OXIESEC PANEL

Name	Size	Modified	Perms
📁 ..	-	03/17/2019 06:24:57 AM	rwxrwxr-x
📄 03036edfece701eaa1537fea4014dd44.spc	52.22 KB	02/11/2020 10:50:52 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 04d0c6cc2bf146b1318b78f84416b912.spc	123.26 KB	03/12/2020 06:21:28 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 0582678c8cfff117f770f9368b70c2b5.spc	19.97 KB	02/11/2020 10:50:53 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 06d19ca88661ebf5f2459dd4315a2bb1.spc	169 bytes	02/11/2020 10:50:53 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 09c20f5ef1098fa6a0dcbf757db22c44.spc	212.6 KB	03/07/2020 03:53:26 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 0bb533998a40e1ca3cefc59d6e542fc8.spc	34.69 KB	02/11/2020 10:50:53 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 0ed254d4d9db6e3afe193b00bc6471bb.spc	31.22 KB	03/11/2020 01:28:56 PM	rw-r--r--
📄 1469d584e9747d132077c9df3cda6c97.spc	121.54 KB	03/12/2020 06:21:28 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 1608544648e39ada42071bed51f3b175.spc	192.61 KB	02/11/2020 10:50:54 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 1857fc578c17e6145bcf223d333aa48d.spc	79.19 KB	02/11/2020 10:50:54 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 192555ba2ac5f902a3e3f1c0e4aae46c.spc	176 bytes	02/11/2020 10:50:54 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 196f73e8cf4330017ab92ef17541ebea.spc	34.06 KB	02/11/2020 10:50:54 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 19d7e90c3867383bc4790ba57a9f0a5c.spc	39.17 KB	02/11/2020 10:50:54 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 19f3a21c36072f501f634db8e658bc9f.spc	17.31 KB	02/11/2020 10:50:54 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 1a2ad7ec8e9ae3e242926fdbb1c728ec.spc	34.11 KB	02/11/2020 10:50:55 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 1afdf65a8c3ff9f8db7a8f10b580c286.spc	41.69 KB	02/11/2020 10:50:55 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 1bb80174ec75e092e3e7dbd063def8b9.spc	29.45 KB	03/06/2020 06:31:05 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 1de9a562a6be22df63820a9463bcd78e.spc	168 bytes	02/11/2020 10:50:55 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 1e85d1a99d268e01b229ade5baf241c4.spc	40.19 KB	02/11/2020 10:50:55 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 23796aacf2848a8f58cd3ef3f69e38fc.spc	419.69 KB	02/11/2020 10:50:56 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 2408c179b723e6418904b92398f6b137.spc	83.21 KB	02/11/2020 10:50:57 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 242d3dabf79d13154fcc384ff8b2d25e.spc	138.23 KB	03/12/2020 06:21:24 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 24739622a680323db111e64a3e3c3305.spc	13.08 KB	03/11/2020 01:28:57 PM	rw-r--r--
📄 26ad3f3473af193dfc893e18704c9003.spc	5.83 KB	02/11/2020 10:50:58 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 2799184659106c88b5072a3e3f763a4d.spc	12.3 KB	02/11/2020 10:50:58 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 2abcd685295b4a261ad2e866188e5e11.spc	123.52 KB	03/12/2020 06:21:29 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 2d3ca8b6dffd0b708a87b587b3ae50cc.spc	48.87 KB	08/11/2020 06:13:30 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 30d0eeac4a6b2d98cdef50ef2edffa28.spc	38.41 KB	07/21/2020 08:32:16 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 30d5af6cd4c10ea02520bcaba31f3d1c.spc	474.22 KB	02/20/2020 06:35:59 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 3291222baa2e5dd4e0c4863cead17f0a.spc	366.46 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:02 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 346a1bcfe350fe2a1953cd7fbdc86186.spc	33.68 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:03 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 3691c57bc9ef4dc350ce3298a8291556.spc	34.69 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:02 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 38d3dc98ecc1c3d1c27452a54603959b.spc	30.38 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:02 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 3f7816c2aa3e261331a0214ae283daba.spc	36.88 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:03 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 3fabe39fe5de4def5db0b070e9d0c12e.spc	89.1 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:03 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 402e99fadf0b4cfb19572847e3765644.spc	31.17 KB	02/20/2020 06:35:54 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 403c286cb5177de3aee8ae96d600e668.spc	22.17 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:03 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 473e9ea85fa887bf730a58a3138e8427.spc	51.38 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:03 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 47481ffe1d8aa644664a3e0c5e57b911.spc	33.55 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:04 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 4b9b019425e46aa5699b25b164731ea6.spc	191 bytes	02/11/2020 10:51:04 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 4e8baeaef3679f9460ffdecddbb1f6a7.spc	38.47 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:04 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 4eb2ea2e7b4ee9f516345a8e766106ea.spc	41.31 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:04 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 4eb3be40ca0ee332f013def0ede20b51.spc	57.32 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:04 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 4eea197c2a9df7be5770ed85a45166af.spc	32.13 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:04 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 50df6b48e1a1b469b4fa9e86fc0c5018.spc	33.52 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:05 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 51447ae67b6d856982df0ea0496cf24b.spc	27.75 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:05 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 52598486d45e22d0c8e6d2cb26125d0e.spc	185 bytes	02/11/2020 10:51:05 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 52db6769e7a09162da92fb931530d490.spc	251 bytes	02/11/2020 10:51:05 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 557bca13c9bf58c561d365f34528cf99.spc	660.96 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:10 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 569a7c623553d15856943f80ff0d9ef0.spc	38.82 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:05 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 588359e68ff59d4ef53aaf3edb6a44cf.spc	5.91 KB	03/29/2020 11:25:33 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 593ed9fb92861195f982096e36a276a5.spc	78.73 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:08 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 59b7e8b10798f98d6ede55dc16d36abd.spc	286.35 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:10 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 5b48fed85f692b870a2e1c54eb110eea.spc	92.95 KB	02/27/2020 05:27:34 PM	rw-r--r--
📄 5b894986f9f55d997ed60e84c8fb60c7.spc	32.87 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:10 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 5c46aa1f7a9fbddb1de61f99e41c4c73.spc	27.51 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:10 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 5c541078070a50b4ef826d433fcade97.spc	203 bytes	02/27/2020 05:27:37 PM	rw-r--r--
📄 5c744a4198beb7326dcf101f961486b4.spc	56.9 KB	08/20/2020 06:22:11 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 5ef8b2cef4776b3e3f9f79092ce932ca.spc	123.2 KB	03/12/2020 06:21:29 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 60bc545cda9dafe75484b88be1dd4ae9.spc	62.66 KB	03/12/2020 06:21:27 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 60cdba7804abf8b71744dac57a1fd036.spc	37.57 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:12 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 6270f865db79068a5dedb78ba877e7a0.spc	32.31 KB	04/10/2020 11:49:32 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 64e0619d4a6fcecb77cd4fa41dd6658c.spc	43.69 KB	02/20/2020 07:08:27 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 66267a4d6dba7887fc7d4a1aa2da9b75.spc	124.15 KB	03/12/2020 06:21:28 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 6b370910388637897c5bc54c01bf6458.spc	39.47 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:12 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 6cedd2c7609f97e8201f50ac95407eb3.spc	373.91 KB	02/14/2020 05:05:41 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 6f3a7e432f89d87825c8f322156d359e.spc	105 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:14 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 6fb29d2636fbee8586653a44de845c14.spc	36.78 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:15 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 73bb6c1505db5ddb104f30c60b108890.spc	41.35 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:15 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 75223b5917c4f5312a6c6a8aecd9f9e6.spc	50.85 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:15 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 77ff73ee1cbbb4a6cb4bb52bbfd0543c.spc	94.22 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:15 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 7947ab9dba76b764cad321483ebe03c4.spc	26.63 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:16 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 7c2f1bde8d6c3ddb510b8089c44af91e.spc	43.81 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:16 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 7d1ab5c52f2c3ab33c409e73bedecc5e.spc	3.86 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:16 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 7f39e24ab9c263578364ff0fcde11837.spc	168.82 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:17 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 7fb89d7009fbbd9a5c1c2dcac2e055af.spc	2.12 MB	02/11/2020 10:51:32 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 80d5eace46cca553f0c7e7a631ed6703.spc	122.15 KB	03/12/2020 06:21:29 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 8464ad04f90f3f666985ad6a300191a2.spc	183.31 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:21 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 87bb9147a3420bb80136500148ef65dd.spc	373.91 KB	02/14/2020 05:06:32 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 89342927fe6500da4a2cd74e4c24cd84.spc	63.45 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:24 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 8bbfe139e67e5f738b9ffcb18a7c5b86.spc	92.25 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:26 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 8ddc5ee335658bf8ec6b8844cf85c93f.spc	38.21 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:26 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 8e912fe5f85715a1da6db5b96e9f1c91.spc	39.3 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:27 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 8edc68ba045edb463abe484c4485b3c1.spc	299 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:29 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 906b5d59de170e528244744b925a8af5.spc	32.01 KB	03/12/2020 06:21:25 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 925665a1ef421d5783a6690aaf7df881.spc	8.67 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:30 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 92c4233c5ea49b0f47ba9af6486e17f6.spc	30.9 KB	02/14/2020 10:55:56 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 93e4fd43857be9fead41ffa09315517f.spc	34.1 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:32 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 94b8ccc457e138e62b74ac96766909fe.spc	43.13 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:32 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 96c4f97f5353d399aeef3f49fcc0bd5a.spc	57.89 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:32 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 99e1eb580536f979670980ef56caa779.spc	87.52 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:33 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 9b4ca5bfc6880bed7985069758de6a4f.spc	38.89 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:33 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 Base.php	3.35 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:42 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 DB.php	4.6 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:53 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 File.php	4.19 KB	02/11/2020 10:52:02 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 Memcache.php	4.81 KB	02/11/2020 10:52:02 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 Memcached.php	5.27 KB	02/11/2020 10:52:02 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 MySQL.php	12.67 KB	02/11/2020 10:52:02 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 Redis.php	3.77 KB	02/11/2020 10:52:02 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 a3f94d98665e5d26445aa2956b13985d.spc	138.35 KB	03/29/2020 01:13:19 PM	rw-r--r--
📄 a40a776457ebfa5dcaef5c99f859250c.spc	126.09 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:33 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 a4a2ea47955d1ebd2b59a41a045b89ba.spc	86.78 KB	07/20/2020 05:27:37 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 a68acd2dce64f10ba3d23b96452cbd57.spc	53.71 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:34 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 a989cfbb4ebcd4ea5aede2f8d18f6b80.spc	114.06 KB	03/29/2020 01:13:18 PM	rw-r--r--
📄 aaf764fb46ef69a016d4d915512cedd4.spc	677.76 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:41 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 abea4df88cf62a5d9a03eb72a825b2f5.spc	23.09 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:36 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 abfe9571c106187db93288b1ea97357a.spc	28.61 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:36 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 ac468e6e3b78f7a8673a1be751be1226.spc	64.53 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:38 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 adb710891b75ea3e9d2379f0460c1d19.spc	65.91 KB	04/11/2020 06:44:20 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 adb7ca764a42bad01a0ccae2df09c2fa.spc	34.34 KB	03/29/2020 01:13:20 PM	rw-r--r--
📄 b1fc76c9199e2130438d81b6297c73fa.spc	124.12 KB	03/12/2020 06:21:29 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 b44b9e448df189cee8d7c7774273267b.spc	61.57 KB	08/22/2020 05:21:09 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 b5b9fb6ba1e724416126f7788d4bd8b7.spc	19.39 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:42 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 b95f1bb33446efbc7fa195b29ff261c6.spc	27.65 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:42 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 babee465717bca2404982e2751c61c53.spc	176 bytes	02/11/2020 10:51:42 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 bd3c5c1472767419fe12061049343483.spc	122.93 KB	03/12/2020 06:21:29 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 beb279d0ed1b28135d1331bbeb778b85.spc	39.34 KB	03/12/2020 06:21:27 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 c033b35e93579cf666101f023d034851.spc	108.48 KB	02/20/2020 06:35:51 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 c168527cd70d44755d5e3dc302cff303.spc	71.23 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:44 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 c31156c2178130a5e98ebbb8b2f61319.spc	32.33 KB	03/12/2020 06:21:25 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 c36e33d44db45f66ded3082899946005.spc	38.34 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:45 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 c3ae4c4faa1570ab007529b2461aed7c.spc	70.81 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:46 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 c49105af5fef08449f157af0549bf58b.spc	22.82 KB	03/12/2020 06:21:26 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 c62b9f08975a3ce69acf5001c1be6fc0.spc	828.2 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:51 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 c70815c1694d1b436d240d9290d75605.spc	139.88 KB	02/27/2020 05:27:37 PM	rw-r--r--
📄 c96754afef1f81a69a0494827bfa975c.spc	61.67 KB	02/11/2020 10:52:51 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 c97a7600c7331a10d8231324118b3a67.spc	19.75 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:48 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 cc6545fb14fe412555c86b6880afe2fb.spc	192 bytes	07/19/2020 12:01:09 PM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 cdb828b9de2723669f8b1a1352709ee2.spc	387.08 KB	02/27/2020 05:27:35 PM	rw-r--r--
📄 cfba70f3409c5425ded2d8430338d49a.spc	52.97 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:52 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 d537e9e237a12ec958fea41eced57151.spc	186 bytes	02/11/2020 10:51:52 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 d7881a7f1d63da45f197c9a2e16999e4.spc	16.18 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:52 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 d8c5aac1146a5e6b3c91488029d275be.spc	27.99 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:52 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 d8eefb559112e58cb4dab21367a186e2.spc	228.32 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:53 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 d9db250644ba2877f115f509ace5a7b5.spc	28.08 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:53 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 dc319385e4015b85de4c0dee8d535f8f.spc	37.1 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:53 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 dc7b0425002a35c26a812e42646cc5af.spc	111 KB	03/12/2020 06:21:28 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 debf9c17532a02a6e6db578a7f3a4646.spc	142.69 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:54 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 defbb59ea45d623ea1c51ac8743c90ea.spc	165 bytes	02/11/2020 10:51:54 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 df45183a85d0f0324d9f35c8c667f311.spc	124.89 KB	03/12/2020 06:21:28 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 e095b95df0ddae888ac7f451f20129bc.spc	38.71 KB	07/21/2020 08:32:17 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 e2003b6fa97074e2942822467b17062e.spc	26.48 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:55 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 e2a37cd95187c01162d6f71089afe300.spc	50.54 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:55 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 e57f0a350e6688a01a91dda64cfa2101.spc	122.43 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:55 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 e5dae6ccace4ca4cc8216461dda29c74.spc	100.76 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:56 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 e76dbae7c8f284493808fa5931a959ea.spc	37.61 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:56 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 ea703f3e5c39f76615e5a8b975f794a2.spc	19.19 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:56 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 ea82db2f68568b4765fcf688d6c93116.spc	64.03 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:56 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 ead3210aad70aa054d53594c794ef5cb.spc	36.52 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:56 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 f104494ec9505a88f21eecf9104e7bd5.spc	43.49 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:57 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 f14af3dc82bb30bf0c3018917fa3a45a.spc	23.14 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:57 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 f2e6e96f252853f6483f6c9c725f0ee2.spc	78.09 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:57 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 f34923678798ad8b6c06d24190cb88cd.spc	329.67 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:59 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 f5306b0dbdad73410aada80dbc3392d4.spc	2.43 KB	02/11/2020 10:51:59 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 f74498a86970a084e5ca639447042aa3.spc	85.09 KB	02/11/2020 10:52:00 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 f7d657440800849c7fcaeb682984c7e6.spc	30.41 KB	03/24/2020 05:47:43 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 f9cf779dc17343f7a142ab34fefeb6eb.spc	428.03 KB	07/14/2020 10:43:54 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 fbc57cfd03bf1e4ef525660536f2fc4c.spc	18.92 KB	02/11/2020 10:52:01 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 fbe8c695ab40ed6d8e54c74cfd8720fe.spc	38.5 KB	02/11/2020 10:52:01 AM	rwxrwxrwx
