Short attention span version: For the last year, I’ve been working with HP Labs on a very cool new project. It’s called MagCloud, and it’s the future of magazine publishing. Go see.

Longer attention span version: If you know me at all, you know I’m obsessed with publishing. My mom tells a story about me, in elementary school, having to write a paper about confederate times. Instead, I wrote and designed an entire newspaper, right down to the editorial comics, that took place during the era. This was before I’d even learned the word “procrastination.”

Since then I’ve worked at newspapers and magazines, big and small. I even started a few. And they all had one thing in common: You had to print a giant pile of them, and then hope you could get rid of them all. In college, we once made a giant throne out of undistributed copies of the newspaper I worked on.

The web has changed our thinking about media in ways we’re still figuring out. Now we can make media without the bother of putting ink to paper. We can distribute it planet-wide in an instant. And the content can be customized to your tastes, personalized for each reader. It’s so obvious now, but it’s important to remember what a revolution this has been.

But there’s still something about paper. It’s not just because screens suck to read on (they do, but that hasn’t kept us from doing it all day). There is an intimacy about a good book, a pleasure to the glossy pages of magazines, and, ironically, a permanence to paper. (How many times has a website you really loved simply disappeared?)

So what if we could combine the best parts of the web (no waste, personalized content, open to all) with the best parts of print (sexy print quality, permanence, no batteries required)?

For the last year, I’ve been working on a project with HP Labs called MagCloud. The idea is simple, really. MagCloud enables anyone to start a magazine - a real printed magazine - with no giant pile.

If we were in my office right now, I could motion over to the giant pile of Fray Issue 1s. I’m so proud of the book. It’s a beautiful object. But every morning when I see that pile, my heart sinks.

With MagCloud, there is no giant pile, because every magazine is printed to order. Of course, there are other print-on-demand companies out there, but MagCloud is the only one designed specifically for magazines. And it’s the only one created by HP, the company that makes the Indigo printers that power the print-on-demand industry. (The guys behind the scenes here are smart … and I mean like white-lab-coat smart. They blow me away.) It’s also the only one designed by mister James Goode, who also designed Pixish, and did a brilliant job.

When I look back at all the publishing endeavors I’ve undertaken, one thing stands out. While I was working so hard to change the way content gets made (enabling people on the web to participate in the creation process), I still fell back into the traditional model of magazine distribution. And the traditional model sucks.

Did you know there are just a handful of companies that control which magazines get into which stores? And even if you do get in, you give them all your hard work for free and they only have to pay for the books they sell. How do you know how many they sell? They tell you.

Did you know the average sell-through rate for a magazine is about 30%? The sell-through rate is the rate which a given issue of a magazine will sell from a store. That means 70% of all printed magazines are just stopping by the newsstand on their way to the garbage dump or recycling center. All that time, work, and energy, just to make trash.

There must be a better way. And I think MagCloud is a step in that direction.

There are caveats, of course. The site is a pilot program within HP right now. And it’s in beta, which means things will break, get fixed, and change. And, of course, we have very exciting plans for how to expand the service. The site you see now is just the tip of a very big iceberg.

But after working on it for almost a year, it’s very exciting to see it take its first baby steps on the web. If you’re interested in the future of magazines, if you want to help make it happen, give MagCloud a look.

For me, I’m experimenting with publishing Fray there. I even put together a special “pet stories” issue to test the service.

If you can make a PDF, you can now publish a magazine.

Literary magazines and I have not had good relations. We’ve tried short and passionate, slow and sustained. We’re just too different. I prefer book-length fiction from authors I already know. Picking up a journal for the sake of “discovery” leaves me feeling over-exerted, as if I’ve bought a hen to make an omelette. Breaking new talent and welcoming home the underappreciated author is why most literary magazines exist. Our purposes then crossed somewhere east of the shower in my master bathroom, where a stack of unread, unloved journals serves as a pedestal for the toilet plunger.

Why then did I leap to attention when Mr. Powazek asked for my thoughts on The Virginia Quarterly Review? I had read and loved their blog.

You heard me right. VQR has a blog which is updated with vigor by editor-in-chief Ted Genoways and his staff. While most journals warm to technology about as eagerly as Quakers warm to firearms (emperor of the genre The Paris Review didn’t feel it necessary to have a website until 2000), VQR seems to think there’s more than one way to interact with their publication. And more than one kind of reader in mind when a new issue goes to print.

