I am officially an old fart

Sent to the NYT today when it was noticed that the acrostic is only availble online from, I presume, here on out.

Dear Editor,

I'm WAY too young to be writing a letter complaining about a redesign in the magazine, and especially in regards to a much-beloved feature moving online, but the acrostic. Seriously. This is my main motivator for buying the Sunday NYT. Everything else I can get online that I want (minus the crossword, which I like to do, but my real affection is reserved for the acrostic) on Sunday. But I spend the money (even the new extra dollar), and sometimes I have to drive way out of town to get the paper (I live in a small town). I hate what it does to my carbon footprint, but I also hate the Acrostic DTs.

Seriously. The Acrostic. I know the redesign has messed it up; I know you're straining at the news hole. I know T Magazine has had some issues and now its elements are being crunched into your newly-teensified space. I know all this. I knew I would eventually pay for the fact that Craigslist has decimated classifieds and free online content does not pay like the paper version, with its expensive display ads. I just didn't expect it would be the acrostic. I thought it would be my job as a reporter. THAT I was prepared to accept.

I suppose my only recourse is to get the games subscription and forgo the physical paper altogether. Heck, it may prevent me from feeling that little dopamine drop that comes with abstaining from reading the magazine preview articles as they become available online.

Well, I'm sure the Acrostic has become to you, poor clerk who has to sift through the letters, was to me when my old paper decided to change the TV listings from vertical to horizontal channels. Except maybe NYT readers are less likely to threaten physical violence (true story, and at least I hope they don't). I feel your pain, too.

Henry Rathvon, Emily Cox, I remain devotedly yours,

Callie White

(What I did not say is that I am sure HR and EC are real people who look like they belong in an early Agatha Christie mystery. If you know the truth about Rathvon and Cox, who I would like to think solve murder mysteries in their spare time, like a much cooler Tommy and Tuppence, don't let me know. Or do. I've already suffered so much disillusionment.)