📄 fcf7bfc598a8e90673a28eed5eb8247c.spc	67.72 KB	03/29/2020 11:29:51 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 fd653df8381ec085d867b89d482aed73.spc	63.39 KB	03/12/2020 06:21:26 AM	rw-r--r--
📄 fe2860db6cccfc29356a9613564f0ce6.spc	37.76 KB	02/11/2020 10:52:01 AM	rwxrwxrwx
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Editing: 8464ad04f90f3f666985ad6a300191a2.spc

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	";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:7:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:0:"";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:25:"http://www.newyorker.com/";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:156:"Online version of the weekly magazine, with current articles, cartoons, blogs, audio, video, slide shows, an archive of articles and abstracts back to 1925.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:13:"lastBuildDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Mon, 03 Apr 2017 04:04:11 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"language";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:5:"en-US";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:5:"image";a:1:{i:0;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:15:"
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:1:{s:0:"";a:3:{s:3:"url";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:92:"http://www.newyorker.com/wp-content/assets/img/icon/apple-touch-icon-144x144-precomposed.png";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:0:"";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:25:"http://www.newyorker.com/";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}}s:4:"item";a:50:{i:0;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:39:"Cartoons from the April 10, 2017, Issue";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:102:"http://www.newyorker.com/cartoons/issue-cartoons/slide-show-new-yorker-cartoons-april-10-2017?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331869";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Mon, 03 Apr 2017 04:00:26 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:0:"";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:14:"The New Yorker";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:678:"<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/cartoons/issue-cartoons/slide-show-new-yorker-cartoons-april-10-2017?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/fiction-this-week-emma-cline-2017-04-10">This Week in Fiction: Emma Cline on a Father Confronting His Son’s Transgression</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/jia-tolentino/the-cathartic-finale-of-big-little-lies">The Cathartic Finale of “Big Little Lies”</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/persons-of-interest/laura-kipniss-battle-against-vulnerability">Laura Kipnis’s Battle Against Vulnerability</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:1;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:82:"This Week in Fiction: Emma Cline on a Father Confronting His Son’s Transgression";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:91:"http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/fiction-this-week-emma-cline-2017-04-10?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3332699";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Mon, 03 Apr 2017 04:00:17 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:393:"In “<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/northeast-regional">Northeast Regional</a>,” your story in this week’s issue, a man named Richard is interrupted during a weekend away with someone else’s wife by the news that his son, Rowan, who’s at boarding school, has done something reprehensible. How would you characterize Richard’s relationship with Rowan? ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:16:"Willing Davidson";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:976:"In “<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/northeast-regional">Northeast Regional</a>,” your story in this week’s issue, a man named Richard is interrupted during a weekend away with someone else’s wife by the news that his son, Rowan, who’s at boarding school, has done something reprehensible. How would you characterize Richard’s relationship with Rowan? <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/fiction-this-week-emma-cline-2017-04-10?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/a-strange-australian-masterpiece">A Strange Australian Masterpiece</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/fiction-this-week-john-lanchester-2017-04-03">This Week in Fiction: John Lanchester on Ghost Stories</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/baby-user-manual-2017-edition">Baby User Manual: 2017 Edition</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:2;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:18:"Northeast Regional";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:72:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/northeast-regional?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331501";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Mon, 03 Apr 2017 04:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:7:"Fiction";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:566:"Close to five hours on the train. And then twenty minutes by taxi from the station to the school. He would have time to call the lawyer, work through the options. He had the number of a consultant, in case Rowan needed to apply somewhere else. Maybe the school legally had to contact the college he’d got into, but Richard wasn’t sure. And maybe it wouldn’t come to that. The school wouldn’t want to make anything public. The thought calmed him—good, good. They were on his side, even if they had not said so in so many words: they weren’t stupid.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:10:"Emma Cline";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1051:"Close to five hours on the train. And then twenty minutes by taxi from the station to the school. He would have time to call the lawyer, work through the options. He had the number of a consultant, in case Rowan needed to apply somewhere else. Maybe the school legally had to contact the college he’d got into, but Richard wasn’t sure. And maybe it wouldn’t come to that. The school wouldn’t want to make anything public. The thought calmed him—good, good. They were on his side, even if they had not said so in so many words: they weren’t stupid.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/northeast-regional?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/first-snow">First Snow</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/lessons-from-my-father">Lessons from My Father</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/business/currency/why-parental-leave-remains-a-privilege">Why Parental Leave Remains a Privilege</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:3;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:45:"Virtue and Vice: Mike Pence’s Dining Policy";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:95:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/virtue-and-vice-mike-pences-dining-policy?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3332371";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Mon, 03 Apr 2017 04:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:9:"The Rules";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:592:"The Vice-President can’t get a burger with Lisa Murkowski without arousing suspicion or, possibly, himself? After the Washington Post pointed out, last week, that Mike Pence once told a reporter that he never dines alone with a woman who is not his wife—a variation of the so-called Billy Graham rule—people had a lot of questions. Are after-sunset encounters allowed if they don’t include food? Do canapés count? Pretzels on an airplane? It seemed like a good time to get on the phone, for some perspective, with Billy Graham’s forty-two-year-old evangelist grandson, Will.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:14:"Lauren Collins";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1344:"The Vice-President can’t get a burger with Lisa Murkowski without arousing suspicion or, possibly, himself? After the Washington Post pointed out, last week, that Mike Pence once told a reporter that he never dines alone with a woman who is not his wife—a variation of the so-called Billy Graham rule—people had a lot of questions. Are after-sunset encounters allowed if they don’t include food? Do canapés count? Pretzels on an airplane? It seemed like a good time to get on the phone, for some perspective, with Billy Graham’s forty-two-year-old evangelist grandson, Will.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/virtue-and-vice-mike-pences-dining-policy?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/lemony-snickets-a-series-of-unfortunate-events-a-cautionary-tale-for-those-who-believe-in-comforting-lies">Lemony Snicket’s “A Series of Unfortunate Events”: A Cautionary Tale for Those Who Believe in Comforting Lies</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/cartoons/daily-cartoon/friday-january-13th-fake-news">Daily Cartoon: Friday, January 13th</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/what-it-would-take-to-set-american-kids-free">What It Would Take to Set American Kids Free</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:4;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:42:"The Desperate Journey of a Trafficked Girl";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:96:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/the-desperate-journey-of-a-trafficked-girl?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331498";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Mon, 03 Apr 2017 04:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:19:"A Reporter at Large";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:339:"It was close to midnight on the coast of Libya, a few miles west of Tripoli. At the water’s edge, armed Libyan smugglers pumped air into thirty-foot rubber dinghies. Some three thousand refugees and migrants, mostly sub-Saharan Africans, silent and barefoot, stood nearby in rows of ten. Oil platforms glowed in the Mediterranean.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:8:"Ben Taub";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:928:"It was close to midnight on the coast of Libya, a few miles west of Tripoli. At the water’s edge, armed Libyan smugglers pumped air into thirty-foot rubber dinghies. Some three thousand refugees and migrants, mostly sub-Saharan Africans, silent and barefoot, stood nearby in rows of ten. Oil platforms glowed in the Mediterranean.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/the-desperate-journey-of-a-trafficked-girl?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/daily-comment/donald-trump-lost-in-africa">Donald Trump, Lost in Africa</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/fighting-cubas-boxing-ban">Fighting Cuba’s Boxing Ban</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/my-long-unfinished-path-to-becoming-an-american-citizen">My Long, Unfinished Path to Becoming an American Citizen</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:5;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:37:"Eugene O’Neill’s Vexing Outsiders";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:85:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/eugene-oneills-vexing-outsiders?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331505";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Mon, 03 Apr 2017 04:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:11:"The Theatre";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1619:"Eugene O’Neill grew up in a show-business milieu, which means that, unlike most white Americans who were born at the end of the nineteenth century, he was exposed to different kinds of people early in his life. Actually, O’Neill’s understanding of difference began at home. His father, the actor James O’Neill, was born in Ireland and made his way in the United States at a time when anti-Irish discrimination was at its height. Before O’Neill addressed that experience directly in his late masterpiece “Long Day’s Journey Into Night,” which was published posthumously in 1956, he produced a number of narratives about other types of male outsiders, the most interesting and vexing of whom are black, or ostensibly black. As with other modernists, including Gertrude Stein, in her 1909 story “Melanctha,” the reality of black-American life wasn’t O’Neill’s primary concern. He was more focussed on the question of how to make a “new” language live in an old form, and what could be more dramatic for his largely white audiences than black bodies exhibiting their distinctly American suffering and triumph? 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His father, the actor James O’Neill, was born in Ireland and made his way in the United States at a time when anti-Irish discrimination was at its height. Before O’Neill addressed that experience directly in his late masterpiece “Long Day’s Journey Into Night,” which was published posthumously in 1956, he produced a number of narratives about other types of male outsiders, the most interesting and vexing of whom are black, or ostensibly black. As with other modernists, including Gertrude Stein, in her 1909 story “Melanctha,” the reality of black-American life wasn’t O’Neill’s primary concern. He was more focussed on the question of how to make a “new” language live in an old form, and what could be more dramatic for his largely white audiences than black bodies exhibiting their distinctly American suffering and triumph? O’Neill was drawn to exoticism even as he empathized with marginalization, and his dramaturgy is shot through with contradictions. He was an unusual product of his time, but that doesn’t mean he was exempt from its backward thinking, which makes his portraits of black men under duress, in one-act plays such as “Thirst” (1914), “The Dreamy Kid” (1919), and “The Emperor Jones” (1920), at once unbelievable, riveting, clichéd, politically astute, and bizarre.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/eugene-oneills-vexing-outsiders?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/sarah-larson/ars-novas-brilliant-career">Ars Nova’s Brilliant Career</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/the-heaviness-of-memory-in-arthur-millers-the-price">The Heaviness of Memory in Arthur Miller’s “The Price”</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/the-fate-of-the-critic-in-the-clickbait-age">The Fate of the Critic in the Clickbait Age</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:6;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:33:"Where the Beauty Queens Duelled ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:85:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/where-the-beauty-queens-duelled?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3332370";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Mon, 03 Apr 2017 04:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:10:"The Boards";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:383:"“Let’s start the tour at Frank Campbell,” Lindy Woodhead suggested, from the back seat of a limo. Woodhead—blond, vivacious, and ample—is the author of “War Paint,” a joint biography of the duelling beauty queens Helena Rubinstein and Elizabeth Arden, which has been turned into a Broadway musical of the same title, starring Patti LuPone and Christine Ebersole.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:14:"Judith Thurman";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1036:"“Let’s start the tour at Frank Campbell,” Lindy Woodhead suggested, from the back seat of a limo. Woodhead—blond, vivacious, and ample—is the author of “War Paint,” a joint biography of the duelling beauty queens Helena Rubinstein and Elizabeth Arden, which has been turned into a Broadway musical of the same title, starring Patti LuPone and Christine Ebersole.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/where-the-beauty-queens-duelled?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/cartoons/issue-cartoons/slide-show-new-yorker-cartoons-april-10-2017">Cartoons from the April 10, 2017, Issue</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/fiction-this-week-emma-cline-2017-04-10">This Week in Fiction: Emma Cline on a Father Confronting His Son’s Transgression</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/jia-tolentino/the-cathartic-finale-of-big-little-lies">The Cathartic Finale of “Big Little Lies”</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:7;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:5:"Arrow";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:59:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/arrow?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331905";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Mon, 03 Apr 2017 04:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:5:"Poems";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:368:" I lived and died like an animal.If death by arrow, death by feather,death by sweet spot.Heel;rise, red dog.I see now what you’ve been sniffing:wings.What you’ve been licking: all those bright, bright teeth.You said, Angel.I said, Anchordragging this body.The way the sea isthe vein is.The doctors advise,Too late now;you’ve got to livewith it in you.