It was in that spirit of openness that I eagerly thumbed through VQR’s Winter 2008 issue, cover illustration and reimagined masthead by graphic novelist Chris Ware. Coming in at 290 pages, many in full color and with binding slick as a turtle shell, it could, despite its earned claim of being “a National Journal of Literature and Discussion” have passed as a commercial Southern Lifestyle magazine or its parent university’s annual report.

Inside those adornments stepped aside. Deep white pages and tight print held photojournalism from Iraq and Afghanistan, a symposium on Polish intellectual Ryszard Kapuściński (featuring the star wattage of Salman Rushdie and Werner Herzog) an assessment of novelist Dennis Johnson and a dozen poems. Thematically, the issue centers the theme of torture as a method of exploring our civic and human obligations in the face of institutionalized evil. Poet Jane Hirshfield, in an essay around the volume’s midpoint, calls the hopeful result of this process “the heart shattered, from stone-adamance to open.”

There is more, much more and I’ll confess I didn’t read it all or this report would have arrived courtesy of the year 2016. But what I did was first rate: erudite yet plain-spoken, aggressively diverse and lined with the quiet confidence of masters at home in their craft. That the pieces keep to the theme yet live independently of it adds two benefits: The issue possesses a unity many magazines strive for yet refuse to admit matters only to them (most magazines aren’t read front to back or even completed) and that same unity makes the VQR feel like its supposed to be sat around in conversation, like a table, instead of read through alone, like a parchment scroll.

The Virginia Quarterly Review was founded in 1925 at the request of then University of Virginia President E. A. Alderman. Its early days were in large part devoted to showcasing southern literature (often overlooked by the New York publishing establishment) and adapting liberal policy positions on racial issues. Since 2003, it’s been edited by 35-year-old Ted Genoways, a Walt Whitman scholar largely credited with heaving the magazine over the wall of the 20th century into the courtyard of the 21st. The investigative reporting, comics and photo spreads may have been his idea but the VQR and its readers are the better for it. Far too many of this magazine’s compatriots see virtue in bargain basement design, default typesetting and cover illustrations that can best be described as from the High Graduate Intern Period. There isn’t any and VQR knows better. Its foresight has earned it two National Magazine Awards and ten nominations in the past 5 years.

I speak of my past failed relationships with literary magazines not as a spurned artist (I’ve never submitted anything to the Paris Review, Tin House, or their lesser known cousins) but a dejected consumer. Literary magazines are looking for readers who aren’t hungry agents or English graduates in the midst of a job search. I went looking for the refracted glory that comes from being a subscriber to both Entertainment Weekly and something with a name like Leafpile Review or Black Rock Wainscotting. I had my best face on when I attended the 2006 Associated Writing Programs conference (The Detroit Auto Show of university writing departments and the journals they produce) and swept a mass of potential mates into a free tote bag. Worried about the heavy flight home, I asked one booth minder, all of 22, if the journal she represented had any sample stories on their website I could try out before committing. “We don’t believe that’s necessary” she snapped back as if I’d asked for her opinion on waterboarding.

The Virginia Quarterly Review offers selections from every issue on their website for free. Subscribers get keys to the whole thing.

This is more than a crush. This could be love.

I can’t stay still. I fidget, I travel, I move often. Until I attain my live-in librarian dream, I’m always looking out for that nearly perfect living gig, whether it’s caretaking an Odd Fellows Hall in Seattle, housesitting the big Victorian in Vermont until my landlady returns from the Peace Corps, or being a vacation catsitter on the coast of Maine. Different people, different places. The Caretaker Gazette is the one print place to get you going, going, gone.

Gary Dunn and his family have been doing this for twenty-six years. Their dog Lincoln is on the masthead as “envelope sealer.” The cover price - $6 single issue, $29.95 one year subscription; you can pay in unused postage stamps - had kept me from subscribing in the past but I’d always check out the website and dream little dreams about living in a castle in Scotland or an island off the coast of Maine. They added a blog last year.

A few sample headlines from the 150th issue, November/December 2007:

• Experienced motel managers needed for a 14-unit mountain motel.
• Interested in becoming a hermit? A community of hermits is now forming.
• Ranch manager needed in Marble Falls, 50 miles west of Austin.

