“…this weird zen-like serenity and total peace of mind you can derive from something as simple as melting butter in a pan or meticulously thin-slicing a clove of garlic seems so new and unfamiliar and so therapeutic.”—
“The fact that there is hypocrisy in feminist criticism — and more maddeningly, that there are knots having to do with beauty, sexuality, comedy, respect, desirability, power and representation that will simply not come cleanly undone no matter how sharp a nail we take to them — does not mean that the criticism is invalid, or that we should stop worrying the knots, or that our struggles on both fronts should be exempt from mockery. Jezebel does publish smart feminist content at the same time it publishes snarky items that might appear in more traditional women’s magazines. So does Salon. Tina Fey has made huge, feminist strides for women in comedy at the same time that she has made comedy at the expense of women. Such is life when you attempt — as we all should! — to bring gender criticism out of the pure ether of sociopolitical discourse and attempt to deploy it in the real, messy world of commerce, consumption and popular culture.”—
Today I learned in physical therapy that my FEET don’t work right. The PT was like, “lift your arches,” and it was like he was telling me to wiggle my ears.
I guess these are things - developments - I missed out on by not being a terribly active kid? I played some softball. I took dance classes. But still, I have to re-learn how to use the muscles in my feet.
(And then there was a fire drill and the lady in the wheelchair was like, uh, sure, whatever.)
The two non-circulating books I came to the slippery-floored main branch of the NYPL to read turn out to be pretty useless toward my research. I have googled tea suffrage -“tea party,” though, and am having some better luck.
If you come to the fancy main branch, btw, wear rubber-soled shoes. Slip slip slip. The fear of falling threatened to interrupt my haughteur as I clipped importantly past gawking tourists on my way to retrieve very important reference texts.
If the information I need is online, can I leave the library now and go get a gallon of hot chocolate from City Bakery? It feels like that sort of day.
Putting together the all-overheard episode of Stop Podcasting Yourself exclusively for donors to the MaxFunDrive (Feb. 28-Mar. 13), and this piece didn’t seem to fit anywhere. I’ll probably just tack it onto the end, but for now you can have a listen.
This episode is one of the most fun we’ve ever recorded. I think this is one of three times we break into song, but you can only hear it if you donate.
My love for this show cannot be overstated. [Requisite MAD PROPS to my sister who told me to listen about six months before I actually did, AND SHE WAS RIGHT, because she always is.] Even still, I did not expect anything as delightful as this is. MAD DELIGHTFUL.
It's important to clarify to your boyfriend that you're giggling at a high school acquaintance's facebook pictures of her babies not because you want babies, but because these babies look like little old men.
Aguirre-Sacasa has experience writing for Broadway as well as writing Spider Man comics. He has been brought on to rework Julie Taymor’s script.
They’re taking it seriously.
Julie Taymor’s script? What happened to Glen Berger? :(
I mean, probably for the best, but I just hope he got paid, and that someone will please produce his 60s spy thriller musical adaptation of The Tempest about linguistic anthropology, because it’s really the best thing ever.
I’ve seen a couple people respond negatively to the fact that The Book of Jezebel is offering an unpaid internship to two applicants who can live and work anywhere and I’m floored. I’m shocked. What is wrong with people?
Do you know how average it is to have a college education these days? Do you know how average it is to have worked on your school’s literary journal and have a stack of writing samples? It’s way, way average.
“Jezebel shouldn’t have to pay anything because nobody else pays anything. Bootstraps!”
I’ve already gotten enough shit for my stance on unpaid internships—which is that I am pretty much unequivocally opposed, no matter how noble your project—and I think the “this is how the world works” attitude is depressing and we should be trying to change it, not accept it, even if that is a naive and idealistic point of view—and I wasn’t going to weigh in again but QED pretty much sums it up for me here so I am reblogging.
I don’t have a black/white stance on unpaid internships, but “Can’t afford to do an unpaid internship? Maybe you need to do an unpaid internship so you can get a better paying job,” from the original post, absolutely boggles me. “I can’t afford to do an unpaid internship” doesn’t mean “I think I’m above that.” It means “I buy my own food and pay my own rent.”
ps we cleaned the apartment like mad just last night.
At 8 this morning I was sitting like three rows back from four Brussels Griffons being judged at the Westminster Kennel Club dog show, so happy I could almost cry.
In six hours at the dog show we met Holly, a gorgeous liver-spotted Dalmatian who let us rub her belly (she is the 99th ranked Dalmation lady in the US); an Italian Greyhoud wearing a faerie necklace; a grey Affenpinscher named Jake; and Walter, a Boston Terrier who is my Valentine (he gave me kisses, after all).
I got home around 3 and Meg was crying weird, and I went into the bedroom and was like, oh, she found her old grey mouse toy, but she never had a grey mouse toy, and grey mouse toys don’t move. I ran back into the living room, and she followed me with her gift. I may or may not have run out into the hallway in my socks and, I will confess to you tumblr, called my super to help me.
I’d been up since way before sunrise and in desperate need of a nap, but how did I know there were not a million more mice in the bedroom, under a blanket on the floor, IN MY BED? So I napped on the couch.
When I was brushing my post-nap teeth I heard Meg crying strangely from the bedroom. I looked in and she was with another little mouse on the blanket on the floor. I shut the door, turned on the radio loud so I wouldn’t hear the squeaking, and Tanner got home half an hour later and is an excellent person, for handling the mouse and for not making me feel like a total pussy for not being able to handle this at all.
There don’t seem to be any gaps by our floorboards, but I’ll find places to stick steel wool anyway. And I guess I should be glad Meg doesn’t chew up her presents before presenting them.
When I was in elementary school there were two first grade teachers - Mrs. Greenapple and Mrs. Bloomgarten. For Halloween one year Mrs. Bloomgarten dressed up as a green apple, and Mrs. Greenapple dressed up like a garden in bloom.
Greenapple sounds like a fake name, but this is all what I was reminded of upon typing in the url for Applegate Farms’ website, so I can learn more about my lunchmeats.
I took a 13-year break from eating meat, and am a very different person now than I was last time I ate a rotisserie chicken, but one thing is still true: people who prefer white meat are totally crazy bananas.