A meandering, unsigned note in this week's New Republic informs readers that the magazine is going on vacation, and that the magazine will be published three weeks from now, instead of the "customary two." Err, okay! This raises a few questions for us, some of which are related to the fact that this week's issue is a scarily thin 48 pages.
For one thing! Magazines are scheduled pretty far out in advance. Ads are sold and stories assigned based on a set schedule, though a carefree biweekly like TNR can switch things up on shorter notice than a monthly can. (And we're sure the ad campaigns aren't like, Vogue-level extreme.) But this also throws off the rest of the year's publication schedule. Are staffers going to be paid or unpaid during this involuntary vacation?
We can't help but think that the 800 words some staffer took to write this thing might be an example of protesting too much:
Among extreme-job holders, Hewlett and Buck found, 42 percent "take ten or fewer vacation days per year—far less time off than they are officially entitled to—and 55 percent claim they have had to cancel vacation plans regularly.' Moreover, they say no one is forcing them to do this." Indeed, what's most remarkable about these high-earning, vacation-skipping extreme-job holders is that, according to Hewlett and Buck, 66 percent of them wouldn't have it any other way. And if you can't count on the rich—the so-called leisure class—to take vacations, then who can you count on?
Is this just an excuse for Frank Foer to have a chance to head up to whichever tiny coastal Maine town his family summers at? Or are there more sinister, Canadian-owner-type forces at work? Only time, and page counts, will tell.