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:13:"Beth Bachmann";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:995:" I lived and died like an animal.If death by arrow, death by feather,death by sweet spot.Heel;rise, red dog.I see now what you’ve been sniffing:wings.What you’ve been licking: all those bright, bright teeth.You said, Angel.I said, Anchordragging this body.The way the sea isthe vein is.The doctors advise,Too late now;you’ve got to livewith it in you.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/arrow?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/cartoons/issue-cartoons/slide-show-new-yorker-cartoons-april-10-2017">Cartoons from the April 10, 2017, Issue</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/fiction-this-week-emma-cline-2017-04-10">This Week in Fiction: Emma Cline on a Father Confronting His Son’s Transgression</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/jia-tolentino/the-cathartic-finale-of-big-little-lies">The Cathartic Finale of “Big Little Lies”</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:8;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:39:"The Historian Making Science Come Alive";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:93:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/the-historian-making-science-come-alive?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3332369";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Mon, 03 Apr 2017 04:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:12:"Legacy Dept.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:493:"We all want to leave something behind when we go. The architectural historian Christopher Gray, who died this month, at the age of sixty-six, left a richer legacy than most. There is the Office of Metropolitan History, the business he founded, which is dedicated to digging up blueprints for old New York City buildings. And there’s the nearly thirty years’ worth of “Streetscape” columns he wrote for the Times, which chronicled the city’s unheralded architectural treasures.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:17:"Lizzie Widdicombe";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1106:"We all want to leave something behind when we go. The architectural historian Christopher Gray, who died this month, at the age of sixty-six, left a richer legacy than most. There is the Office of Metropolitan History, the business he founded, which is dedicated to digging up blueprints for old New York City buildings. And there’s the nearly thirty years’ worth of “Streetscape” columns he wrote for the Times, which chronicled the city’s unheralded architectural treasures.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/the-historian-making-science-come-alive?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/finding-solace-in-tracy-k-smiths-prescient-poem-solstice">Finding Solace in Tracy K. Smith’s Prescient Poem “Solstice”</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/when-john-berger-looked-at-death">When John Berger Looked at Death</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/carrie-fishers-powerful-force">Carrie Fisher’s Powerful Force</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:9;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:6:"Gelato";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:60:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/gelato?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331906";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Mon, 03 Apr 2017 04:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:5:"Poems";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1235:" The two nuns I saw I urged to convert to Luther or better yet to jointhe Unitarians, and the Jews I encountered to think seriously aboutJesus, especially the Lubavitchers,and I interrupted the sewer workersdigging up dirt to ask themhow many spoonfuls of sugar they put in their coffee and the runners in their red silk to warn them aboutthe fake fruit in their yogurt sinceto begin with I was in such a good mood this morning, I waited patientlyfor the two young poets driving over fromJersey City to talk about the late Forties and what they were to me when I was their age and we turned to Chinese poetry and Kenneth Rexroth’s “Hundred Poems” and ended uptalking about the Bollingen and Pound’s stupid admiration of Mussoliniand how our main poets were on the rightpolitically—most of them—unlike the European and South American, and we climbed some stepsinto a restaurant I knew to buy gelatoand since we were poets we went by the names,instead of the tastes and colors—and I stopped talking and froze beside a small tree since I wasolder than Pound was when he went silent and kissed Ginsberg, a cousin to the Rothschilds,who had the key to the ghetto in his pocket,one box over and two rows up, he told me. ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:12:"Gerald Stern";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1863:" The two nuns I saw I urged to convert to Luther or better yet to jointhe Unitarians, and the Jews I encountered to think seriously aboutJesus, especially the Lubavitchers,and I interrupted the sewer workersdigging up dirt to ask themhow many spoonfuls of sugar they put in their coffee and the runners in their red silk to warn them aboutthe fake fruit in their yogurt sinceto begin with I was in such a good mood this morning, I waited patientlyfor the two young poets driving over fromJersey City to talk about the late Forties and what they were to me when I was their age and we turned to Chinese poetry and Kenneth Rexroth’s “Hundred Poems” and ended uptalking about the Bollingen and Pound’s stupid admiration of Mussoliniand how our main poets were on the rightpolitically—most of them—unlike the European and South American, and we climbed some stepsinto a restaurant I knew to buy gelatoand since we were poets we went by the names,instead of the tastes and colors—and I stopped talking and froze beside a small tree since I wasolder than Pound was when he went silent and kissed Ginsberg, a cousin to the Rothschilds,who had the key to the ghetto in his pocket,one box over and two rows up, he told me. <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/gelato?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/cartoons/issue-cartoons/slide-show-new-yorker-cartoons-april-10-2017">Cartoons from the April 10, 2017, Issue</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/fiction-this-week-emma-cline-2017-04-10">This Week in Fiction: Emma Cline on a Father Confronting His Son’s Transgression</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/jia-tolentino/the-cathartic-finale-of-big-little-lies">The Cathartic Finale of “Big Little Lies”</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:10;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:20:"Death of a Dystopian";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:74:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/death-of-a-dystopian?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331496";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Mon, 03 Apr 2017 04:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:19:"American Chronicles";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:485:"David Crowley began keeping a journal in April of 2014. He was twenty-eight years old, and he lived in Apple Valley, Minnesota, with his wife, Komel, and their four-year-old daughter, Raniya. The journal was “a life report, since I suspect my feelings right now in nostalgia or reflection might be of value,” Crowley wrote. By the time he stopped making entries, seven months later, he had inadvertently created a psychological document of which very few examples are known.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:14:"Alec Wilkinson";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1169:"David Crowley began keeping a journal in April of 2014. He was twenty-eight years old, and he lived in Apple Valley, Minnesota, with his wife, Komel, and their four-year-old daughter, Raniya. The journal was “a life report, since I suspect my feelings right now in nostalgia or reflection might be of value,” Crowley wrote. By the time he stopped making entries, seven months later, he had inadvertently created a psychological document of which very few examples are known.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/death-of-a-dystopian?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/richard-brody/the-front-row-the-story-of-the-last-chrysanthemum-a-masterpiece-about-art-and-sacrifice">The Front Row: “The Story of the Last Chrysanthemum,” a Masterpiece About Art and Sacrifice</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/richard-brody/busby-berkeleys-personalized-beauty">Busby Berkeley’s Personalized Beauty</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/cartoons/daily-cartoon/wednesday-august-3rd-libertarian-cat">Daily Cartoon: Wednesday, August 3rd</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:11;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:13:"Briefly Noted";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:110:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/one-of-the-boys-class-the-great-leveler-and-word-by-word?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331502";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Mon, 03 Apr 2017 04:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:5:"Books";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:697:" One of the Boys, by Daniel Magariel (Scribner). In this haunting début novel, two unnamed brothers move from Kansas to New Mexico with their mercurial, charming father in the wake of a divorce and custody battle. They initially see the move as a grand adventure, but slowly discover the extent of their father’s addiction to crack cocaine. As he becomes increasingly paranoid and violent, the brothers, trapped with him in a claustrophobic apartment, desperately form a pact to escape. “Our dad was an act with a single end,” the younger boy observes. “And it wasn’t that I didn’t care anymore. He was my father. It was just that we had spent far too long as his audience.”";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:0:"";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1193:" One of the Boys, by Daniel Magariel (Scribner). In this haunting début novel, two unnamed brothers move from Kansas to New Mexico with their mercurial, charming father in the wake of a divorce and custody battle. They initially see the move as a grand adventure, but slowly discover the extent of their father’s addiction to crack cocaine. As he becomes increasingly paranoid and violent, the brothers, trapped with him in a claustrophobic apartment, desperately form a pact to escape. “Our dad was an act with a single end,” the younger boy observes. “And it wasn’t that I didn’t care anymore. He was my father. It was just that we had spent far too long as his audience.”<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/one-of-the-boys-class-the-great-leveler-and-word-by-word?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/daily-comment/comment-from-the-april-25-2016-issue">Comment from the April 25, 2016, Issue</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/richard-brody/metropolitan-and-the-enduring-plight-of-u-h-b">“Metropolitan” and the Enduring Plight of the U.H.B.</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:12;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:8:"The Mail";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:90:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/letters-from-the-april-10-2017-issue?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331489";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Mon, 03 Apr 2017 04:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:8:"The Mail";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1498:" The Billionaires’ President As a former corruptions investigator for New York State during the nineteen-seventies, I was pleased to see Jane Mayer’s article on the libertarian billionaire Robert Mercer and his family, who spent many millions of dollars to elect Donald Trump (“Trump’s Money Man,” March 27th). Unfortunately, little attention has been paid to what one Mercer organization, Reclaim New York, has been doing in this state. As Mayer reported, Reclaim, ostensibly a nonprofit advocacy group that opposes government spending, has shared an address with Cambridge Analytica, as well as a corporate officer—Steve Bannon. Reclaim’s strategy is to demand extensive data from municipalities and school districts, requests that are used to burden and shame public employees, furthering Reclaim’s libertarian and so-called alt-right political agenda throughout the state. The organization has weaponized the state’s Freedom of Information Law to “request,” and sue for, financial documents from two hundred and fifty villages, towns, and cities in Orange, Westchester, Putnam, and other counties in New York. Reclaim also holds local “workshops” to build a “citizen army” that floods communities with public-information requests. Its ultimate goal is to overwhelm governments and achieve the deconstruction of the administrative state. Through groups like Reclaim, the Mercer family’s circle of influence extends far beyond even what Mayer has uncovered.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:0:"";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:2156:" The Billionaires’ President As a former corruptions investigator for New York State during the nineteen-seventies, I was pleased to see Jane Mayer’s article on the libertarian billionaire Robert Mercer and his family, who spent many millions of dollars to elect Donald Trump (“Trump’s Money Man,” March 27th). Unfortunately, little attention has been paid to what one Mercer organization, Reclaim New York, has been doing in this state. As Mayer reported, Reclaim, ostensibly a nonprofit advocacy group that opposes government spending, has shared an address with Cambridge Analytica, as well as a corporate officer—Steve Bannon. Reclaim’s strategy is to demand extensive data from municipalities and school districts, requests that are used to burden and shame public employees, furthering Reclaim’s libertarian and so-called alt-right political agenda throughout the state. The organization has weaponized the state’s Freedom of Information Law to “request,” and sue for, financial documents from two hundred and fifty villages, towns, and cities in Orange, Westchester, Putnam, and other counties in New York. Reclaim also holds local “workshops” to build a “citizen army” that floods communities with public-information requests. Its ultimate goal is to overwhelm governments and achieve the deconstruction of the administrative state. Through groups like Reclaim, the Mercer family’s circle of influence extends far beyond even what Mayer has uncovered.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/letters-from-the-april-10-2017-issue?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/cartoons/issue-cartoons/slide-show-new-yorker-cartoons-april-10-2017">Cartoons from the April 10, 2017, Issue</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/fiction-this-week-emma-cline-2017-04-10">This Week in Fiction: Emma Cline on a Father Confronting His Son’s Transgression</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/jia-tolentino/the-cathartic-finale-of-big-little-lies">The Cathartic Finale of “Big Little Lies”</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:13;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"Why Dana Schutz Painted Emmett Till";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:89:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/why-dana-schutz-painted-emmett-till?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331497";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Mon, 03 Apr 2017 04:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:13:"The Art World";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:856:"Dana Schutz’s studio, in the Gowanus section of Brooklyn, may not be as catastrophically messy as Francis Bacon’s used to be, but there are days when it comes close. Last July, she was making paintings for a solo show, in the fall, at Contemporary Fine Arts, Berlin, and for the 2017 Whitney Biennial, in New York. Large and medium-sized canvases in varying stages of completion covered most of the wall space in the studio, a long, windowless room that was once an auto-body shop, and the floor was a palimpsest of rags, used paper palettes, brushes, metal tubs filled with defunct tubes of Old Holland oil paint, colored pencils and broken charcoal sticks, cans of solvent, spavined art books, pages torn from magazines, bundled work clothes stiff with paint, paper towels, a prelapsarian boom box, empty Roach Motel cartons, and other debris.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:14:"Calvin Tomkins";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1435:"Dana Schutz’s studio, in the Gowanus section of Brooklyn, may not be as catastrophically messy as Francis Bacon’s used to be, but there are days when it comes close. Last July, she was making paintings for a solo show, in the fall, at Contemporary Fine Arts, Berlin, and for the 2017 Whitney Biennial, in New York. Large and medium-sized canvases in varying stages of completion covered most of the wall space in the studio, a long, windowless room that was once an auto-body shop, and the floor was a palimpsest of rags, used paper palettes, brushes, metal tubs filled with defunct tubes of Old Holland oil paint, colored pencils and broken charcoal sticks, cans of solvent, spavined art books, pages torn from magazines, bundled work clothes stiff with paint, paper towels, a prelapsarian boom box, empty Roach Motel cartons, and other debris.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/why-dana-schutz-painted-emmett-till?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/when-the-oppens-gave-up-art-to-fight-fascism">When the Oppens Gave Up Art to Fight Fascism</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/our-artists-get-ready-for-thanksgiving">Our Artists Get Ready for Thanksgiving</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/things-artists-compete-for">Things Artists Compete For</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:14;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:39:"How We Misunderstand Mass Incarceration";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:93:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/how-we-misunderstand-mass-incarceration?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331504";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Mon, 03 Apr 2017 04:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:5:"Books";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:924:"Reformers are famously prey to the fanaticism of reform. A sense of indignation and a good cause lead first to moral urgency, and then soon afterward to repetition, whereby the reformers become captive to their own rhetoric, usually at a cost to their cause. Crusaders against widespread alcoholism (as acute a problem in 1910 as the opioid epidemic is today) advanced to the folly of Prohibition, which created a set of organized-crime institutions whose effects have scarcely just passed. Progressive Era trade unionists, fending off corporate thugs, could steer into thuggish forms of Stalinism. Those with the moral courage to protest the Vietnam War sometimes became blinded to the reality of the North Vietnamese government—and on and on. It seems fair to say that a readiness to amend and reconsider the case being made is exactly what separates a genuine reforming instinct from a merely self-righteous one.