Well hi, kittens.
What a couple of weeks. I’m angry about Brexit, and angry at the naked transparency of my own elected officials in tying themselves to our home grown demagogue and throwing out every “principled” talking point they’ve shouted about my whole politically aware life. The overall general mood of the Demos seems to be a bitter determination to go down with their various ships and I simply do not understand this perspective. The cynicism and sense of isolation/persecution that seems to be required to wish the dissolution of alliance or to uphold the power such an unworthy person floors me. I’m not linking to any of that news, I’m too angry.
On the flip side, my family dog is NOT dead as believed but instead had been KIDNAPPED. So that emotional rollercoaster happened as well.
Enjoy your weekend, ducklings, I’m curling up with another murder mystery to make myself feel better. I’m not saying I’m emotionally healthy, I’m saying I’m self-aware.
RIP to a complicated but important figure.
Yes, I will be mourning and celebrating The Good Place for a long while. The Atlantic actually did two pieces on it this week, one on aesthetics and the other on – you know – the existential questions of existence – and both are worth a read.
Sorry, yet another Atlantic piece, but fan as I am of Amanda Mull’s writing, I couldn’t not share this piece that resonates in my soul. My Christmas present was a KitchenAid – something I have not had since we moved to the UK and which I have missed dearly. Obviously, the KitchenAid is also a metaphor. “Young Americans are sometimes described as unwilling or unable to grow up; it might be more accurate to say they’re growing up differently. The traditional markers of adult achievement have yet to click into place for many people in their 20s and 30s, which has required them to reimagine what stability in America might now look like.”
Another power-behind-the-politician profile that I enjoyed this week. Let’s not talk about the Iowa Caucuses. I can’t.
Prime Small Dog National archaeology porn content.
Deeply necessary addition to our universal symbolic language, which shall be all that’s left to explain us when aliens finally find the rubble of our civilization. Good luck deciphering our weirdness!
Thank goodness. To deny oneself (to say nothing of us jackals who consume this content) of beauty and style because of some strict rules of how men should dress is silly. More velvet! S&M inspiration! Gowns, they’re great!
Damn, sorry. Another piece from The Atlantic this week, from perennial fave McKay Coppins: we’re not ready for this election…
…YESSSS…. (please don’t ruin it)
This man deserves recognition. Secrecy is impossible in our age and it will only delay our ability to respond to the when (not if) of pandemics. We’re astonishingly lucky that as a macro collective, it’s been a century since our last one, and it’s not reasonable to assume this luck will continue indefinitely.
We’re screwed, guys. I mean, we’ll survive for a few centuries, but everything is going to get harder and countless people are going to suffer.
Important wintertime tips.