When my dog, Goose, died last year, my then-2-year-old son rationalized “Goose is God’s dog now.” It seemed as positive a rationalization as possible to put on an untimely passing. So now I have to believe that, when headed to the crapper, God must be taking a rolled-up copy the beloved-but-obviously-not-beloved-enough-to-be-kept-alive Paste magazine with him. That’s presuming Paste went to periodical heaven and not where George magazine ended up. [More]