Ten years ago, a youthful indiscretion left me with some property that needed attention while I was on the wrong coast. I bought an issue and placed an ad. Over the next few weeks, my mailbox filled with letters and resumes and photos and promises. I stopped counting at thirty. I ruled out almost everyone without an email address. I wound up with someone whose coast to coast travels mirrored mine, who stayed in my Vermont cabin over the next two winters, keeping it warm, keeping me sane. My total investment: $6 for the issue, $15 for the ad.

Each bimonthly issue is sixteen pages of black and white and green all over newsprint featuring caretaker opportunities and “situations wanted” ads. The first page displays a high-tech map-with-dots graphic showing you where in the world you could go. There are a few display ads and letters to the editor and one caretaker profile article. This issue features lighthouse keepers turned Appalachian Trail maintainers Harry and Lawrene Denkers happily living their semi-itinerant lifestyle. The newsletter is hard to read back-to-front because I always catch myself staring out the window envisioning my future life overseeing a trout farm in Montana or a perhaps a pet sanctuary somewhere in California.

Their letters section says that they offer a thousand rent-free living opportunities every year. Surely one would be good for you.

When I first heard about Light Leaks, I was thrilled. Finally a magazine devoted to one of my favorite things: toy cameras! Having fooled around with Holgas and various other plastic cameras for years, I opened up Issue 8: Almost Perfect with great anticipation.

The photography in the magazine is absolutely beautiful and very inspiring. It certainly made me get the old toy cameras out and stock up on medium format film. This issue also has a comparative review of the old Diana camera and the re-make, an article on painting your Holga, a couple of short interviews, mini-profiles of featured photographers, and a few other short articles. Unfortunately, the writing falls a little flat. It’s a very thin magazine, which in itself is not a bad thing (if you take away the many full page ads in most mainstream publications, you are left with very little content anyway), but it did feel like there was too little meat on these bones. I think it would help to have longer, more in-depth and focused content, possibly basing each issue on a theme. It’s not that the writing is bad, it just left me wanting more.

It doesn’t help that the typography looks a little on the home-made side. Serif, sans-serif and “handwritten” fonts are mixed together, margins jump back and forth, and overall it looks like Light Leaks doesn’t have any particular layout style.

Light Leaks is sold for $15 in stores, which is a lot of money for something this small. Publishing magazines is a high-cost business, and I am sure they’d sell it cheaper if they could. But I probably wouldn’t spend that kind of money on a magazine this tiny, no matter how nice the photography was and how much I’d like to support the good cause. The alternative is to subscribe, which does lower the price considerably, but after having read through it, I am just not convinced.

I am very torn by Light Leaks. It feels like it has great potential, the photography really is very good, the paper and print quality is nice and what little content there is, is not lost in advertisement hell. I really wanted to love everything about it, but as it is, I am just not as impressed as I’d hoped to be. I will keep an eye on Light Leaks and flick through it whenever I get the chance (I am lucky enough that they sell it at my local camera store), and I’ll keep hoping it will improve enough for me to start subscribing.

Further Reading: Light Leaks has a website where you can view PDFs of back issues and subscribe.

Recently I read a New Yorker profile of Kim Hastreiter, the founder and editor of Paper and decided, after just three paragraphs, that she’s led the world’s most charmed life. A downtown boho in the 1970s who now carefully tends her pop culture periodical as carefully as a master arbourist would an orchard, Hastreiter and Paper seem the living incarnation of how I imagine the Paris Review under George Plimpton - a rowdy blurring of work and play, of high-minded cultural curation and shuffling into work at noon. Editors like Graydon Carter and Tina Brown seem to be working hard to pull the fabulous into their orbit. New Yorker author Dana Goodyear called the staff and friends of Paper “a freewheeling, kitschy, Munsters-like family, but a happy and highly functional one” made of writers, designers musicians and artists, many of whom call Hastreiter “aunty.” It makes her and her magazine seem both unattainably hip and nice at the same time.

I wanted Paper to be my best friend, and I’d never read a single issue. So when I emailed their New York office asking for a sample issue and Associate editor Alexis Swerdloff wrote back with “how many do you need?”, my expectations were high. Now they are highly satisfied.

