Ah, The New Yorker, every week you take me out for coffee and give me a long-view briefing on the important political and cultural issues of the day, always being sure to leave me with a few mentally adhesives facts and anecdotes and turns of phrase, so that I can hold my own in grown-up conversations on the off chance that I find myself in one. (Just because it hasn’t happened yet doesn’t mean it never will.)
And, ah, New Yorker Festival, how you replicate this platonic ideal of grown-up conversation over the course of one weekend every fall, like for instance this coming weekend, with your literary readings and author talks and beard-stroking panel talks and aura of accessible intellectual celebrity. (And Sasha Frere-Jones’s dance party. You know, for kids.) So yeah, this is a Your Weekend post, in advance; I’m doing it on Tuesday morning rather than Friday afternoon on the assumption that the more highbrow (and seated) an event is, the longer lead time you the NYC eventgoer require. Tickets to many events are sold out, but many tickets are held until festival weekend for walk-up sales at central and individual locations. Including, for instance, Alice Munro’s talk on Friday night, about which you can expect me to deliver a 10,000-word cut-and-pasted-from-iChat post come Monday, whether or not Sharon minimizes the chat window and waits patiently for me to stop.