“The rhythm of the weekend, with its birth, its planned gaiety, and its announced end, followed the rhythm of life and was a substitute for it.”
~F. Scott Fitzgerald
I’m bone tired. The other night, well, you know sometimes how youtube happens? Youtube happened until 1am and I’ve been out of whack ever since. Last night, after treating myself to This American Life’s live show in movie theatres, I was off to meet Margot to work out together…when I got a text from her. She’d been in a car accident. Luckily she was fine, but I had a pretty horrible moment there.
This weekend I’ve got Trixie’s bacherlorette party with the girls from my godfamily, but first of all I’m going to the funerals for my brother-in-law’s parents and niece. Love your people extra hard this weekend, ducklings. Here are your links:
Sad though it may sound, I have not had to hunt for good reading for years – I have a battalion of unbelievably intelligent friends feeding me recommendations, links, articles, and books. Here’s a fascinating read, hat tip to Peregrine.
I have instituted a shopping ban that will remain in place at least until after my birthday, and probably until J.’s graduation, but that doesn’t stop me from looking. At this, for example.
Recently I had an interesting conversation with a friend who asked me, “Do you think we need feminism anymore? I mean, aren’t we past it?” Quite admirably (for me), I didn’t do a double take, I didn’t roll my eyes, I kept my eyebrows wrangled, and did not demand, “Are you serious?” I live in a fairly conservative place and work at a religious university, so I am routinely subjected to nonsensical sentences that start thus: “I’m not a feminist, but…” and usual end with some statement of equality or common sense. It was a matter of some joy, when J. said something similar in conversation once, I could retort, “I hate to break it to you, love, but you totally are.” After a pause, he laughed and said, “Yeah. You’re right.” And now, he occasionally tells me that once you have seen sexism, you start seeing it everywhere. Which is a long way of me saying that people (and in my experience, mostly ultra conservative men) can say we’re post-feminism, or that women don’t need it anymore, but I believe they’re irrevocably and world-without-end wrong. Here’s a recent example as to why.
Seriously, is there anything we can eat without panicking anymore?
It’s true. If you ever go to Pisa, you will see legions of tourists trying this very thing. And the next time I’m in town, I’m going to take a leaf from this gentleman‘s book.
This site is hysterical, if occasionally crude (warning, pearl clutchers). This one and this one made me snort I was laughing so hard, because living alone with Margot gone and J. back in London, I have experienced both these sensations. Mostly on account of the fact that I’d seen The Woman in Black and scary movies stick with me and make unsettling appearances in my head at 2am.
Maurice Sendak passed away this week, and I was surprised at how affected I felt. I admired so much of his work, not just Where the Wild Things Are, but the Little Bear books and the tale of Pierre, who could only say, “I don’t care.” But one of my favorite of his projects was his creative work on the Northwest Ballet Company’s brilliant motion picture adaptation of The Nutcracker. The only reason I have a VHS player is because the powers have never seen fit to turn that beautiful piece of art into a DVD. Here are some excerpts of interviews he had with NPR’s Terry Gross.
Want this. Want it so hard. Want it with all the yearning of my geeky soul.
The weekly sheep this week is a sheep dog, in an unexpected way.
J.’s transformation from steak and potatoes eating, jeans and ball cap wearing, all American male to Brit is almost complete. Not only does he refer to delivered/carryout food (properly) as takeaway, he drinks tea daily. Ha ha! He also passes on a recommendation for this tea if you need to fall asleep, apparently it knocks him out like Tylenol PM. Quoth J., “Tea over here is just better.”