<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8" standalone="yes"?><oembed><version><![CDATA[1.0]]></version><provider_name><![CDATA[The Dish]]></provider_name><provider_url><![CDATA[http://dish.andrewsullivan.com]]></provider_url><author_name><![CDATA[Andrew Sullivan]]></author_name><author_url><![CDATA[https://dish.andrewsullivan.com/author/sullydish/]]></author_url><title><![CDATA[Rest In Print]]></title><type><![CDATA[link]]></type><html><![CDATA[
<p> <img alt="Currentschart" class="asset  asset-image at-xid-6a00d83451c45669e2017ee687ea23970d" src="https://sullydish.files.wordpress.com/2012/12/6a00d83451c45669e2017ee687ea23970d-550wi.jpg" style="width: 515px;" title="Currentschart" /></p>
<p>After studying New York Times obits between 1942 and 2012, Stephen G. Bloom <a href="http://www.cjr.org/currents/death_becomes_who.php?page=all" target="_self">discovered</a> all sorts of facts, like the male skew depicted in the chart above. But <em>who</em> gets an obit is still impossible to predict:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Like much  of the news, obits are a black box when it comes to who gets in and who  doesn’t. There are luminaries who must get in. The other 40 percent are  up for grabs. The nature of news, of course, is that “all the news that’s fit to  print” changes every day. Some days there is certainly more news that’s  fit than others—and the newshole seldom changes to accommodate this ebb  and flow. A front-page story one day gets shoved inside another day, and  the same principle applies to obits.</p>
</blockquote>
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