A few days ago, I had an item about a friend of mine who has a couple of pet peeves: First, he thinks that the Republican states should be blue, and the Democratic ones red. Second, he thinks that National Review’s editorial section should be called, not The Week, but The Fortnight. (NR started out as a weekly, but, in 1957, switched to being a biweekly. We never changed the name of our editorial section.) For that item, go here.

I published a letter from a reader, here, saying, “Here is a humble suggestion: Instead of changing the name of the editorial section to ‘The Fortnight’ — which, by the way, I love — how about keeping the name ‘The Week’ and becoming once more a weekly publication?”

Okay, I will publish one more letter, touching on this issue. It’s about the wonderful experience (if I say so myself) of being an NR reader:

Dear Jay,
For every reader who writes you to suggest NR become a weekly publication, there are at least ten thinking the same thing. If I get home from work early enough, usually I’ve got my latest issue of NR knocked out the same night — granted in the wee hours, and with foggy eyes, a confused dog, and an annoyed wife. I am usually fulfilled for the better part of a week, but the next week does seem to drag.

Isn’t that a nifty little testimonial, or encomium? And, to put frosting on the cake, our reader says this:

One last thing — not sure how you feel about the flavor pumpkin, but I thought of you today. Our local frozen-custard joint, East Coast Frozen Custard, unveils their pumpkin custard every year on October 1st. One of the happiest days of the year for someone who loves both pumpkin and ice cream.

I feel good about it, is the answer.