Palish

You know how when you were twenty and you started reading The New Yorker? Maybe you fantasized about your future career as a reporter/essayist/poet/Anthony Lane? Maybe you thought about writing a kick ass letter to the editor, who would be so bowled over by your wit that s/he would fly you to New York to share an office with Sasha Frere-Jones?

sigh. Even the letters are fake.