Paper traffics in cultural fabulousness. The magazine profiles and reviews the artists, filmmakers, musicians, authors, and celebrities that you should know more about. Best I can tell, their taste leans forward yet accessible. They’re not trying to impress you with obscurity and, while there were at least a half-dozen new-to-me’s in the three issues I read, a more-obsessive friend might find their choices a bit safe. Whatever. I don’t complain when a magazine needs to put Andy Samberg on the cover to draw advertisers and newsstand sales. I can find the table of contents and jet off from there.

Paper’s simple taxonomy can be summarized as What to Look Out for (Paperview: One page profiles of lesser-known creatives), What You Probably Already Know About (longer articles and photo spreads of designers and the bit-more-famous) and What We Think About What’s Already Out There (Paper of the Month: Reviews of new movies, music and books that they cleverly outsource to other fabulous people). There’s a smattering of columns on politics, movies and (in keeping with a rather dated view of pop culture geography) Los Angeles, as well as a throwaway spread of nightlife and party photos. Those feel obligatory. I concluded subscribers really signed up for a primer on what to read, listen to, and watch next.

Paper’s design feels almost 60s minimalist, bare white backgrounds, blocky text, a single photo predominates. With the exception of a name columnist like Cintra Wilson (whose take-downs of fame read like boa-clad performance art), the writing is understated, purposeful. Paper seems less a talent show for journalists or a boast about access to famous people and more like an act of curation. Paper is your outsource buddy (what I call a friend with excellent taste whom you rely on for some area of your cultural consumption) in print form. And although I didn’t spend a lot of time on their rather dense web presence (blogs, shopping, Paper TV, the works), what I saw felt like leftovers from traditional celebrity journalism. It’s telling that Paper only does online what US Weekly considers its reason for existence.

Paper has been around since 1984 and some say it invented the pop culture periodical. I’m not sure what it says that it now appears to stand alone. Pop journalism today is either fawning (Entertainment Weekly), snarky (Radar), a stand-in for fashion (Interview, Black Book) or politely condescending (The New Yorker). We can’t talk about movies, music, television and books without immediately passing judgement on pop itself. Paper, like any good friend, doesn’t demand tat you be impressed by it or dare you to disagree, but rather the rarest of qualities in a magazine: to sit with it and listen.

Stop Smiling, “the magazine for high-minded lowlifes,” just published its second annual interview issue. The lineup is stellar. Some of the more well-known interviewees include Jay-Z, David Cronenberg, Paul Verhoeven, Lee Hazlewood and Nigella Lawson. While some of the interview subjects might be unknown to the average reader, the interviews are insightful enough to make readers want to dive in.

The writing in Stop Smiling is consistently high quality, though few of its contributors were immediately familiar to me. The magazine does seem to be attracting the attention of some more well-known writers. The most recent issue has contributions from renowned hip hop writer Dave Tompkins and New Yorker television critic Nancy Franklin.

A few highlights in this issue:

• Gary McMahon’s heartfelt tribute to Factory Records founder Tony Wilson.
• A beautiful collection of Neil Leifer’s sports photography.
• Michael A. Gonzales’ interview with Jay-Z, where he gets Shawn Carter to talk about his childhood in the Marcy Projects and African-American culture’s fascination with gangster movies.
• James Hughes’ interviews with director and screenwriter Paul Verhoeven and author Tim Weiner, who talks about the failings of the CIA.
• Patrick Z. McGavin’s interview with director Todd Haynes about his Bob Dylan sort-of-biopic, “I’m Not There,” which works as an excellent supplement to understanding the film.
• Damon Locks’ brief but great interview with Bad Brains’ bassist Daryl Jennifer on his influences and his opinion of the Afro-Punk movement.

There are a few weak points as well. The Nigella Lawson interview is really a profile. Nancy Franklin’s talk with author A.M. Holmes had potential to be interesting but felt a bit like filler. Overall, this is an excellent issue with only a few weak spots. Let’s hope the third annual interview issue of Stop Smiling is as good as the first two.

The Chicago-based magazine is available at several independent bookstores and record shops (a full list here). Subscriptions are available for up to two years, with nice bonuses, including limited edition 7′ records, CDs and DVDs. They can be ordered online at the Stop Smiling online store. They also maintain a well-designed website for the magazine, along with a blog and several online exclusives.

I glared at the seat-back pocket. “It’s just me and you.” I opened up the January 2008 issue of Southwest Airlines Spirit magazine with low expectations. It was that or Sky Mall.

