A few weeks ago at the edge of one of the Brooklyn parks, I passed a guy at a table hawking New York Times home-delivery subscriptions. “Already got one,” I said. Like a Jehovah’s Witness crossed with a Doberman, he clamped down on me. “How many days?” he demanded, probably thinking I was one of those weenies who just gets the weekend package. “Seven,” I said. “I’m hardcore.” He didn’t laugh. He didn’t even look disappointed — maybe more disgusted than anything. Whatever his spiel was, he didn’t get a chance to deliver it, and he looked kind of lonely to boot: Either he’d been trying to preach to the converted all day, or he’d encountered too many devoted digital subscribers. Either way, I hope his lack of sign-ups was a good omen.
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REVIEW: Page One Goes Inside the New York Times, But Also Beyond
