Mmph. This had an article by Atul Gawande quasi-eulogizing Oliver Sacks and then also an end-of-life musing on gefilte fish from Sacks himself, who, I haven't read The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat but I have come to understand that Sacks is meant to be one of those popular scientists or science popularizers (on the continuum running from Carl Sagan through to Bill Nye or so) about whom we are deeply sentimental and love uncritically. (The articles were fine.) It also had a story about Judy Clarke, the noble and amazing death penalty defence lawyer who has represented the Unabomber, Zacarias Moussaoui, and others, that is basically the exact same story I read about her in Vanity Fair a while back except now it is also "and she represented Dzokhar Tsarnaev but they still decided to kill him." There is also a story about how Pope Benedict isn't the web-spinning supervillain we all thought and actually pursued a lot of the same reforms as Francis in a quieter way, which alongside all the stories we've read about how Francis shouldn't be romanticized here and on many matters the changes are absolutely merely cosmetic, makes a lot of sense and reminds us there is generally always more continuity in change than we think when we're being lazy in our thinking--but seems also in that sense like something we all already knew in our hearts of hearts (if we weren't being lazy). An article on what to leave out when you write by John McPhee, who seemed sleepy, some cute and forgettable very short science fiction stories by Paul Simms, an article that points out that a couple of generations ago the forebears of the same activists now involved in "Black Lives Matter" were advocating for MORE policing in their neighbourhoods because of all the violence and etc., which, I'm sorry, churlish! Presumably they imagined the possibility of policing that didn't pathologically destroy black bodies, "guilty" or "innocent." The best part was the cover: Kanye West holding up a 2020 newspaper with the headline "Trump Defeats Kanye" in front of an adoring multitude. We can only dream. ( )