In this week’s New Yorker

March 17, 2010

The “bumper stickers” below make me exquisitely aware of what a bubble I live in, informed primarily by the writing and reporting every week in The New Yorker. And thank God and Lady GaGa for that! In this week’s issue, there’s a terrific profile by Rebecca Mead of the red-diaper baby who runs the Public Theater (Oskar Eustis) and a profile by Jeffrey Toobin of John Paul Stevens that answers the musical question, “How did a moderate Republican appointed by Gerald Ford wind up firmly esconced in the liberal wing of the Supreme Court?”

There’s also a hilarious Shouts & Murmurs piece by Paul Rudnick that characteristically takes what might seem like a tired subject (“Don’t Ask Don’t Tell”) and pushes it to extremes: “If I were to serve openly as a homosexual, nothing would be the same. Slaughtering terrorists just wouldn’t feel special. It would be, like, Yeah, so today I detonated a bunker filled with snipers, and then I texted my boyfriend, and I agreed that we should only use cerulean for an accent wall. Big whoop. But now, when I have to be more coded and paranoid, every time I strap on my body armor and hoist my M16 I can think, Hey, Mr. Jihad, how about a brunch date with my rocket launcher? I’m not an openly gay soldier; I’m a secret gay soldier, and that makes me fierce! I’m Project Gunway!”

And then there’s this delicious Roz Chast cartoon:

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