Amy Adams Bids Farewell, Also Chick Peas

By Hazlitt

Wouldn’t you be ecstatic?

“People spend their whole lives looking for something to love like Canadians love hockey.” Here is the evidence. 

There could be more of the same come Sunday, should Canada’s men’s hockey team get past the Americans in today’s Olympic semi-final. How did the Americans get so good? (According to some guy named Ken Dryden.) 

The best fries are made from chickpeas, says idiot.

Here’s a clip from Amy Adams’ Inside the Actors Studio episode, which was filmed mere days after Philip Seymour Hoffman’s death. Naturally, there is a lot of crying in this. It’s very sad. 

Flavorwire asked a bunch of writers what books they’d add to the classic canon. Katherine Bucknell votes for A Single Man, Toby Hartwell likes A Handmaid’s Tale, and Hazlitt contributor Tobias Carroll goes for Stranger Things Happen. Somehow, no mention of Juggs. Alas. 

Have you wondered what it’s like to be a pregnant pornstar? Oh, of course you have. “For a girl in porn, you have seven to 10 years, if you’re really, really committed. I don’t want to say you can’t make it, but it’s seldom that you see people make it. The odds are not for her.”

Two years ago, director Michel Gondry was given a pass, dare I say, a multipass, to reimagine all life with egg cartons and silly string and pure Euro gumption. Harmless of course, until he trained his eye on Martin Scorsese’s Taxi Driver.

I guess? 


Why People Work For Rewards They’ll Never Get to Enjoy
Why do rich people work so much? The quick, glib answer is that hard work is what made them rich in the first place. But then, why keep grinding away? At what point does it make sense to stop accumulating riches and start enjoying them? Are we even capable of knowing when enough is enough?


Parents Know Best? On Belgium’s Child Euthanasia Law
Belgium is a royal signature away from being the first nation on earth to allow children of any age to be euthanized. Now, many’s the time I’ve wished for someone, somewhere, to sign something like this. Usually, it’s been as I’ve been sitting in a plane, a theatre, a café, or at my screen, acquaintancing friends who have come to think theirs are clever, or cute, or funny, when they are in reality just bog-average spawn who should be kept under wraps until they reach an age when someone might reasonably want to employ or fuck them. And yet, now that it’s being presented to me on what I can only presume is the actual silver platter on which kings receive the laws they are to sign, I am concerned.