Transgender Laws, Posthumous Novels, and the Death of All Life

By Hazlitt

At The New Republic, Evan Hughes on how Vanity Fair’s Donna Tartt story from last week does a disservice to literary criticism.

“My alarm clock is blasting Skrillex or Deadmau5 or something, I don’t know. I never listened to dubstep, and in fact the entire genre is on my banned list. You see, my house has a virus again.”

The cataclysmic collision 4.5 billion years ago that nearly destroyed all life on Earth and created the Moon.

Elon Musk’s decision to open up all of his Tesla patents may not be strictly altruistic, but it stands to disrupt the idea-hoarding innovation culture as much as the electric car market itself.

“That’s what I like to tell paranoid people: it just means people don’t like you and you can feel it.” The author Jim Ruland sits down for a chat for Vol. 1 Brooklyn’s Almost Live at Mellow Pages podcast.

In April, Alberta Premier Dave Hancock announced the province would drop the requirement that transgender persons undergo reassignment surgery before being able to change their sex on government identification. Last week, a 12-year-old transgender boy received a new birth certificate, identifying him as male, at a Pride event in Edmonton.

Maybe don’t fly on Jet Blue.

“I know he’d be so happy right now to be sparking controversy.” Elise Jordan, widow of former Rolling Stone and BuzzFeed reporter Michael Hastings, on the posthumous release of his unfinished novel, The Last Magazine.

Who is letting celebrities on Twitter?

“He would not say ‘I Want Your Sex when that was the title of a 1987 hit song, for instance. Instead, Mr. Kasem introduced that one as ‘George Michael’s latest.’”

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Farewell, Tim Hudak: On Canada’s Beady-Eyed Politics
Last year, the British writer Sam Kriss semi-facetiously identified an alternating pattern in UK prime ministers: slimy and greasy. David Cameron is slimy (“Call me Dave, he says, as he stares at you with hunger in his slitted eyes”), while his predecessor Gordon Brown was greasy, and Tony Blair shone in turn like weathered plastic. But the advent of UKIP leader Nigel Farage, who recently won numerous European parliamentary seats for his anti-Europe party by invoking the terrifying image of Romanian construction workers, threatens to collapse this duality of oleaginity: “Blame the immigrants, hisses slimy Cameron. Blame the immigrants, rumbles greasy Brown. And somewhere, in a disused sewerage pipe in Kent, the slime and grease of their duplicity blends together and forms a hideous blob, growing with every new outrage, until it assumes human form and a wonky grin tears across Nigel Farage’s face…” Blurring as it may be, can this viscous distinction fit onto Canadian politics?