Tilley's Lorgnette

The Summer Fiction issue of the New Yorker is out, and it has one -- one -- story by a new writer. Why not drop the pretense, and simply say that the magazine does not accept unsolicited submissions? It would save paper and money -- some teenage intern has to man the slush pile -- and spare the emotions of thousands of dupes^h^h^h^h^hwriters who mistakenly think they'll get a fair shake.

The Caterer

I've been editing a religious tract, and as such I've been discovering all kinds of weird stuff in the New Testament. Perhaps the strangest thing so far happens in Acts 10:15, when Heaven lowers a tablecloth before the hungry Peter with every kind of unkosher species imaginable, and tells him, "Rise, Peter; kill, and eat."

Nowadays, all you have to do is go to a Reform bar-mitzvah.