DEAR, READER

I hate to have to use this space to sing the blues and ask for your support. As usual, we have loads of unique badass content this week that I should be flanking. Nevertheless, this is a critical time to remind readers that in addition to being the news and features editor of DigBoston, last year I co-founded the Boston Institute for Nonprofit Journalism (BINJ) to bolster everything from arts reporting to investigations in these pages and in other small, alternative, and independent outlets as well. In a few days, when this absurd presidential election is over, you will be faced with three options: to retreat from current events altogether, continuing to eat more of the mainstream garbage you’ve been fed throughout the cycle, or to pay overdue attention to state and local issues that actually matter. Should you choose the regional route in some way or another, we hope that you read and follow the Dig and BINJ as we expand both operations, and that you support our efforts (for starters, we have a kickass holiday party coming up at Aeronaut Brewing Co. in Somerville on Saturday, Nov 12 from noon to 5 pm, and we’d love for you to join us). Sorry if I’m being too forward, but just last week the Boston Globe announced that it is also now actively seeking nonprofit funding; in fact it’s claiming its is a “new model for supporting arts journalism.” It isn’t, and it doesn’t need your money. We do, plus your participation and your shares on social media. And if you want to take this journey with us as a media maker, be sure to reach out ([email protected]). Trust me, you won’t see the Globe making such offers.

CHRIS FARAONE, NEWS+FEATURES EDITOR

OH, CRUEL WORLD

Dear TSA Screener,

I am well aware that there is nothing more predictable than hollering at she or he who doth firsketh us upon one’s entry to the airport. I just found out about this Dig rag recently but would imagine that you could publish a volume that includes little more than former rants from just this column about ballbags being brushed and torsos enduring the Swayze treatment. But I still have to scream about how you insist on getting mad at me for not following rules that literally change by the day in some cases. Ziploc, no Ziploc, shoes, no shoes, I’m here to work with you my friend. I’m not a mind reader though, and judging by the X-ray machine that you’re staring into, I’m guessing you’re not either.