Seat-back airline magazines are generally on the crap end of the magazine spectrum, somewhere below ancient doctor’s office magazines (”What to Eat in 2004!”), but above the local Pennysaver.

And, at first, Spirit matched my expectations. The usual suspects were all there. My horoscope advised me to get moving “at NASCAR speed.” The crossword puzzle was done already, mostly correctly, thanks to a previous reader. And the front of the book was flush with cutesy fare (”No more than 22% of your office knick-knacks should be personal.” Noted.)

And the ads. Oy, the ads. Look, I know that seat-back mags are for local advertisers and smalltime marketers, but the overwhelming amount of ads, coupled with their lack of production values, can make even the most professional magazine look like a bathroom stall billboard.

But once you get past all that, Spirit is actually a pretty good read. The features are not just the usual “what to see where” fare. This issue was an eclectic mix of fun stories. Some standouts:

• “High Rollers” by Tom Wilmes on the resurgence of roller derby and the little shop, Sin City Skates, that helped kick it off. One thing I learned: Skaters all have unique names, registered with The International Skatergirls’ Master Roster. Favorites from the article: Robin Drugstores, Ivanna S. Pankin, Darth Hater.
• Shiela Lowe’s story on graphology. Bonus points to Southwest’s president Colleen Barrett for volunteering a writing sample for analysis. The verdict: She plans ahead, values her privacy, and is conventional but straightforward.
• This issue saw Spirit’s first “Your Adventure In” feature, a combination of personality test and travel info. Start by answering a few personal preference questions (”What’s your favorite Tom Cruise movie?” Unfortunately, none of the above that guy’s a whackjob wasn’t one of the options), then, depending on your answers, you’re directed to one of four stories about you’d like in Dallas Fort Worth. Cute.
• The inevitable story about hot new gadgets was made entertainingly surreal by photos of a little puppet dude using them without explanation. (This made me miss Greg The Bunny intensely.)
• My favorite story in the issue was “Sure Played a Mean Pinball” by Spirit editor Jay Heinrichs. It was part personal confessional, part history of the game, part review of the Pinball Hall of Fame in Las Vegas, and part interview with the iconoclastic proprietor of the museum. Very entertaining with an elegant NY Times Magazine-style design.

Before I knew it, we were touching down and I’d never opened my laptop. In the end, isn’t that what a seat-back magazine is for?

Oh, and, Grandma Powazek is doing okay.

I’ve subscribed to The New Yorker on and off for years - the “off” happens when I willfully ignore the flurry of annoying letters that arrive prior to the expiration of my subscription. Three and a half of those years found me living in Manhattan, though I’m currently thousands of miles and another coast away.

A subscription to any weekly magazine is a commitment. If you subscribe to more than one, it’s even more important to ensure you stay on top of your consumption. I’ve developed the following process to ensure a timely yet comprehensive digestion of the beauty and wonder that is The New Yorker. Here’s my 10-step approach to the 7 January 2008 issue.

1. Admire the cover.

2. Turn the magazine over and open to the last page to peruse the Cartoon Caption Contest. Yes, we’re going to cut to the chase and read the end first. It is, after all, only a magazine. In any order:

• The Winning Caption - enjoy or scoff.
• The Finalists - pick your favourite or wonder why you witty words aren’t featured (you’re so much funnier than Robert of Boston, Tom of Alexandria or Albert of Philadelphia).
• This Week’s Contest - immediately craft something stellar or grumble at the seemingly dwindling quality of the weekly cartoons.

3. Flip through the magazine in a leisurely manner to enjoy the cartoons, photographs, and art (with the emphasis on cartoons - my favourite is on page 38). You can also make a mental note of what stories you’d most like to read when you reach later in the process (#8).

4. Goings On About Town. Feel free to skip if your dance card is full or you no longer live in New York (like me) or you’ve never lived in New York or you won’t be visiting any time soon or the depth and breadth of goings on will only leave you pea green with envy.

A note about the advertisements: for the most part, the ads in The New Yorker are pretty inoffensive. If you’re as thrilled about the return of The Wire as I am, you might take a moment so enjoy the two-page spread that HBO has thoughtfully sprung for (pgs. 20-21). If you missed the premiere, rest assured that it will be rebroadcast a dozen times this week. Otherwise, the ads are tasteful, never smell (in the way that those in Vanity Fair or Vogue might) and can be quite intriguing (I’m referring to those tiny ads that appear towards the end of the magazine. Tell me you haven’t snickered once at the thought of a “Poke” boat).

