I owe my existence to him, sort of. My parents' courtship began with a copy of "Hapworth 16, 1924" that MomPorpentine clipped from the New Yorker and sent to my father in 1965, the summer after their freshman year in college. (It took another couple of years for DadPorpentine to get the hint. This is why English majors tend to marry late or not at all.)
My own favorite is De Daumier-Smith's Blue Period, featuring one of the most hilarious descriptions of bad art ever.
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