You know the way the cover of the New York Times magazine always arrives just a bit floppy, little white tears already reaching out from the spine, taunting you like crow's feet. The way they spread, causing the cover not so much to rip off—that might be more humane—but rather to slide out of alignment, slowly shifting up and down, up and down, until it's too late. Dig out the most recent issues if you don't believe us. Why does the New York Times spend their cash on super-stylized comic-book art and super-cute doggie pictorials if they're unwilling to spring for half-decent saddle-stitching?