Whew. My reaction to the news that Time might kill the mag’s dead-tree edition went something like this: Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!
Go ahead, knock it all you want. EW may be drivel, but it’s my favorite kind of drivel, and I want it in my hands every night — er, I’m a slow reader — soothing my tired eyes and brain after a long day of staring at the infernal computer.
Not to mention that sometimes, on not-so-great weeks, I kinda like learning that I’m not the only critic who thought that, say, Choke was a pretty good movie. (Go Owen!)
I’ve been burned by Time’s promises before, though. (Anyone want a case of Songs 4 Worship cassettes, liner notes edited by yours truly?) But until that dark day when I discover I need to log on to read the Hit List, I’ll cherish every issue.