One of my favorite things in the New Yorkers I read as a child growing up in Maryland were the little squibs at the end of long articles. They would feature misprints, examples of interesting malapropisms, typos that made a sentence completely unitintentiionally hilarious, things that newspapers miss in the rush to get the paper out the door.
That doesn't happen so much now - I blame Tina Brown - but my own sense of subversive humor gets re-kindled, now and again, while perusing the paper and tripping over an unintentionally hilarious or revealing moment. Like, for instance, yesterday's bizarre editorial on 3-D movies in the New York Times, which ends:
The actual world doesn’t have to create the illusion of its three-dimensionality. Its depth is so pervasive that we forget to notice it. We register it with a kind of 3-D equanimity, taking in everything as part of the natural field of view. There’s an unexpected serenity, a calmness, in how we see.
That was the pleasure of walking up Broadway from the theater. When a man looking for spare change said “Hey, bub!” his face didn’t leap into the foreground, nor did we suddenly see ourselves walking toward him from his point of view. The light mist that was falling didn’t hang like the northern lights between us.
It was a pleasure to take 3-D for granted and marvel, for a few blocks at least, at the subtlety of the special effects inherent in ordinary perception.
... missing from that last sentence? "Then we told the bum to stop bothering us, got in a cab, and headed back to the Upper East Side." Isn't New York glorious?
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