Posts Tagged ‘larissa macfarquhar’

In this week’s New Yorker

July 8, 2016

new yorker at the beach cover

This week’s issue (beautiful cover by Kadir Nelson) packs an extraordinary series of feature stories about music, politics, and medicine:

In his profile of hiphop producer Mike Will, “The Mixologist,” John Seabrook displays an astonishing familiarity with Atlanta’s music scene.

Quirky novelist George Saunders had the guts to attend Trump rallies all over the country and talk to people who think a Trump presidency is a good idea. The dismaying results show up in “Trump Days.”

In “Cool Runnings,” Adam Gopnik writes about the surprisingly casual presidential election in Iceland by focusing on Guðni Jóhannesson, whom he met when he was serving as tour guide on a bus tour of Thingvellir.

Larissa MacFarquhar provides a respite from the horrible news of the day with a moving portrait of the life of a hospice nurse, “The Threshold.”


In this week’s New Yorker

March 5, 2013

new yorker pope coverThe best thing about this week’s New Yorker is Barry Blitt’s cover, titled “Sic Transit Gloria Mundi,” though I also read with interest Jeffrey Toobin’s profile of Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Larissa MacFarquhar’s post-mortem on the troubled, enigmatic Aaron Swartz. (One of the many benefits of subscribing to The New Yorker Out Loud podcast via iTunes is that I now know how to pronounce Larissa MacFarquhar.)

While I’m at it, let me mention the highlights of last week’s issue, starting with the great Roz Chast cover, “Ad Infinitum”  (below):
rox chast ad infinitum cover
Then there’s “Hands Across America,” David Owen’s piece on the rise of Purell hand sanitizer, a detailed description of how one small company has managed to get rich capitalizing on the weird germ-phobia that has taken over America;

also Ryan Lizza’s piece on Eric Cantor, one of the Republicans most in charge of obstructing any political progress in Washington;

and John Colapinto’s fascinating article, “Giving Voice,” on the surgeon who repaired Adele’s vocal cords (and those of many other famous pop singers).

And the odd cartoon or two….
internet and get scared

In this week’s New Yorker

September 3, 2011

After reading most of this week’s issue on my iPad, it finally showed up in my mailbox. But I’m glad it worked out that way because otherwise I wouldn’t have seen the coolest thing: the video that accompanies Ian Frazier’s piece about Theo Jansen’s mind-blowing wind-powered kinetic sculptures (he calls them Strandbeests), which I guess you can’t see unless you’re a subscriber. But you can see a bunch of other videos on YouTube, including this BMW commercial. (He’s also done a TED talk.) Very cool.

Then there’s the ever-droll Rebecca Mead’s profile of Timothy Ferriss, author of best-selling self-help books, most recently The Four-Hour Body. “The book, which is five hundred and forty-eight pages long, contains a lot of colorfully odd advice—he recommends increasing abdominal definition with an exercise he calls ‘cat vomiting’—but it also reassures readers that they need not go so far as to have Israeli stem-cell factor injected into the cervical spine, as Ferriss did in the name of inquiry. Nor need they necessarily incorporate into their regimen Ferriss’s method for determining the effectiveness of controlled binge eating: weighing his feces to find out exactly what kind of shit he was full of.”

I’m not sure why, but I read all of Larissa MacFarquhar’s piece on an Oxford philosopher named Derek Parfit and also Tad Friend’s heart-sinking report on how the town of Costa Mesa, California, has gone broke and alienated its working people. Like the best (read: most depressing) documentary films, Friend’s story gives you a new person to hate, a Costa Mesa city council member named Jim Righeimer.

And then of course, as ever, the cartoons. Thank you, Alex Gregory (above) and Karen Sneider (below) .

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