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:11:"Adam Gopnik";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1612:"Reformers are famously prey to the fanaticism of reform. A sense of indignation and a good cause lead first to moral urgency, and then soon afterward to repetition, whereby the reformers become captive to their own rhetoric, usually at a cost to their cause. Crusaders against widespread alcoholism (as acute a problem in 1910 as the opioid epidemic is today) advanced to the folly of Prohibition, which created a set of organized-crime institutions whose effects have scarcely just passed. Progressive Era trade unionists, fending off corporate thugs, could steer into thuggish forms of Stalinism. Those with the moral courage to protest the Vietnam War sometimes became blinded to the reality of the North Vietnamese government—and on and on. It seems fair to say that a readiness to amend and reconsider the case being made is exactly what separates a genuine reforming instinct from a merely self-righteous one.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/how-we-misunderstand-mass-incarceration?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/a-french-novelist-confronts-orientalism">A French Novelist Confronts Orientalism</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/the-claustrophobic-paranoia-of-walt-whitmans-lost-novel">The Claustrophobic Paranoia of Walt Whitman’s Lost Novel</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/memoirs-of-addiction-and-ambition-by-cat-marnell-and-julia-phillips">Memoirs of Addiction and Ambition by Cat Marnell and Julia Phillips</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:15;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:33:"Tucker Carlson’s Fighting Words";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:84:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/tucker-carlsons-fighting-words?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331499";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Mon, 03 Apr 2017 04:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:8:"Profiles";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1085:"Tucker Carlson started wearing a bow tie in 1984, when he was in tenth grade at St. George’s, a Rhode Island prep school with a dress code. He stopped wearing a bow tie on April 11, 2006, acknowledging the change in the final minutes of the show he hosted on MSNBC. “I like bow ties, and I certainly spent a lot of time defending them,” he said. “But, from now on, I’m going without.” The affectation had come to define him: Carlson was primarily known—and, in no small number of television households, reviled—as the self-assured young conservative who dressed like a spelling-bee champion. MSNBC advertised his program with posters that read, “The Man. The Legend. The Bow Tie.” He had been wearing a bow tie when, in 2004, Jon Stewart paid him a visit on CNN, to tell him that “Crossfire,” which Carlson was then co-hosting, was “hurting America,” and to call him a “dick.” And Carlson wore one again during a disastrous appearance on “Dancing with the Stars,” in which he was eliminated after his first routine, a semi-stationary cha-cha.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:13:"Kelefa Sanneh";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1811:"Tucker Carlson started wearing a bow tie in 1984, when he was in tenth grade at St. George’s, a Rhode Island prep school with a dress code. He stopped wearing a bow tie on April 11, 2006, acknowledging the change in the final minutes of the show he hosted on MSNBC. “I like bow ties, and I certainly spent a lot of time defending them,” he said. “But, from now on, I’m going without.” The affectation had come to define him: Carlson was primarily known—and, in no small number of television households, reviled—as the self-assured young conservative who dressed like a spelling-bee champion. MSNBC advertised his program with posters that read, “The Man. The Legend. The Bow Tie.” He had been wearing a bow tie when, in 2004, Jon Stewart paid him a visit on CNN, to tell him that “Crossfire,” which Carlson was then co-hosting, was “hurting America,” and to call him a “dick.” And Carlson wore one again during a disastrous appearance on “Dancing with the Stars,” in which he was eliminated after his first routine, a semi-stationary cha-cha.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/tucker-carlsons-fighting-words?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/a-never-trump-conservative-adjusts-to-the-new-administration">A “Never Trump” Conservative Adjusts to the New Administration</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/ryan-lizza/how-alt-right-fellow-traveller-milo-yiannopoulos-cracked-up-the-right">How Alt-Right “Fellow-Traveller” Milo Yiannopoulos Cracked Up the Right</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/why-havent-conservative-thinkers-denounced-trump">Why Haven’t Conservative Thinkers Denounced Trump?</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:16;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Where Prince Charles Went Wrong";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:85:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/where-prince-charles-went-wrong?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331503";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Mon, 03 Apr 2017 04:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:5:"Books";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:774:"For at least a decade, senior aides at Buckingham Palace have been quietly finessing arrangements for the moment when the Queen dies and her son Prince Charles becomes sovereign. One of their chief concerns, apparently, is that republicans may try to use the interval between the death of the old monarch and the coronation of the new one to whip up anti-royal sentiment. In order to minimize the potential for such rabble-rousing, they propose to speed things up as much as decorum will allow: in contrast to the stately sixteen-month pause that elapsed between the death of King George VI, in February, 1952, and the anointing of the Queen, in June, 1953, King Charles III will be whisked to Westminster Abbey no later than three months after his mother’s demise.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:11:"Zoë Heller";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1454:"For at least a decade, senior aides at Buckingham Palace have been quietly finessing arrangements for the moment when the Queen dies and her son Prince Charles becomes sovereign. One of their chief concerns, apparently, is that republicans may try to use the interval between the death of the old monarch and the coronation of the new one to whip up anti-royal sentiment. In order to minimize the potential for such rabble-rousing, they propose to speed things up as much as decorum will allow: in contrast to the stately sixteen-month pause that elapsed between the death of King George VI, in February, 1952, and the anointing of the Queen, in June, 1953, King Charles III will be whisked to Westminster Abbey no later than three months after his mother’s demise.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/where-prince-charles-went-wrong?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/a-french-novelist-confronts-orientalism">A French Novelist Confronts Orientalism</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/the-claustrophobic-paranoia-of-walt-whitmans-lost-novel">The Claustrophobic Paranoia of Walt Whitman’s Lost Novel</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/memoirs-of-addiction-and-ambition-by-cat-marnell-and-julia-phillips">Memoirs of Addiction and Ambition by Cat Marnell and Julia Phillips</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:17;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:33:"Listening for Traffic on the Ones";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:87:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/listening-for-traffic-on-the-ones?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331500";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Mon, 03 Apr 2017 04:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:16:"Shouts & Murmurs";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:184:"08:01:30—Oh, hell, it’s matinée day. The Lincoln Tunnel’s probably stopped dead. Better turn on the radio and catch Traffic on the Ones before I miss it.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:13:"Glenn Eichler";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:763:"08:01:30—Oh, hell, it’s matinée day. The Lincoln Tunnel’s probably stopped dead. Better turn on the radio and catch Traffic on the Ones before I miss it.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/listening-for-traffic-on-the-ones?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/frank-ocean-is-making-radio-pop-at-last">Frank Ocean Is Making “Radio Pop,” at Last</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/millennial-prenup">Millennial Prenup</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/a-selection-of-the-30-most-disappointing-under-30">A Selection of the 30 Most Disappointing Under 30</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:18;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:32:"Apple Maps’ “Koch” Blunder";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:77:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/apple-maps-koch-blunder?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3332368";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Mon, 03 Apr 2017 04:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:21:"Slight Headache Dept.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:573:"Most New Yorkers, according to one poll, didn’t much like it when, in 2011, the city renamed the Queensboro Bridge for former Mayor Ed Koch. The response may not have had much to do with their feelings for Koch. The bridge already had a perfectly good name, and a no-baloney alias as well: the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge, perhaps best blurted in the voice of the late columnist Jimmy Breslin. (Breslin, for what it’s worth, didn’t like Koch. He was more of a Mario Cuomo guy. Cuomo doesn’t have a bridge, or a tunnel, yet.) The new name didn’t really stick.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:15:"Nick Paumgarten";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:985:"Most New Yorkers, according to one poll, didn’t much like it when, in 2011, the city renamed the Queensboro Bridge for former Mayor Ed Koch. The response may not have had much to do with their feelings for Koch. The bridge already had a perfectly good name, and a no-baloney alias as well: the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge, perhaps best blurted in the voice of the late columnist Jimmy Breslin. (Breslin, for what it’s worth, didn’t like Koch. He was more of a Mario Cuomo guy. Cuomo doesn’t have a bridge, or a tunnel, yet.) The new name didn’t really stick.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/apple-maps-koch-blunder?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/video-gloria-steinem-doesnt-drive">Video: “Gloria Steinem Doesn’t Drive”</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/ayn-rand-writ-very-large">Ayn Rand Writ (Very) Large</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:19;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:45:"The Cathartic Finale of “Big Little Lies”";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:95:"http://www.newyorker.com/culture/jia-tolentino/the-cathartic-finale-of-big-little-lies?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3333145";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Mon, 03 Apr 2017 02:00:23 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:623:"In the first few minutes of the first episode of HBO’s “<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/03/06/the-surprising-generosity-of-big-little-lies">Big Little Lies</a>,” the limited series that wrapped up on Sunday night, we are presented with the show’s central mystery: a brutal murder at a glitzy fund-raiser at the Otter Bay Elementary School, in Monterey, California. Quick cuts from police interviews—idle, bitchy speculation tendered by well-off parents—provide the show’s Greek chorus, breaking up the voluptuous, extended flashbacks that lead the viewer back to the night of the crime.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:13:"Jia Tolentino";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1344:"In the first few minutes of the first episode of HBO’s “<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/03/06/the-surprising-generosity-of-big-little-lies">Big Little Lies</a>,” the limited series that wrapped up on Sunday night, we are presented with the show’s central mystery: a brutal murder at a glitzy fund-raiser at the Otter Bay Elementary School, in Monterey, California. Quick cuts from police interviews—idle, bitchy speculation tendered by well-off parents—provide the show’s Greek chorus, breaking up the voluptuous, extended flashbacks that lead the viewer back to the night of the crime.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/jia-tolentino/the-cathartic-finale-of-big-little-lies?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/persons-of-interest/dustin-lance-black-the-screenwriter-behind-milk-and-when-we-rise-on-coming-out-as-a-gay-activist">Dustin Lance Black, the Screenwriter Behind “Milk” and “When We Rise,” on Coming Out As a Gay Activist</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/cartoons/daily-cartoon/wednesday-february-22nd-trump-watching-tv">Daily Cartoon: Wednesday, February 22nd</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/fighting-the-good-fight">Fighting “The Good Fight”</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:20;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:45:"Laura Kipnis’s Battle Against Vulnerability";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:104:"http://www.newyorker.com/culture/persons-of-interest/laura-kipniss-battle-against-vulnerability?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3333024";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Sun, 02 Apr 2017 18:04:42 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1636:"In 2015, students at Northwestern University responded to an article in the Chronicle of Higher Education with a protest march. Some carried mattresses. The author of the article, Laura Kipnis, a tenured faculty member at Northwestern, had gleefully denounced the state of campus sexual politics. Kipnis’s immediate target was a university policy, introduced the year before, that prohibited all romantic or sexual relationships between students and university staff or faculty members. In the piece, titled “<a href="http://www.chronicle.com/article/Sexual-Paranoia-Strikes/190351" target="_blank">Sexual Paranoia Strikes Academe</a>,” she critiqued a “new paradigm” of trigger warnings and trauma, in which students had become “committed to their own vulnerability, conditioned to imagine they have no agency, and protected from unequal power arrangements in romantic life.” Kipnis, who has written books including “Against Love” and “<a rel="nofollow" href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/1250075165/?tag=thneyo0f-20" target="_blank">Men: Notes from an Ongoing Investigation</a>,” often voices controversial or contrarian views; here, as always, she took pleasure in stirring up a hornets’ nest. In a telling anecdote, she related that, a decade earlier, she had voluntarily attended a harassment workshop on campus (“Hoping my good citizenship might be noticed,” she wrote). The first guideline issued by the workshop leader was “Do not make unwanted sexual advances.” Kipnis couldn’t help herself. From the back of the room she called, “But how do you know they’re unwanted until you try?”";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:19:"Christine Smallwood";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:2348:"In 2015, students at Northwestern University responded to an article in the Chronicle of Higher Education with a protest march. Some carried mattresses. The author of the article, Laura Kipnis, a tenured faculty member at Northwestern, had gleefully denounced the state of campus sexual politics. Kipnis’s immediate target was a university policy, introduced the year before, that prohibited all romantic or sexual relationships between students and university staff or faculty members. In the piece, titled “<a href="http://www.chronicle.com/article/Sexual-Paranoia-Strikes/190351" target="_blank">Sexual Paranoia Strikes Academe</a>,” she critiqued a “new paradigm” of trigger warnings and trauma, in which students had become “committed to their own vulnerability, conditioned to imagine they have no agency, and protected from unequal power arrangements in romantic life.” Kipnis, who has written books including “Against Love” and “<a rel="nofollow" href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/1250075165/?tag=thneyo0f-20" target="_blank">Men: Notes from an Ongoing Investigation</a>,” often voices controversial or contrarian views; here, as always, she took pleasure in stirring up a hornets’ nest. In a telling anecdote, she related that, a decade earlier, she had voluntarily attended a harassment workshop on campus (“Hoping my good citizenship might be noticed,” she wrote). The first guideline issued by the workshop leader was “Do not make unwanted sexual advances.” Kipnis couldn’t help herself. From the back of the room she called, “But how do you know they’re unwanted until you try?”<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/persons-of-interest/laura-kipniss-battle-against-vulnerability?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/theres-been-a-nuclear-war-but-political-correctness-is-the-real-problem">I Know There’s Been a Nuclear War, but Political Correctness Is the Real Problem</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/benjamin-wallace-wells/how-the-democrats-became-the-party-of-the-university">How the Democrats Became the Party of the University</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/jia-tolentino/lionel-shriver-puts-on-a-sombrero">Lionel Shriver Puts On a Sombrero</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:21;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:34:"Catching California’s Superbloom";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:86:"http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/catching-californias-superbloom?