A loyal NYT reader emailed me his poetic response to TimesSelect. It comes in three forms. A Limerick:
There once was a paper of repute
Whose columnists none could refute.
But wanting more cash,
It hid them in a stash--
Essentially making them mute.
Loyal readers balk.
Are blogs now our only hope?
Curse you, Times Select!
And a Sonnet:
My love, why art thou never where I seek?
In days of old, I met you ev'ry night,
And read your lavish prose as loyal geek.
But now I fear that this was false delight.
In place of lengthy expositions true,
Of flat earth, int'rest rates and refugees,
I find one paragraph, or maybe two,
Beyond which I must pay outrageous fees.
Is this the way our joy was bound to go?
My great devotion taken not as praise,
But opportunity for easy dough,
Without regard for imminent malaise?
You brashly call your heartless act "Select"--
And thus select yourselves for my neglect."