But I will, one day soon, so that I can truly absorb the end of the second “Transformers” movie in heretofore unimagined splendor, clarity so spectacular that I can see, almost down to the pixel, which parts of the movie suck.
-Jeff Vrabel, “Your TV isn’t hyper-real?” Gatehouse, Oct. 5
His corollary to that sentence: “(it’s all of them, spoiler alert).”
So crisp, so eerily timeless, so reminiscent of an era when magazines mattered, when a wasp-waisted gal might curl up on the avocado tweed couch with a Tab and a Winston and plan a lamb dinner with little paper crowns for her middle-manager husband’s boss, because back then middle management might lead somewhere. While the inside pages didn’t always have the same visual verve, you’d look at each cover and say, see, this is the reason why magazines might not die—because people want to be transported by their beauty, to be fed dreams along with their blueberry cheesecake bars.
-Faye Penn, “RIP Gourmet,” Brokelyn, Oct. 5