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3332522";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Sun, 02 Apr 2017 17:30:30 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:677:"The line to see the Superbloom was twenty-five cars long. It cost ten dollars to gain access to the park, where you could walk among the flowers that had bloomed as a result of the drought-busting rains that had fallen on California. It was possible to enjoy the bloom for free, as I had, when I’d pulled off the road two miles back and climbed up a hill at the first sight of flowers. But, from there, amid a smattering of poppies, I could see in the distance a much denser spot of orange (a Hyperbloom, I wondered?), so I got into my car and continued down the road, to the kiosk at the Antelope Valley Poppy Reserve, where the park ranger collected my ten dollars.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:19:"Jamie Lauren Keiles";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1388:"The line to see the Superbloom was twenty-five cars long. It cost ten dollars to gain access to the park, where you could walk among the flowers that had bloomed as a result of the drought-busting rains that had fallen on California. It was possible to enjoy the bloom for free, as I had, when I’d pulled off the road two miles back and climbed up a hill at the first sight of flowers. But, from there, amid a smattering of poppies, I could see in the distance a much denser spot of orange (a Hyperbloom, I wondered?), so I got into my car and continued down the road, to the kiosk at the Antelope Valley Poppy Reserve, where the park ranger collected my ten dollars.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/catching-californias-superbloom?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/tech/elements/californias-drought-may-be-over-but-its-water-troubles-arent">California’s Drought May Be Over, But Its Water Troubles Aren’t</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/tech/elements/central-indias-ugly-fight-for-environmental-justice">Central India’s Ugly Fight for Environmental Justice</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/daily-comment/the-congressman-whos-trying-to-make-the-environment-worse-again">The Congressman Who’s Trying to Make the Environment Worse, Again</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:22;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:33:"The Dream Chasers of Pro Baseball";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:87:"http://www.newyorker.com/culture/photo-booth/the-dream-chasers-of-pro-baseball?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331796";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Sun, 02 Apr 2017 16:40:44 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:866:" Professional baseball, in theory, follows a linear narrative: Single-A comes before Double-A, Double-A before Triple-A, and Triple-A before the major leagues. In fact, though, only a minuscule percentage of pro players ever play a single game as a major leaguer. When I joined the minor leagues, as a first-round draft pick for the Chicago Cubs, in 1991, I was aware of these slim chances, but I was also naïve about life beyond my amateur status. My “first rounder” stamp armed me with a certain advantage. First-round picks get the big bonuses soon after signing that first professional contract, and, because they’ve been labelled as having a valuable and necessary set of skills, they have more opportunities to develop, thrive, and learn; being so ordained gave me the most certainty of success that the game can offer—which is never much.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:14:"Doug Glanville";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1527:" Professional baseball, in theory, follows a linear narrative: Single-A comes before Double-A, Double-A before Triple-A, and Triple-A before the major leagues. In fact, though, only a minuscule percentage of pro players ever play a single game as a major leaguer. When I joined the minor leagues, as a first-round draft pick for the Chicago Cubs, in 1991, I was aware of these slim chances, but I was also naïve about life beyond my amateur status. My “first rounder” stamp armed me with a certain advantage. First-round picks get the big bonuses soon after signing that first professional contract, and, because they’ve been labelled as having a valuable and necessary set of skills, they have more opportunities to develop, thrive, and learn; being so ordained gave me the most certainty of success that the game can offer—which is never much.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/photo-booth/the-dream-chasers-of-pro-baseball?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/photo-booth/remembering-ed-whitlock-the-marathoner-who-was-still-breaking-records-at-eighty-five">Remembering Ed Whitlock, the Marathoner Who Was Still Breaking Records at Eighty-Five</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/sporting-scene/can-the-cubs-do-it-again">Can the Cubs Do It Again?</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/photo-booth/the-exhibit-that-transformed-photography">The Exhibit That Transformed Photography</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:23;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:67:"This Macy’s One-Day Sale Has Been Going On for Twenty-Three Years";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:117:"http://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/this-macys-one-day-sale-has-been-going-on-for-twenty-three-years?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331350";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Sun, 02 Apr 2017 15:30:15 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:414:"Welcome to Macy&#8217;s! My name is Trevor, and if you need any assistance at all don&#8217;t hesitate to ask. Right now we have a special one-day sale, so many of our items are fifty to eighty per cent off—and that&#8217;s before using a coupon! These one-day sales are rare, so you should really take advantage of the special opportunity. This one has only been going on for the past twenty-three years.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:12:"Keaton Patti";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1054:"Welcome to Macy&#8217;s! My name is Trevor, and if you need any assistance at all don&#8217;t hesitate to ask. Right now we have a special one-day sale, so many of our items are fifty to eighty per cent off—and that&#8217;s before using a coupon! These one-day sales are rare, so you should really take advantage of the special opportunity. This one has only been going on for the past twenty-three years.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/this-macys-one-day-sale-has-been-going-on-for-twenty-three-years?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/my-qualifications-for-aiding-the-resistance">My Qualifications for Aiding the Resistance</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/cartoons/daily-cartoon/friday-march-31st-april-fools-trump">Daily Cartoon: Friday, March 31st</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/the-handmaids-tale-the-lost-pence-prequel">“The Handmaid’s Tale”: The Lost Pence Prequel</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:24;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:61:"Did the U.S. Just Pull Out of a Global Anti-Corruption Group?";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:116:"http://www.newyorker.com/business/adam-davidson/did-the-u-s-just-pull-out-of-a-global-anti-corruption-group?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331265";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Sun, 02 Apr 2017 13:00:24 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:522:"There is a mystery unfolding in the U.S. Department of the Interior. Officials there seem to have removed the United States from a singularly successful anti-corruption effort. This has happened largely in secret, aside from a few public statements in legalese that are nearly impossible to parse. At times, bureaucrats in the department have behaved in ways that—it’s hard to think of another word—seem un-American, literally silencing dissent in open forums and abruptly cutting off contact with the public.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:13:"Adam Davidson";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1174:"There is a mystery unfolding in the U.S. Department of the Interior. Officials there seem to have removed the United States from a singularly successful anti-corruption effort. This has happened largely in secret, aside from a few public statements in legalese that are nearly impossible to parse. At times, bureaucrats in the department have behaved in ways that—it’s hard to think of another word—seem un-American, literally silencing dissent in open forums and abruptly cutting off contact with the public.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/business/adam-davidson/did-the-u-s-just-pull-out-of-a-global-anti-corruption-group?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/john-cassidy/the-keystone-kops-in-the-white-house">The Keystone Kops in the White House</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/ivanka-trump-tries-to-quiet-the-ethics-critics">Ivanka Trump Tries to Quiet the Ethics Critics</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/business/currency/how-trump-could-make-nafta-better-but-probably-wont">How Trump Could Make NAFTA Better but Probably Won’t</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:25;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:20:"Where the Water Goes";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:68:"http://www.newyorker.com/tech/elements/where-the-water-goes?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3332088";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Sun, 02 Apr 2017 11:00:36 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:863:"In 1976, when I was twenty-one, I spent the summer living in a rented house in Colorado Springs and working on the grounds crew of an apartment complex on what was then the outskirts of the city. During most of day, my co-workers and I moved hoses and sprinklers around the property, to keep the grass green; then we mowed what we had grown. Watering was like a race. The grass began to turn brown almost the moment we moved our sprinklers, partly because we were a mile above sea level in what is essentially a desert, and partly because the apartment complex had been built on porous ground, on the site of an old quarry. One night, I dreamed that one of the Rain Bird rotary sprinklers we used at work was keeping me awake by rhythmically spraying me in bed, and I made a mental note to ask my housemate not to water my room while I was trying to sleep.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:10:"David Owen";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1446:"In 1976, when I was twenty-one, I spent the summer living in a rented house in Colorado Springs and working on the grounds crew of an apartment complex on what was then the outskirts of the city. During most of day, my co-workers and I moved hoses and sprinklers around the property, to keep the grass green; then we mowed what we had grown. Watering was like a race. The grass began to turn brown almost the moment we moved our sprinklers, partly because we were a mile above sea level in what is essentially a desert, and partly because the apartment complex had been built on porous ground, on the site of an old quarry. One night, I dreamed that one of the Rain Bird rotary sprinklers we used at work was keeping me awake by rhythmically spraying me in bed, and I made a mental note to ask my housemate not to water my room while I was trying to sleep.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/tech/elements/where-the-water-goes?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/fine-ill-drink-more-water">Fine, I’ll Drink More Water</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/a-jazz-singer-fights-niagara-bottling">A Jazz Singer Fights Niagara Bottling</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/tech/elements/could-harvesting-fog-help-solve-the-worlds-water-crisis">Could Harvesting Fog Help Solve the World’s Water Crisis?</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:26;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:18:"Trump v. the Earth";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:71:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/trump-v-the-earth?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3332367";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Sun, 02 Apr 2017 04:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:7:"Comment";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:802:"In late 2006, President George W. Bush’s Environmental Protection Agency argued before the Supreme Court that it did not want to regulate greenhouse gases, and that no one could make it do so. It certainly had no wish to accede to the desires of Massachusetts, which, with eleven other states, had sued the E.P.A. for failing to establish guidelines on emissions of carbon dioxide, methane, nitrous oxide, and hydrofluorocarbons. The states pointed to the agency’s charter, under the Clean Air Act, which instructs it to regulate chemicals released into the air “which may reasonably be anticipated to endanger public health or welfare.” They asked why the E.P.A., which had refused even to consider whether greenhouse gases fell into that category, thought that it could ignore the law.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:12:"Amy Davidson";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1443:"In late 2006, President George W. Bush’s Environmental Protection Agency argued before the Supreme Court that it did not want to regulate greenhouse gases, and that no one could make it do so. It certainly had no wish to accede to the desires of Massachusetts, which, with eleven other states, had sued the E.P.A. for failing to establish guidelines on emissions of carbon dioxide, methane, nitrous oxide, and hydrofluorocarbons. The states pointed to the agency’s charter, under the Clean Air Act, which instructs it to regulate chemicals released into the air “which may reasonably be anticipated to endanger public health or welfare.” They asked why the E.P.A., which had refused even to consider whether greenhouse gases fell into that category, thought that it could ignore the law.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/trump-v-the-earth?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/catching-californias-superbloom">Catching California’s Superbloom</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/tech/elements/central-indias-ugly-fight-for-environmental-justice">Central India’s Ugly Fight for Environmental Justice</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/daily-comment/the-congressman-whos-trying-to-make-the-environment-worse-again">The Congressman Who’s Trying to Make the Environment Worse, Again</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:27;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:36:"What Makes Sheldon Whitehouse Angry?";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:88:"http://www.newyorker.com/news/daily-comment/what-makes-sheldon-whitehouse-angry?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3333040";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Sat, 01 Apr 2017 20:44:28 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:354:"Sheldon Whitehouse is a politician with a great name, a bad haircut, and a pissed-off attitude. The second-term Democratic junior senator from Rhode Island has built his career around two seemingly unrelated issues—climate change and money in politics—and he’s just written a book to demonstrate how intimately connected they turn out to be.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:14:"Jeffrey Toobin";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:955:"Sheldon Whitehouse is a politician with a great name, a bad haircut, and a pissed-off attitude. The second-term Democratic junior senator from Rhode Island has built his career around two seemingly unrelated issues—climate change and money in politics—and he’s just written a book to demonstrate how intimately connected they turn out to be.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/daily-comment/what-makes-sheldon-whitehouse-angry?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/donald-trump-and-the-myth-of-the-coal-revival">Donald Trump and the Myth of the Coal Revival</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/cartoons/daily-cartoon/tuesday-march-28th-elegy-epa">Daily Cartoon: Tuesday, March 28th</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/tech/elements/when-is-it-time-to-retreat-from-climate-change">When Is It Time to Retreat from Climate Change?</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:28;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:43:"My Qualifications for Aiding the Resistance";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:96:"http://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/my-qualifications-for-aiding-the-resistance?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3329919";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Sat, 01 Apr 2017 15:30:08 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:118:"Has enough liquid cash on hand to fund acquisition of as many as ten pieces of poster board for protest signs.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:11:"Maura Quint";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:782:"Has enough liquid cash on hand to fund acquisition of as many as ten pieces of poster board for protest signs.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/my-qualifications-for-aiding-the-resistance?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/this-macys-one-day-sale-has-been-going-on-for-twenty-three-years">This Macy’s One-Day Sale Has Been Going On for Twenty-Three Years</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/cartoons/daily-cartoon/friday-march-31st-april-fools-trump">Daily Cartoon: Friday, March 31st</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/the-handmaids-tale-the-lost-pence-prequel">“The Handmaid’s Tale”: The Lost Pence Prequel</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:29;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:98:"Revisiting Sonny Rollins’s Score for “Alfie,” a Musical Masterwork That Transcended the Film";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:144:"http://www.newyorker.com/culture/richard-brody/revisiting-sonny-rollinss-score-for-alfie-a-musical-masterwork-that-transcended-the-film?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3332437";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Sat, 01 Apr 2017 12:58:07 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1028:"The attention paid to movie scores—particularly in concert halls, where they’re often played live to accompany screenings—doesn’t, for the most part, serve movies any better than music. It’s painful to think of musicians, expert in works from Beethoven to Boulez, sawing away for two hours at a score by John Williams (as the <a href="https://nyphil.org/concerts-tickets/1617/john-williams-et">New York Philharmonic will be doing</a> for screenings of “E.T.” three times in May) and, for that matter, doing so to exalt the art of Steven Spielberg. Nonetheless, there are scores that can stand on their own, and one of them (with an interesting asterisk) isn’t even the most famous music from the film in question. I’m thinking of Sonny Rollins’s score for the 1966 British comic drama “Alfie,” the title song of which is so enduringly familiar that mere mention of the film’s title often prompts the response “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=36Zf1IoMjr8">What’s it all about?