As an avid reader of The New Yorker it is no wonder that I am also a fan of James Thurber. His wit is always relevant regardless of the era. He writes to satirize human nature. His 1939 short story, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, is a thesis on the imagination and the functional instigation of boredom brought on by the modern urban lifestyle. The mundane life of the titular Walter Mitty is emancipated by the very human realm of the daydream. Mitty is aloof and silent; but he is also driven mad by the crushing blandness of his life. He finds salvation through imagining his destruction in incredible adventures. These wild adventures do not add spice to his stubborn life, but they are the in fact the only spice of his life.