Seriously: Storm King. It is magic.
Impermanent furniture placement, but already so much less of a nightmare place.
(It’s a Dorian Gray-ish scenario though, wherein the better this room looks, the more the “den” deteriorates into slovendom.)
How is it possible that two people can spend at least eight hours unpacking, but have things look like this?
Listen, I love hearing about Beyonce’s baby, but as far as I’m concerned, the two following items are what really merit a story:
Solange, herself a mother, just relocated to Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn, from Los Angeles, and sent her son to first grade this past week. She’s also working on a new record. #
Don’t you have so many questions? I have so many questions! (Like what school? And if I haunt coffee shops in Carroll Gardens will I run into Solange Knowles? And if I do, will we become best friends? Would she like me to babysit? Because I can babysit. Although maybe it’s weird to ask your best friend to be your babysitter? So, I dunno. But like, if say, her sister and brother-in-law need a babysitter, she should feel free to pass along my name. And most importantly of all, can she please make sure that all of the songs on the album are Sandcastle Disco-level?)
2011 Book #60
AAAAAAAAAAAAAH. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.
Is this a book with teams? Because TEAM PEETA.
I am twelve.
Oh, ARE THERE EVER teams. Actually, wait, no. I take it back. There are no teams because Gale doesn’t even register.
I like to think that “WOMYN aka HITCH (Demo?)” exists because Heems read this (probably, right?) and got very fixated on all it contains, as well as the idea that “AN INCREASING NUMBER of feminists are voicing their regret about not sleeping with a small but growing number of Das Racist members”.
At first, I read this ad on the back of a truck on Long Island as “white glove stabbing”.
“You grew up to have an affinity for lovely things, a possibly inflated sense of your own uniqueness, a teensy hint of self-righteousness (remember how she refused tea when they raised the tea tax? “Thank you, I shall take no tea!”), and a latent familiarity with Colonial Williamsburg.” (i’m pretty sure you all know exactly what this refers to)
I belong to the bitter last category (“no American Girl Doll”). This deprivation, coupled with the fact that my younger sister did get an American Girl Doll, along with the millions of salt particles in my wound, like the cunning little bedroom set and the special outfits, still comes up at least once a year in my family. There are no appropriate reparations that could ever be made to me.
“Flagpole Sitta” - Harvey Danger
It has turned out, again and again, that attendance at the free Harvey Danger concert at the Cambridgeside Galleria in the fall of 1998 is the single best indicator of whether someone (from Boston) and I end up as friends.
Why “likes purple” is the most pointed, apt, two-word description of a person ever, I will maybe never know, but it just is.
Don’t believe me? Here’s a thought exercise: think of people, but especially lady people, that you have known, who liked purple a lot. Really think about them. I know! It’s all so clear now, isn’t it?
Then spend the rest of your day (or however long you want! I don’t like purple that much, so no judgment here) categorizing people by “likes purple”/”doesn’t care about purple at all”.
I will never understand why so much perfectly nice ink and breath is wasted on shit-talking New Jersey. No one here doesn’t realize just how awful Connecticut is, right?
I can’t top this description of driving through the place, because oh my god, “all those gray cities with their Ikeas and weird Insurance Office Buildings,” so I won’t try, but honestly. No one would miss this state if it disappeared one day, least of all this New Englander, who personally thinks the region should be capped at Massachusetts, Maine, and Vermont anyway.