One of the sad things of the great levelling and collapsing of places that the internet (and property bubbles, and other things) has effected is that all the new yorky glamour of The New Yorker pales a bit when in theory, you could just like go there and be there and start a new life there whenever man, though you won't. I guess I mean when our lives are less attached to place, places mean less. And then you're just left with the usual settee mag stuff about the dispiriting story of the ex US army weirdo who tried to fight Assad and how Scandinavia seems better than us but is it? (It is.) ( )