5. Talk of the Town (or, tasty morsels that can be enjoyed in the time that it takes to make a cup of tea - I especially enjoyed Dept. of Labor “Strike Beards” as there is some facial activity happening at our house). [Editor's Note: I have no idea what she's talking about.]

6. The Political Scene. Oh, dear. I’m not looking forward to the election-ness of the election-being that is 2008. Though it will be made somewhat more palatable by Messrs. Stewart and Colbert, it’s going to be a very long year. Don’t feel guilty if you skip any an all election reporting this year (especially if it involves Giuliani).

7. Shouts & Murmurs. Sometimes funny “ha ha” or funny “weird.”

8. The Middle Bits. Sandwiched between the preceding front “bits” and the review is the meat of the beast that is the New Yorker. Longer and more in-depth, these are typically suitable items for a longer commute (strictly as a passenger) or a nice hot bath. My eye is drawn to the “Mystery on Pearl Street” by Burkhart Bilger.

9. Fiction & Poetry. This might not be an appropriate time to confess the following, but I’ve never read The New Yorker’s fiction. This isn’t to say that you won’t enjoy it.

10. The Critics (Books, Music, Theatre and Movies). There are two kinds of people in this world: those who read reviews and those who don’t. If you’re one of the latter, then you’re missing out as The New Yorker’s reviews are thoughtful, well written, and as often a not, snarky as hell. Most long-time subscribers will have a favourite or two. I don’t know that anything will ever eclipse Anthony Lane’s stellar review of the awfulness that was the Phantom of the Opera.

If managed correctly, the above process of consumption should take about a week. In fact, that’s what you should aim for lest you become “that” subscriber who’s hopelessly behind. You can tell who these folks are by the height or width of the stack that graces a coffee table, nightstand or languishes beside the toilet.

Happy reading.

In October 1995, Suck.com published a story by editor Joey Anuff (aka The Duke of URL) on How To Read Wired. In short, his advice was to take a hearty dollop of irony and then rip out all the back-to-back ads.

Twelve years ago, according to Suck, Wired 3.09 contained 206 pages, of which 90 were full-page ads. If you included the partial-page ads, the ad/content split was an even 50/50.

I decided to revisit Suck’s how-to with Wired’s December 2007 issue (15.12). It had 290 pages, of which 151 were full-page ads. Today, if you include the partial-page ads, the ad/content split is about 53/47.

If anything has changed, it’s the amount of product-driven content. This issue contained 18 pages in the front of the book that were devoted entirely to products (What’s Inside Lotrimin Ultra? Play Super Mario! Wow, Expensive Motorcycle!). Then there’s the Wish List, “a survey of the stuff we’re dying to get (and give) this holiday season,” which includes a Top Ten that lasts for 12 pages, plus 24 pages of some of the most blatant product placement I’ve ever seen in a magazine. Check out this spread and tell me if it’s an ad or not.

If you include all this product placement with the ads (where it belongs), it totals 198.5 pages, which is 68% of the magazine, leaving 91.5 pages of actual content. Sad.

Suck’s instructions still work like a charm. Wired is printed with perfect binding, and pages come out like butter. I removed any page that had ads on both sides. If Wired has changed at all, it’s that they’ve gotten better at avoiding this situation. Of the 151 full-page ads, only 88 were doubled-up, allowing me to tear out 44 pages. Still, what a difference.

Inset photo courtesy of Suck.com.

I’ll say this for Wired: As much as they’ve let rampant consumerism take over the book, they still treat their Features section as sacrosanct. There’s nary an ad to be seen from Noah Sachtman’s “What Went Wrong” on how techo-optimism led us astray in Iraq (an amazing story, a shame it had such an ugly corner-to-corner design) to the end of Carlyle Adler’s “The Secrets of Silicon Valley” on thefunded.com’s pole vault over the walls of Sand Hill Road (with a beautiful angular text design and b&w photos by Rainer Hosch).

Wired, like the internet itself, has grown up a lot over the last 12 years, sometimes with the grace of the adolescent it was. But in web years, it’s about 150-years-old now, and far be it from us not to show our elders the respect they’ve earned.

Here’s to ya’, old man.