of his unique southern expressions that are of a dying language like “hot damn” and “over yonder” and the definition of “supper” vs “dinner.”

I remember how he always used Irish Spring soap. How he drove around in his work truck with tools sliding all around in the back but, when he took Mimi out, it would be in the over-sized car that old people seem to prefer - with wide and extra squashy seats and lots of places to store a tissue box (tissues that Mimi would roll down the window and throw-out when she was done with one).

His pants were always baggy in the butt, his blue jeans practically sliding off. All the caps and hats he wore were certainly unique. He was always to be found somewhere out in the yard, in the house only rarely and in those rare instances in either the kitchen, in his green lazy boy or asleep (which was practically never - and always up by 5 to meet his friends at the McDonald’s for breakfast). His head of thick wiry hair. The twinkle in his eyes - especially when he was teasing someone. How he would chat up anyone and everyone he came across. How he let us sit by the wood burning stove in his workshop out back. How proud he was of his garden, but never bragged. How he would always do the cooking but let Mimi take the credit. How he steadfastly refused to admit there was anything outside of delta parish worth visiting. How he would hang birdfeeders in front of the windows and make sure you noticed when a bird came to one. How he would sometimes take his teeth out for you if you asked really nicely - and how he left his teeth in a drinking glass in the bathroom he used down the hall - preferring to let Mimi have the bathroom next to their room all to herself.

I miss lots of other less tangible things about him too - like the tone, texture and cadence of his voice. How he smelled like an old man, but not like mothballs or arthritis cream. How when you talked to him, he made you feel important and interesting.

I only knew him as a grandfather and the perspective is far different than that of a child or friend. I think years had a way of softening what may have been hard about him. He was a damn good grandfather. A damn good person. And he is missed.