</a>”";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:13:"Richard Brody";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1735:"The attention paid to movie scores—particularly in concert halls, where they’re often played live to accompany screenings—doesn’t, for the most part, serve movies any better than music. It’s painful to think of musicians, expert in works from Beethoven to Boulez, sawing away for two hours at a score by John Williams (as the <a href="https://nyphil.org/concerts-tickets/1617/john-williams-et">New York Philharmonic will be doing</a> for screenings of “E.T.” three times in May) and, for that matter, doing so to exalt the art of Steven Spielberg. Nonetheless, there are scores that can stand on their own, and one of them (with an interesting asterisk) isn’t even the most famous music from the film in question. I’m thinking of Sonny Rollins’s score for the 1966 British comic drama “Alfie,” the title song of which is so enduringly familiar that mere mention of the film’s title often prompts the response “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=36Zf1IoMjr8">What’s it all about?</a>”<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/richard-brody/revisiting-sonny-rollinss-score-for-alfie-a-musical-masterwork-that-transcended-the-film?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/weekly-culture-review-s-town-raymond-pettibon-and-a-lovecraftian-novel">Weekly Culture Review: “S-Town,” Raymond Pettibon, and a Lovecraftian Novel</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/richard-brody/agnes-vardas-art-of-being-there">Agnès Varda’s Art of Being There</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/dan-clowess-wilson">Bringing Dan Clowes’s “Wilson” to the Screen</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:30;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:44:"Listening Booth: A Divine Gospel-Disco Track";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:98:"http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/listening-booth-a-divine-gospel-disco-track?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3332423";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Sat, 01 Apr 2017 11:00:26 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:977:" Gospel disco was a bastard child of the eighties, and this house rework of a children’s choir from Bedford-Stuyvesant may be its most convoluted product. I won’t bog you down with the knotty history of “Stand on the Word”; the song is too forward to be rendered understandable by continuity and logic. A fellow named Larry Levan may or may not have crafted this remix. The credits are disputed and the origins cloudy, but the record took off in clubs like the Paradise Garage and became a theme song for marathon dances that lasted until sunrise. The song has been infamous among dance-record hoarders since: Justice decided to get children’s vocals for “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sy1dYFGkPUE" target="_blank">D.A.N.C.E.</a>” after obsessing over “Stand on the Word,” and the track has played before recent gigs for LCD Soundsystem’s reunion tour. (Getting tickets to the Brooklyn shows required nothing short of divine intervention).";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:16:"Matthew Trammell";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1620:" Gospel disco was a bastard child of the eighties, and this house rework of a children’s choir from Bedford-Stuyvesant may be its most convoluted product. I won’t bog you down with the knotty history of “Stand on the Word”; the song is too forward to be rendered understandable by continuity and logic. A fellow named Larry Levan may or may not have crafted this remix. The credits are disputed and the origins cloudy, but the record took off in clubs like the Paradise Garage and became a theme song for marathon dances that lasted until sunrise. The song has been infamous among dance-record hoarders since: Justice decided to get children’s vocals for “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sy1dYFGkPUE" target="_blank">D.A.N.C.E.</a>” after obsessing over “Stand on the Word,” and the track has played before recent gigs for LCD Soundsystem’s reunion tour. (Getting tickets to the Brooklyn shows required nothing short of divine intervention).<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/listening-booth-a-divine-gospel-disco-track?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/frank-ocean-is-making-radio-pop-at-last">Frank Ocean Is Making “Radio Pop,” at Last</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/drakes-musical-wanderlust-on-more-life">Drake’s Musical Wanderlust on “More Life”</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/waiting-for-a-masterpiece-from-esa-pekka-salonen">Waiting for a Masterpiece from Esa-Pekka Salonen</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:31;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:43:"“S-Town” Investigates the Human Mystery";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:92:"http://www.newyorker.com/culture/sarah-larson/s-town-investigates-the-human-mystery?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3332705";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Sat, 01 Apr 2017 00:21:18 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1514:"“S-Town,” the mesmerizing new podcast from the team behind “Serial” and “This American Life,” was released in its entirety on Tuesday—seven hour-long “chapters” about the mysteries and tragedies surrounding the life of a brilliant, troubled man in a small Alabama town. From the beginning, when its co-executive producer and host, Brian Reed, begins talking about the workings of antique clocks, the podcast is novelistic in its aesthetic. “I’m told fixing an old clock can be maddening,” Reed says in the opening narration. “You’re constantly wondering if you’ve just spent hours going down a path that will likely take you nowhere, and all you’ve got are these vague witness marks”—impressions, outlines, and discolorations inside the clock, hinting at what was there before—“which might not even mean what you think they mean.” He’s telling us this because John B. McLemore, a florid, fantastic talker and a renowned horologist, sent Reed an e-mail in 2012 with the subject line “John B. McLemore lives in Shittown, Alabama.” There had been a murder in McLemore’s terrible little town that had been covered up, McLemore said, and he wanted the “This American Life” producers to come investigate it. The two men began corresponding by e-mail and then talking on the phone. “It felt as if by sheer force of will, John was opening this portal between us and calling out through it,” Reed tells us. “So eventually I decided to come check it out.”";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:12:"Sarah Larson";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:2151:"“S-Town,” the mesmerizing new podcast from the team behind “Serial” and “This American Life,” was released in its entirety on Tuesday—seven hour-long “chapters” about the mysteries and tragedies surrounding the life of a brilliant, troubled man in a small Alabama town. From the beginning, when its co-executive producer and host, Brian Reed, begins talking about the workings of antique clocks, the podcast is novelistic in its aesthetic. “I’m told fixing an old clock can be maddening,” Reed says in the opening narration. “You’re constantly wondering if you’ve just spent hours going down a path that will likely take you nowhere, and all you’ve got are these vague witness marks”—impressions, outlines, and discolorations inside the clock, hinting at what was there before—“which might not even mean what you think they mean.” He’s telling us this because John B. McLemore, a florid, fantastic talker and a renowned horologist, sent Reed an e-mail in 2012 with the subject line “John B. McLemore lives in Shittown, Alabama.” There had been a murder in McLemore’s terrible little town that had been covered up, McLemore said, and he wanted the “This American Life” producers to come investigate it. The two men began corresponding by e-mail and then talking on the phone. “It felt as if by sheer force of will, John was opening this portal between us and calling out through it,” Reed tells us. “So eventually I decided to come check it out.”<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/sarah-larson/s-town-investigates-the-human-mystery?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/sarah-larson/missing-richard-simmons-and-the-queasiness-of-deep-dive-entertainment-journalism">“Missing Richard Simmons” and the Queasiness of Deep-Dive Entertainment Journalism</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/this-american-carnage">“This American Carnage”</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/sporting-scene/j-j-redicks-part-time-job">J. J. Redick’s Part-Time Job</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:32;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:36:"The Keystone Kops in the White House";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:88:"http://www.newyorker.com/news/john-cassidy/the-keystone-kops-in-the-white-house?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3332416";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Fri, 31 Mar 2017 23:48:35 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:417:"&#8220;My fellow-Americans,&#8221; Donald Trump <a href="https://www.whitehouse.gov/the-press-office/2017/03/31/president-donald-j-trumps-weekly-address" target="_blank">said in his weekly address</a> on Friday, &#8220;It&#8217;s an exciting time for our country. Our new Administration has so much change under way— change that is going to strengthen our Union and improve so many people’s lives.&#8221;";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:12:"John Cassidy";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1094:"&#8220;My fellow-Americans,&#8221; Donald Trump <a href="https://www.whitehouse.gov/the-press-office/2017/03/31/president-donald-j-trumps-weekly-address" target="_blank">said in his weekly address</a> on Friday, &#8220;It&#8217;s an exciting time for our country. Our new Administration has so much change under way— change that is going to strengthen our Union and improve so many people’s lives.&#8221;<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/john-cassidy/the-keystone-kops-in-the-white-house?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/business/adam-davidson/did-the-u-s-just-pull-out-of-a-global-anti-corruption-group">Did the U.S. Just Pull Out of a Global Anti-Corruption Group?</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/ivanka-trump-tries-to-quiet-the-ethics-critics">Ivanka Trump Tries to Quiet the Ethics Critics</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/business/currency/how-trump-could-make-nafta-better-but-probably-wont">How Trump Could Make NAFTA Better but Probably Won’t</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:33;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:46:"Ivanka Trump Tries to Quiet the Ethics Critics";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:95:"http://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/ivanka-trump-tries-to-quiet-the-ethics-critics?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3332648";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Fri, 31 Mar 2017 23:41:49 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:690:"Ivanka Trump’s announcement this week that she would take an unpaid federal job in the White House makes official the familial coziness of President Donald Trump’s Administration. Ivanka and her husband, Jared Kushner, with his-and-hers security clearances and <a href="https://mobile.nytimes.com/2017/03/29/us/politics/ivanka-trump-federal-employee-white-house.html">offices in the West Wing</a> (hers upstairs from his), will be on hand to advise on any subject—anything, that is, that doesn’t create a troublesome conflict of interest. Despite their official positions and efforts to address the ethical challenges of their unique roles, potential for conflicts remains.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:17:"Sheelah Kolhatkar";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1357:"Ivanka Trump’s announcement this week that she would take an unpaid federal job in the White House makes official the familial coziness of President Donald Trump’s Administration. Ivanka and her husband, Jared Kushner, with his-and-hers security clearances and <a href="https://mobile.nytimes.com/2017/03/29/us/politics/ivanka-trump-federal-employee-white-house.html">offices in the West Wing</a> (hers upstairs from his), will be on hand to advise on any subject—anything, that is, that doesn’t create a troublesome conflict of interest. Despite their official positions and efforts to address the ethical challenges of their unique roles, potential for conflicts remains.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/ivanka-trump-tries-to-quiet-the-ethics-critics?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/business/adam-davidson/did-the-u-s-just-pull-out-of-a-global-anti-corruption-group">Did the U.S. Just Pull Out of a Global Anti-Corruption Group?</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/john-cassidy/the-keystone-kops-in-the-white-house">The Keystone Kops in the White House</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/business/currency/how-trump-could-make-nafta-better-but-probably-wont">How Trump Could Make NAFTA Better but Probably Won’t</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:34;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:30:"How Moderates Took Back Kansas";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:92:"http://www.newyorker.com/news/benjamin-wallace-wells/how-moderates-took-back-kansas?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3332485";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Fri, 31 Mar 2017 21:00:44 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1063:"This week, the Kansas Senate voted by a wide margin to expand the state’s Medicaid coverage. A majority of Democrats supported the bill, as might be expected, but so did a majority of Republicans. That the vote was both bipartisan and decisive is a modest but promising sign for the future of public health insurance. But the vote had an added significance because it took place in Kansas. For the six years that Sam Brownback has been Governor, the state has been the scene of what may be the nation’s most extreme experiment in conservatism. The Medicaid vote capped an extraordinary year-long turn against Brownback, in which many of his allies in the legislature were defeated in primary and general elections, and, in the legislative session now coming to a close, his budget and priorities were rejected. The political history of the past quarter century has been one of deepening polarization. The reaction in Kansas suggests that it is still possible for a party to go too far—that there is still a center in American life which may yet hold.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:22:"Benjamin Wallace-Wells";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1641:"This week, the Kansas Senate voted by a wide margin to expand the state’s Medicaid coverage. A majority of Democrats supported the bill, as might be expected, but so did a majority of Republicans. That the vote was both bipartisan and decisive is a modest but promising sign for the future of public health insurance. But the vote had an added significance because it took place in Kansas. For the six years that Sam Brownback has been Governor, the state has been the scene of what may be the nation’s most extreme experiment in conservatism. The Medicaid vote capped an extraordinary year-long turn against Brownback, in which many of his allies in the legislature were defeated in primary and general elections, and, in the legislative session now coming to a close, his budget and priorities were rejected. The political history of the past quarter century has been one of deepening polarization. The reaction in Kansas suggests that it is still possible for a party to go too far—that there is still a center in American life which may yet hold.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/benjamin-wallace-wells/how-moderates-took-back-kansas?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/ryan-lizza/could-michael-flynn-turn-on-trump">Could Michael Flynn Turn on Trump?</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/cartoons/daily-cartoon/friday-march-31st-april-fools-trump">Daily Cartoon: Friday, March 31st</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/cartoons/daily-cartoon/thursday-march-30th-cnn-binge-watching">Daily Cartoon: Thursday, March 30th</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:35;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:54:"How Trump Could Make NAFTA Better but Probably Won’t";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:103:"http://www.newyorker.com/business/currency/how-trump-could-make-nafta-better-but-probably-wont?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3332410";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Fri, 31 Mar 2017 19:22:44 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:805:"Among the awkward moments at a joint <a href="http://www.cnbc.com/2017/03/17/trump-warns-germany-that-trade-terms-may-be-changing.html" target="_blank">press conference</a> with German Chancellor Angela Merkel and President Donald Trump, on March 17th, was Trump’s assertion that “Germany has done very well in its trade deals with the United States, and I give them credit for it, but . . . it’s not exactly what you call good for our workers.” It was up to Merkel to explain to Trump that he didn’t have the facts straight. “When we speak about trade agreements . . . the European Union is negotiating those agreements for all of the member states of the European Union,” she said. And, perhaps more to the point, Germany has never had a trade deal with the U.S., nor has the E.U.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:17:"Jeffrey Rothfeder";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1464:"Among the awkward moments at a joint <a href="http://www.cnbc.com/2017/03/17/trump-warns-germany-that-trade-terms-may-be-changing.html" target="_blank">press conference</a> with German Chancellor Angela Merkel and President Donald Trump, on March 17th, was Trump’s assertion that “Germany has done very well in its trade deals with the United States, and I give them credit for it, but . . . it’s not exactly what you call good for our workers.” It was up to Merkel to explain to Trump that he didn’t have the facts straight. “When we speak about trade agreements . . . the European Union is negotiating those agreements for all of the member states of the European Union,” she said. And, perhaps more to the point, Germany has never had a trade deal with the U.S., nor has the E.U.