Following up on my earlier post about Morocco, I am still going, and in fact, am leaving within the week.
Shit, I had some vague idea I might write this book one day, but it seems Jincy Willett has beaten me to the punch (and undoubtedly done a better job of it than I would have). Continue reading “I’ve Been Reading: Winner of the National Book Award“
For weeks now, the rumblings have been distant and low, but each day, they grow closer: echoes of a distant dread. Through the subterranean tunnels, it comes, the Balrog – ambition withers in its path, dreams splinter and snap. Deep into the city where the willful urban twixter po’ folk dwell, with their no benefits, their clothes from six years ago, their hopeful new iphones. It comes even for them, the Nothing, wiping out all in its path. Even those small, powerless grubs who have elected to find a little-noticed crevice on a larger creature, and hunker down there, making no noise, causing little harm, silently sucking…they, too, will be dragged forth, out into the glaring light of day, and counted. The fire of this crisis leaves no pore unscoured – even the armpits and nostrils of the corporate beasts will be flushed clean.
It comes. Closer and closer, it comes. It sucks up years, it grays youth, it brings forth the sweat from even the most habitually sedated brow…
It comes. It comes. It comes for you. RUN!!!!
Listen up, New Yorkers who live in high-rise apartment buildings: just because you cannot see into the windows of surrounding buildings does not mean that you are not lit up like Christmas to people across the way. If you do exercise videos in the buff toward the back of your apartment…oh, man, can I still see you. Without even trying. In fact, it’s very hard not to see you. And I’m sure other people can see you, too, and are probably not as polite about looking away as I am. Continue reading “Public Displays Of Private Affairs”
So, this weekend, a guy in Beijing stabbed a tourist to death, in public, in the middle of the day.
Also recently, a guy riding a Greyhound bus in Canada stabbed his seatmate to death, hacked his head off, and displayed it to the 37 other passengers who’d run screaming out of the bus. Which…wow. As if riding a Greyhound isn’t horror enough in itself. Continue reading “We Seldom Murder”
Does “BSC” mean anything to you? If not, then you will have no interest in What Claudia Wore, but if, like me, BSC pretty much encapsulates your entire girlhood, you will love it and should check it out immediately.
I spent my junior high years obsessively reading BSC books, which, being such thin, unsubstantial, quick reads, I wheedled my parents into purchasing for me in knee-high stacks. Continue reading “BSC Memories, Or Why I Never Reminisce About My Adolescence”