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/business/currency/how-trump-could-make-nafta-better-but-probably-wont?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/business/adam-davidson/did-the-u-s-just-pull-out-of-a-global-anti-corruption-group">Did the U.S. Just Pull Out of a Global Anti-Corruption Group?</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/john-cassidy/the-keystone-kops-in-the-white-house">The Keystone Kops in the White House</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/ivanka-trump-tries-to-quiet-the-ethics-critics">Ivanka Trump Tries to Quiet the Ethics Critics</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:36;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:79:"Weekly Culture Review: “S-Town,” Raymond Pettibon, and a Lovecraftian Novel";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:125:"http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/weekly-culture-review-s-town-raymond-pettibon-and-a-lovecraftian-novel?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3332353";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Fri, 31 Mar 2017 18:30:29 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:168:"To get the culture review sent to your inbox each week, <a href="https://www.newyorker.com/newsletters/culture-review-newsletter">sign up for our newsletter</a>.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:12:"Sarah Larson";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:932:"To get the culture review sent to your inbox each week, <a href="https://www.newyorker.com/newsletters/culture-review-newsletter">sign up for our newsletter</a>.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/weekly-culture-review-s-town-raymond-pettibon-and-a-lovecraftian-novel?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/richard-brody/revisiting-sonny-rollinss-score-for-alfie-a-musical-masterwork-that-transcended-the-film">Revisiting Sonny Rollins’s Score for “Alfie,” a Musical Masterwork That Transcended the Film</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/thirteen-crucial-years-for-art-in-downtown-new-york">Thirteen Crucial Years for Art in Downtown New York</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/richard-brody/agnes-vardas-art-of-being-there">Agnès Varda’s Art of Being There</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:37;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:66:"Mike Pence’s Marriage and the Beliefs That Keep Women from Power";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:119:"http://www.newyorker.com/culture/jia-tolentino/mike-pences-marriage-and-the-beliefs-that-keep-women-from-power?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3332350";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Fri, 31 Mar 2017 17:44:47 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1021:"Seventy days into the Trump Presidency, many of us find ourselves discussing the propriety of a married man eating a meal in the company of a woman who is not his wife. Vice-President Mike Pence—a hard-line evangelical who has repeatedly called himself “a Christian, a conservative, and a Republican, in that order”—refuses to dine extramaritally, or, at least, he said as much to the Hill, in 2002. If he eats alone with a woman, that woman is Karen Pence; if he attends an event where alcohol is served and “people are being loose,” he prefers that his wife be present and standing close to him. The recent <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/karen-pence-is-the-vice-presidents-prayer-warrior-gut-check-and-shield/2017/03/28/3d7a26ce-0a01-11e7-8884-96e6a6713f4b_story.html" target="_blank">Washington Post piece</a> that resurfaced these details quotes Ken Blackwell, one of President Trump’s transition-team advisers, on Mr. and Mrs. Pence: “You can’t get a dime between them.”";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:13:"Jia Tolentino";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1696:"Seventy days into the Trump Presidency, many of us find ourselves discussing the propriety of a married man eating a meal in the company of a woman who is not his wife. Vice-President Mike Pence—a hard-line evangelical who has repeatedly called himself “a Christian, a conservative, and a Republican, in that order”—refuses to dine extramaritally, or, at least, he said as much to the Hill, in 2002. If he eats alone with a woman, that woman is Karen Pence; if he attends an event where alcohol is served and “people are being loose,” he prefers that his wife be present and standing close to him. The recent <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/karen-pence-is-the-vice-presidents-prayer-warrior-gut-check-and-shield/2017/03/28/3d7a26ce-0a01-11e7-8884-96e6a6713f4b_story.html" target="_blank">Washington Post piece</a> that resurfaced these details quotes Ken Blackwell, one of President Trump’s transition-team advisers, on Mr. and Mrs. Pence: “You can’t get a dime between them.”<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/jia-tolentino/mike-pences-marriage-and-the-beliefs-that-keep-women-from-power?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/business/adam-davidson/did-the-u-s-just-pull-out-of-a-global-anti-corruption-group">Did the U.S. Just Pull Out of a Global Anti-Corruption Group?</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/john-cassidy/the-keystone-kops-in-the-white-house">The Keystone Kops in the White House</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/ivanka-trump-tries-to-quiet-the-ethics-critics">Ivanka Trump Tries to Quiet the Ethics Critics</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:38;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:34:"Could Michael Flynn Turn on Trump?";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:83:"http://www.newyorker.com/news/ryan-lizza/could-michael-flynn-turn-on-trump?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3332386";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Fri, 31 Mar 2017 17:08:17 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:526:"“I’ve seen the transcript,” a Republican member of the House Intelligence Committee told me recently. “It was explained to us. I don’t know why Flynn did it.” The congressman was talking about a conversation that took place in late December between Michael Flynn, then Trump’s incoming national-security adviser, and the Russian Ambassador, Sergey Kislyak. He noted that he didn’t know why Flynn had discussed sanctions with Kislyak, and wasn’t sure whether he had crossed any legal or ethical lines.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:10:"Ryan Lizza";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1165:"“I’ve seen the transcript,” a Republican member of the House Intelligence Committee told me recently. “It was explained to us. I don’t know why Flynn did it.” The congressman was talking about a conversation that took place in late December between Michael Flynn, then Trump’s incoming national-security adviser, and the Russian Ambassador, Sergey Kislyak. He noted that he didn’t know why Flynn had discussed sanctions with Kislyak, and wasn’t sure whether he had crossed any legal or ethical lines.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/ryan-lizza/could-michael-flynn-turn-on-trump?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/business/adam-davidson/did-the-u-s-just-pull-out-of-a-global-anti-corruption-group">Did the U.S. Just Pull Out of a Global Anti-Corruption Group?</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/john-cassidy/the-keystone-kops-in-the-white-house">The Keystone Kops in the White House</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/ivanka-trump-tries-to-quiet-the-ethics-critics">Ivanka Trump Tries to Quiet the Ethics Critics</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:39;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:27:"The Facts About Immigration";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:79:"http://www.newyorker.com/news/john-cassidy/the-facts-about-immigration?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3332074";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Fri, 31 Mar 2017 16:46:50 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:734:"During a conference at the Brookings Institution last week, the Princeton economists Anne Case and Angus Deaton presented their latest <a href="https://www.brookings.edu/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/6_casedeaton.pdf" target="_blank">paper</a> on the rising mortality rates of white working-class Americans, which received, and is still receiving, a huge amount of attention. That&#8217;s understandable. Even taking account of the critiques of the paper that have been presented, some of which the economics blogger Noah Smith <a href="http://noahpinionblog.blogspot.com/2017/03/the-blogs-vs-case-deaton.html?m=1" target="_blank">counter-critiqued</a> on Wednesday, the issues raised by Case and Deaton’s work are profound.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:12:"John Cassidy";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1369:"During a conference at the Brookings Institution last week, the Princeton economists Anne Case and Angus Deaton presented their latest <a href="https://www.brookings.edu/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/6_casedeaton.pdf" target="_blank">paper</a> on the rising mortality rates of white working-class Americans, which received, and is still receiving, a huge amount of attention. That&#8217;s understandable. Even taking account of the critiques of the paper that have been presented, some of which the economics blogger Noah Smith <a href="http://noahpinionblog.blogspot.com/2017/03/the-blogs-vs-case-deaton.html?m=1" target="_blank">counter-critiqued</a> on Wednesday, the issues raised by Case and Deaton’s work are profound.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/john-cassidy/the-facts-about-immigration?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/business/adam-davidson/did-the-u-s-just-pull-out-of-a-global-anti-corruption-group">Did the U.S. Just Pull Out of a Global Anti-Corruption Group?</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/john-cassidy/the-keystone-kops-in-the-white-house">The Keystone Kops in the White House</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/ivanka-trump-tries-to-quiet-the-ethics-critics">Ivanka Trump Tries to Quiet the Ethics Critics</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:40;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:33:"Daily Cartoon: Friday, March 31st";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:92:"http://www.newyorker.com/cartoons/daily-cartoon/friday-march-31st-april-fools-trump?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3332378";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Fri, 31 Mar 2017 16:27:59 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:353:" <a style="font-family: neutra-face-text, Helvetica Neue sans-serif; font-size: 1.3rem; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center;" href="http://www.condenaststore.com/~/cartoon-bank?utm_medium=referral&#38;utm_source=NewYorker&#38;utm_content=daily-cartoon-mod&#38;AID=1247905545" target="_blank">Buy New Yorker Cartoons»</a>";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:10:"Pat Byrnes";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1004:" <a style="font-family: neutra-face-text, Helvetica Neue sans-serif; font-size: 1.3rem; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center;" href="http://www.condenaststore.com/~/cartoon-bank?utm_medium=referral&#38;utm_source=NewYorker&#38;utm_content=daily-cartoon-mod&#38;AID=1247905545" target="_blank">Buy New Yorker Cartoons»</a><a href="http://www.newyorker.com/cartoons/daily-cartoon/friday-march-31st-april-fools-trump?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/this-macys-one-day-sale-has-been-going-on-for-twenty-three-years">This Macy’s One-Day Sale Has Been Going On for Twenty-Three Years</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/my-qualifications-for-aiding-the-resistance">My Qualifications for Aiding the Resistance</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/benjamin-wallace-wells/how-moderates-took-back-kansas">How Moderates Took Back Kansas</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:41;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:51:"“The Handmaid’s Tale”: The Lost Pence Prequel";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:94:"http://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/the-handmaids-tale-the-lost-pence-prequel?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331316";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Fri, 31 Mar 2017 15:30:56 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:18:"Dear Diary,";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:12:"Fiona Taylor";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:734:"Dear Diary,<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/the-handmaids-tale-the-lost-pence-prequel?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/this-macys-one-day-sale-has-been-going-on-for-twenty-three-years">This Macy’s One-Day Sale Has Been Going On for Twenty-Three Years</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/my-qualifications-for-aiding-the-resistance">My Qualifications for Aiding the Resistance</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/jia-tolentino/mike-pences-marriage-and-the-beliefs-that-keep-women-from-power">Mike Pence’s Marriage and the Beliefs That Keep Women from Power</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:42;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:49:"Cover Story: “Broken Windows,” by Barry Blitt";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:77:"http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/cover-story-2017-04-10?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3332283";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Fri, 31 Mar 2017 10:00:46 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:347:"“I see that the word ‘duffer’ is defined as ‘a person inexperienced at something, especially at playing golf,&#8217; &#8220; Barry Blitt says, about his cover for the upcoming issue. “That’s the word that comes to mind as I watch President Trump plowing one drive after another through the glass windows of American politics.”";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:16:"Françoise Mouly";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:992:"“I see that the word ‘duffer’ is defined as ‘a person inexperienced at something, especially at playing golf,&#8217; &#8220; Barry Blitt says, about his cover for the upcoming issue. “That’s the word that comes to mind as I watch President Trump plowing one drive after another through the glass windows of American politics.”<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/cover-story-2017-04-10?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/cartoons/issue-cartoons/slide-show-new-yorker-cartoons-april-10-2017">Cartoons from the April 10, 2017, Issue</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/fiction-this-week-emma-cline-2017-04-10">This Week in Fiction: Emma Cline on a Father Confronting His Son’s Transgression</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/jia-tolentino/the-cathartic-finale-of-big-little-lies">The Cathartic Finale of “Big Little Lies”</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:43;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:45:"“Ghost in the Shell” and “Graduation”";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:95:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/ghost-in-the-shell-and-graduation-reviews?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331506";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Fri, 31 Mar 2017 10:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:18:"The Current Cinema";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:433:"The new Scarlett Johansson movie, “Ghost in the Shell,” is upon us, sheathed in controversy. Rupert Sanders’s film is adapted from the anime work of the same name, directed by Mamoru Oshii, in 1995. Fans of anime are ferociously purist and loyal, and for them, I suspect, the very notion of converting Oshii’s masterpiece (as it is deemed to be) into a live-action Hollywood remake smells of both travesty and sellout.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:12:"Anthony Lane";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1210:"The new Scarlett Johansson movie, “Ghost in the Shell,” is upon us, sheathed in controversy. Rupert Sanders’s film is adapted from the anime work of the same name, directed by Mamoru Oshii, in 1995. Fans of anime are ferociously purist and loyal, and for them, I suspect, the very notion of converting Oshii’s masterpiece (as it is deemed to be) into a live-action Hollywood remake smells of both travesty and sellout.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/ghost-in-the-shell-and-graduation-reviews?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/richard-brody/revisiting-sonny-rollinss-score-for-alfie-a-musical-masterwork-that-transcended-the-film">Revisiting Sonny Rollins’s Score for “Alfie,” a Musical Masterwork That Transcended the Film</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/weekly-culture-review-s-town-raymond-pettibon-and-a-lovecraftian-novel">Weekly Culture Review: “S-Town,” Raymond Pettibon, and a Lovecraftian Novel</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/richard-brody/agnes-vardas-art-of-being-there">Agnès Varda’s Art of Being There</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:44;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:31:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:5:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:49:"The Sheer Joy of Listening to American Minimalism";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:104:"http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/the-sheer-joy-of-listening-to-american-minimalism?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331988";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Fri, 31 Mar 2017 09:00:33 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:543:"In discussing American minimalism, which Steve Reich, one of the movement’s founders, is celebrating in his Carnegie Hall festival “<a href="https://www.carnegiehall.org/BlogPost.aspx?id=4295029458" target="_blank">Three Generations</a>,” I’d like to use a very rarified criteria: the sheer joy of listening to it. It is that quality more than any other that drew me to minimalist music (I suspect I’m not alone), and I’d like to make a fuss over two pieces in particular. One is programmed on the festival, and one isn’t.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:13:"Russell Platt";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1206:"In discussing American minimalism, which Steve Reich, one of the movement’s founders, is celebrating in his Carnegie Hall festival “<a href="https://www.carnegiehall.org/BlogPost.aspx?id=4295029458" target="_blank">Three Generations</a>,” I’d like to use a very rarified criteria: the sheer joy of listening to it. It is that quality more than any other that drew me to minimalist music (I suspect I’m not alone), and I’d like to make a fuss over two pieces in particular. One is programmed on the festival, and one isn’t.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/the-sheer-joy-of-listening-to-american-minimalism?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/pushing-things-forward-in-choral-music">Two New Choral-Music Recordings</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/how-the-l-a-phil-can-stay-on-top-of-the-orchestra-world">How the L.A. Phil Can Stay on Top of the Orchestra World</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/waiting-for-a-masterpiece-from-esa-pekka-salonen">Waiting for a Masterpiece from Esa-Pekka Salonen</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:45;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:47:"“March Madness” in the Meatpacking District";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:95:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/march-madness-in-the-meatpacking-district?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331492";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Fri, 31 Mar 2017 04:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:3:"Art";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1045:"The N.C.A.A. brackets have come and gone, but “March Madness” prevails in the meatpacking district, where a terrific group show by that name is installed at Fort Gansevoort, an idiosyncratic gallery (and occasional barbecue joint) in a three-story town house at 5 Ninth Ave. As its title implies, the show’s theme is sports, which, on its own, is nothing novel. A quick spin through the Met will turn up figures of wrestlers painted on an Ancient Greek amphora in 500 B.C., a Mesoamerican stone carving of a ballplayer made roughly a thousand years later, and mid-nineteenth-century portraits of matadors by Édouard Manet. But Fort Gansevoort flips the script on millennia of male-dominated athletics with art works by thirty-one women made between the mid-twentieth century and now, from Elizabeth Catlett’s jubilant 1958 print of a barefoot girl jumping rope to a just-finished collage of a pigtailed boxer by Deborah Roberts, a young artist who borrows the Dadaist strategies of Hannah Höch for the era of Black Lives Matter.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:15:"Andrea K. Scott";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1753:"The N.C.A.A. brackets have come and gone, but “March Madness” prevails in the meatpacking district, where a terrific group show by that name is installed at Fort Gansevoort, an idiosyncratic gallery (and occasional barbecue joint) in a three-story town house at 5 Ninth Ave. As its title implies, the show’s theme is sports, which, on its own, is nothing novel. A quick spin through the Met will turn up figures of wrestlers painted on an Ancient Greek amphora in 500 B.C., a Mesoamerican stone carving of a ballplayer made roughly a thousand years later, and mid-nineteenth-century portraits of matadors by Édouard Manet. But Fort Gansevoort flips the script on millennia of male-dominated athletics with art works by thirty-one women made between the mid-twentieth century and now, from Elizabeth Catlett’s jubilant 1958 print of a barefoot girl jumping rope to a just-finished collage of a pigtailed boxer by Deborah Roberts, a young artist who borrows the Dadaist strategies of Hannah Höch for the era of Black Lives Matter.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/march-madness-in-the-meatpacking-district?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/weekly-culture-review-s-town-raymond-pettibon-and-a-lovecraftian-novel">Weekly Culture Review: “S-Town,” Raymond Pettibon, and a Lovecraftian Novel</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/what-if-we-had-perfect-robot-referees">What If We Had Perfect Robot Referees?</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/thirteen-crucial-years-for-art-in-downtown-new-york">Thirteen Crucial Years for Art in Downtown New York</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:46;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:44:"Nandi Rose Plunkett’s Freewheeling Art Pop";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:95:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/nandi-rose-plunketts-freewheeling-art-pop?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331491";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Fri, 31 Mar 2017 04:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:10:"Night Life";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1004:"It rained in New York last May 6, and music completists felt the downpour the heaviest. New albums from James Blake, Skepta, Death Grips, Anohni, and Kaytranada all came at once, a spread of vivid artists who had risen from self-contained music pockets as captains of focussed styles and subcultures. “Probable Depths” arrived more quietly that same day, and the cassette might have been lost in the spring shower if it hadn’t been for the loyal followers of Nandi Rose Plunkett, a singer and producer known as Half Waif. College-radio jocks and B-side bloggers picked up “Turn Me Around,” the record’s agile second single, and dished out praise that the ethereal pop song wholly deserved but was too opaque to earn more widely; like Plunkett’s path to performance, the track is a study of pivots. A mournful choral intro gives way to a hand-clap bounce fit for a Rihanna song—“I don’t even know what I’m here for,” Plunkett sings, never letting on where “here” may be.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:16:"Matthew Trammell";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1163:"It rained in New York last May 6, and music completists felt the downpour the heaviest. New albums from James Blake, Skepta, Death Grips, Anohni, and Kaytranada all came at once, a spread of vivid artists who had risen from self-contained music pockets as captains of focussed styles and subcultures. “Probable Depths” arrived more quietly that same day, and the cassette might have been lost in the spring shower if it hadn’t been for the loyal followers of Nandi Rose Plunkett, a singer and producer known as Half Waif. College-radio jocks and B-side bloggers picked up “Turn Me Around,” the record’s agile second single, and dished out praise that the ethereal pop song wholly deserved but was too opaque to earn more widely; like Plunkett’s path to performance, the track is a study of pivots. A mournful choral intro gives way to a hand-clap bounce fit for a Rihanna song—“I don’t even know what I’m here for,” Plunkett sings, never letting on where “here” may be.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/nandi-rose-plunketts-freewheeling-art-pop?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:47;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:47:"The Finch, a Michelin-Starred Neighborhood Spot";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:100:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/the-finch-a-michelin-starred-neighborhood-spot?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331493";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Fri, 31 Mar 2017 04:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:14:"Tables for Two";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:869:"In 2014, Gabe McMackin opened the Finch in a former tattoo parlor, on a quiet brownstone block in Clinton Hill. The dining room has an open kitchen, a Carrara-marble bar, and a six-hundred-pound hunk of sparkling quartz in the fireplace. (McMackin, forty-one, hauled the quartz from his family’s home in Connecticut; he says it keeps him grounded.) The restaurant’s name is a nod to both Darwin’s Galápagos finch (and evolution) and the American goldfinches McMackin saw growing up. He loved how they surprised him in early spring, suddenly glittering chartreuse on a still bare branch, and he wanted his restaurant to spark a similar sense of surprise amid the familiar. His experience—at Blue Hill at Stone Barns, Roberta’s, and Gramercy Tavern—informs his down-home seasonal American fare, which veers more toward tongues and cheeks than burgers.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:15:"Carolyn Kormann";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1525:"In 2014, Gabe McMackin opened the Finch in a former tattoo parlor, on a quiet brownstone block in Clinton Hill. The dining room has an open kitchen, a Carrara-marble bar, and a six-hundred-pound hunk of sparkling quartz in the fireplace. (McMackin, forty-one, hauled the quartz from his family’s home in Connecticut; he says it keeps him grounded.) The restaurant’s name is a nod to both Darwin’s Galápagos finch (and evolution) and the American goldfinches McMackin saw growing up. He loved how they surprised him in early spring, suddenly glittering chartreuse on a still bare branch, and he wanted his restaurant to spark a similar sense of surprise amid the familiar. His experience—at Blue Hill at Stone Barns, Roberta’s, and Gramercy Tavern—informs his down-home seasonal American fare, which veers more toward tongues and cheeks than burgers.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/the-finch-a-michelin-starred-neighborhood-spot?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/have-you-dined-with-us-before">Have You Dined with Us Before?</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/how-a-texas-teen-ager-became-new-york-citys-premier-truffle-dealer">How a Texas Teen-Ager Became New York City’s Premier Truffle Dealer</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/the-fried-chicken-king-of-harlem-holds-court">The Fried-Chicken King of Harlem Holds Court</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:48;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:45:"Classical-Music Venues, Hiding in Plain Sight";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:98:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/classical-music-venues-hiding-in-plain-sight?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331490";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Fri, 31 Mar 2017 04:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:15:"CLASSICAL MUSIC";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:527:"Classical-music presenters are placing big bets on new venues, such as Williamsburg’s dynamic National Sawdust. But some of the most evocative spaces may be hiding in plain sight—take the Church of the Intercession, a grand Episcopalian pile way uptown on Broadway at 155th St. “The Crypt Sessions” (which has hosted the violinist Amy Schroeder, of the Attacca Quartet, above) is drawing capacity audiences; on April 5, it presents “Labyrinth,” a concert by the fascinating Israeli pianist David Greilsammer.";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:0:"";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:689:"Classical-music presenters are placing big bets on new venues, such as Williamsburg’s dynamic National Sawdust. But some of the most evocative spaces may be hiding in plain sight—take the Church of the Intercession, a grand Episcopalian pile way uptown on Broadway at 155th St. “The Crypt Sessions” (which has hosted the violinist Amy Schroeder, of the Attacca Quartet, above) is drawing capacity audiences; on April 5, it presents “Labyrinth,” a concert by the fascinating Israeli pianist David Greilsammer.<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/classical-music-venues-hiding-in-plain-sight?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}i:49;a:6:{s:4:"data";s:35:"
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
		";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";s:5:"child";a:3:{s:0:"";a:6:{s:5:"title";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:43:"The Rotating Celebrations at A Touch of Dee";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"link";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:97:"http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/the-rotating-celebrations-at-a-touch-of-dee?mbid=rss";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:4:"guid";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:35:"http://www.newyorker.com/?p=3331494";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:1:{s:11:"isPermaLink";s:5:"false";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:7:"pubDate";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:31:"Fri, 31 Mar 2017 04:00:00 +0000";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:8:"category";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:7:"Bar Tab";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:11:"description";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1717:"The door of this snug Harlem local is often kept locked, even when the place is open. A couple of Wednesdays ago, after a rap on the window, a thin, quiet man wearing a gold cross and wraparound glasses swivelled on his bar stool to unlock the door. In burst a group of young men headed by Frank Nitty, in a red velvet coat. Nitty, who d.j.s smooth hip-hop and R. &#038; B. at the bar every Saturday, was in a celebratory mood. Several flyers, festooned with clip art of champagne bottles and googly eyes, announced that tonight was his birthday (“So When You See Him Bottoms Up”). Nitty plunged in, bumping fists and trading hugs. “Jack, my man,” he saluted a sleepy-looking gentleman in a leather coat drinking pink champagne out of a tumbler with ice. Each day of the week has a different server and sound: Crystal usually pours six-dollar drinks to the groove of a funky jukebox on Wasted Wednesdays; on Thursdays, you’ll find Joy Juice mixing exemplary eight-dollar whiskey sours (and occasionally partaking in a game of Rummy 500) as Mike P. lays down some old-school classics. Dee, in case you’re wondering, is Dolores Tonge Reagans, a former bartender who bought the establishment twenty-four years ago and has assembled a rotating family of regulars. On the walls are cheeky announcements (in the men’s bathroom: “Gentlemen Please Move Closer It May Be Shorter Than You Think”) as well as thank-you notes from Obama’s Presidential campaigns. An ample range of liquor bottles is crowned by a dusty banner that reads “Happy Birthday.” But it wasn’t there for Nitty; it’s up even when nobody’s celebrating: every night at A Touch of Dee feels like someone’s birthday. ♦";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:32:"http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/";a:1:{s:7:"creator";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:16:"Nicolas Niarchos";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:40:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/";a:1:{s:7:"encoded";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:2422:"The door of this snug Harlem local is often kept locked, even when the place is open. A couple of Wednesdays ago, after a rap on the window, a thin, quiet man wearing a gold cross and wraparound glasses swivelled on his bar stool to unlock the door. In burst a group of young men headed by Frank Nitty, in a red velvet coat. Nitty, who d.j.s smooth hip-hop and R. &#038; B. at the bar every Saturday, was in a celebratory mood. Several flyers, festooned with clip art of champagne bottles and googly eyes, announced that tonight was his birthday (“So When You See Him Bottoms Up”). Nitty plunged in, bumping fists and trading hugs. “Jack, my man,” he saluted a sleepy-looking gentleman in a leather coat drinking pink champagne out of a tumbler with ice. Each day of the week has a different server and sound: Crystal usually pours six-dollar drinks to the groove of a funky jukebox on Wasted Wednesdays; on Thursdays, you’ll find Joy Juice mixing exemplary eight-dollar whiskey sours (and occasionally partaking in a game of Rummy 500) as Mike P. lays down some old-school classics. Dee, in case you’re wondering, is Dolores Tonge Reagans, a former bartender who bought the establishment twenty-four years ago and has assembled a rotating family of regulars. On the walls are cheeky announcements (in the men’s bathroom: “Gentlemen Please Move Closer It May Be Shorter Than You Think”) as well as thank-you notes from Obama’s Presidential campaigns. An ample range of liquor bottles is crowned by a dusty banner that reads “Happy Birthday.” But it wasn’t there for Nitty; it’s up even when nobody’s celebrating: every night at A Touch of Dee feels like someone’s birthday. ♦<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/04/10/the-rotating-celebrations-at-a-touch-of-dee?mbid=rss">See the rest of the story at newyorker.com</a>Related: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/the-inclusive-humanity-of-alice-neels-paintings">The Inclusive Humanity of Alice Neel’s Paintings</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/the-fried-chicken-king-of-harlem-holds-court">The Fried-Chicken King of Harlem Holds Court</a> <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/culture/photo-booth/a-young-black-girls-view-of-harlem-at-the-height-of-the-great-migration">A Young Black Girl’s View of Harlem at the Height of the Great Migration</a> ";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}}}s:44:"http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/syndication/";a:2:{s:12:"updatePeriod";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:6:"hourly";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}s:15:"updateFrequency";a:1:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:1:"1";s:7:"attribs";a:0:{}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}s:27:"http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom";a:1:{s:4:"link";a:2:{i:0;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:0:"";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:3:{s:4:"href";s:40:"http://www.newyorker.com/feed/everything";s:3:"rel";s:4:"self";s:4:"type";s:19:"application/rss+xml";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}i:1;a:5:{s:4:"data";s:0:"";s:7:"attribs";a:1:{s:0:"";a:2:{s:3:"rel";s:3:"hub";s:4:"href";s:32:"http://newyorker.superfeedr.com/";}}s:8:"xml_base";s:0:"";s:17:"xml_base_explicit";b:0;s:8:"xml_lang";s:0:"";}}}}}}}}}}}}s:4:"type";i:128;s:7:"headers";a:22:{s:27:"access-control-allow-origin";s:1:"*";s:16:"content-encoding";s:4:"gzip";s:12:"content-type";s:23:"text/xml; charset=UTF-8";s:4:"etag";s:39:""2c805b4479e252353d998533169f592e-gzip"";s:13:"last-modified";s:29:"Mon, 03 Apr 2017 04:04:11 GMT";s:4:"link";s:133:"<http://www.newyorker.com/wp-json/>; rel=https://api.w.org/, <http://www.newyorker.com/wp-json>; rel=https://github.com/WP-API/WP-API";s:6:"server";s:6:"Apache";s:12:"x-robots-tag";s:15:"noindex, follow";s:3:"via";s:24:"1.1 varnish, 1.1 varnish";s:19:"fastly-debug-digest";s:64:"a4b4aa5ba11794bf72b9261ef5ca7164b91e68aa9034be5420dcca6d5eef451c";s:13:"cache-control";s:11:"max-age=600";s:14:"content-length";s:5:"27336";s:13:"accept-ranges";s:5:"bytes";s:4:"date";s:29:"Mon, 03 Apr 2017 08:44:12 GMT";s:3:"age";s:3:"575";s:10:"connection";s:10:"keep-alive";s:23:"x-fastly-enable-paywall";s:4:"none";s:11:"x-served-by";s:36:"cache-iad2125-IAD, cache-dfw1825-DFW";s:7:"x-cache";s:8:"HIT, HIT";s:12:"x-cache-hits";s:4:"2, 1";s:7:"x-timer";s:26:"S1491209052.424500,VS0,VE0";s:4:"vary";s:52:"Accept-Encoding, Fastly-SSL, X-Fastly-Enable-Paywall";}s:5:"build";s:14:"20170320111507";}