Syllabus #85

 This is it.  The last one of the year.  Calling something the last anything of 2020 feels like a victory.  The last sneeze of 2020.  The last time eating cereal of 2020.  The last panic attack of 2020.  If we made it this far, maybe we can keep going.

And you know what, I really wanted to go out on this last syllabus of the year with a bang.  I thought that to myself, way back last Sunday when I opened up the editor and titled this post, and wrote that first paragraph.  I thought we could just wade through the cesspool of 2020 for the next 9 days or whatever, and not that 2021 will be magically better, but there's reason to hope it might not be as much of a disaster.  And then we went to visit our families, after two weeks of diligently isolating and getting negative tests a couple days before we made the 6 hour drive without stopping once for nary a drop of pee or gasoline.  

We were having such a grand time, I barely opened my laptop.  So I collected no links.  And then Christmas morning happened.  So strange to watch your city make national and international headlines, and stranger still when you are not home yourself and can only watch from afar.  If you're not all donated out from this turd rollercoaster of a year, here's a place you can help:  Hands On Nashville

Peace out 2020.  Don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.  Except, do.

Syllabus #84

We've nearly reached the last syllabus of 2020.  One more after this, and then we can turn our backs on the acrid dumpster fire that has been this entire wretched year.  That's not to say things will instantly be better at the stroke of midnight on January 1st, but we have some hope on the horizon.  There's a flickering light at the end of the tunnel, and it might be a mirage, but dammit let's wade through the sewage and dodge the hungry rats and hurry up and find out.

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Well here's your obligatory heavy shit - New York Times' 2020 in pictures.  It's hard to believe all of this shit happened this year.  

The line forms...where exactly?  That orderly queue is gonna look like the Apple Store on New iPhone Day but replace skinny tech hipsters with every contractor and labor leader in the state of New Jersey.  So basically a scary scary line full of Tonys and Larrys.  Basically exactly the kind of angry mob that I'd love to see take down anything DT has ever once touched.

Hey this looks familiar...I have these bowls! (Thanks, Mom!)  However, I was shocked - shocked - to read that they are dishwasher safe.  I've had mine for a few years and unless they've changed something about their composition I was under the impression they had to be hand-washed.  I'm always getting on Andy's case for using them for something dumb like a handful of almonds.  Like, thanks for giving me another chore to do, guy.

"There are several things wrong with Malcom Gladwell's Defense of Masturbating in Front of Co-Workers" is not a headline I ever expected to see, but then again, neither were most of the headlines published throughout 2020.  Brings new meaning to the idea of 'the tipping point,' doesn't it?

I'd like to think Sinatra died the night of the Seinfeld finale because his heart just broke knowing the show was over...

HOME ALONE IS 30.  THIRTY.  3-0 years old.  Nothing has made me feel older.  Not the grey hairs, not the veiny legs, the crepey neck skin, the paying of taxes or the deliberate consumption of fiber.  Kevin foiled the Wet Bandits 30 years ago, and I still can't leave my own house for the holidays without waking up in a cold sweat that I left behind something very important and/or a home invasion is actively in progress.  Damn.  Also, how beautifully has Catherine O'Hara aged?

Analog Reading:

Finished How to Be An Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi.  I'm glad I read it, and the ideas it contains are important, but it definitely wasn't a light read.  Duh.  It took me a lot longer to work through it, but that's probably a good thing.

Wolfed down Via Negativa by Daniel Hornsby.  'Wolfed' being a mild pun because it's a book about a former priest driving around the country in his Camry with a wounded coyote in the backseat.  It was a fast read, and not something I would have normally picked up, but Andy asked me to return it to the library and I was all, well, first lemme take a look...

Syllabus #83

What's going on in your world?  Anything joyful or exciting?  Or has 2020 continued to surprise and delight you right down to the very bitter end?  That's what it's trying to do over here.

Last week we had some outgoing mail stolen.  I actually watched it happen, and was so confused about what I was witnessing that I didn't fully process what happened until the thief was back in his car and driving away.  Unfortunately for my neighbor but luckily for me, the guy hit both of our mailboxes and she happened to see him, too.  

After she came over and we had a brief exchange of "Can you frigging believe this shit," I knew I wasn't having some Rear Window-style hallucination from too much time locked in my house.  Validated, I called the non-emergency police line like a goddamn Karen.  The rest of the day was a blur of too much time spent on the phone filing a police report and contacting the bank to get a new checking account.   Now I have no checks so I hope I don't owe anyone money!  Y'all take Venmo?

But wait, there's more!  Changing my direct deposit information for work kinda fucked up my paychecks.  I mean I'll still get paid but it's going to be a hassle for a couple pay periods.

Andplusalso, our kitten's butthole is falling out. 

That isn't entirely accurate, but we sure thought so for a minute.  See, and this is TMI, she's had various intestinal issues since we adopted her from the cat rescue, because she had picked up a parasite from one of the other cats there.  We thought we had it all sorted out after a few vet visits and various medications.  Between our three animals, it's gotten to the point with this vet where, when I'm sitting the parking lot during the no-contact appointments and they call to collect payment, I'm like why don't you tell ME my credit card number, YOU SHOULD KNOW IT BY NOW.  

At any rate, the other day, I found myself reading my 16-digit card number over the phone yet again, rendering payment for a vet tech to shove her fingers in my cat's anus.  Her glands needed to be expressed, badly, because her poop has been too soft to uh, milk her anal sacs, according to what I learned from PetMD.  I wish I never had to type that phrase.  Milk her anal sacs.  Forgive me.  So tiny kitty had adult human fingers in her teeny tiny poop chute, and we are modifying her diet to firm up them shits.  We thought all was well.   

A few hours later, conveniently 30 minutes after the vet closed for the day, we noticed that her anus was livid red and bulging outwards in an alarming fashion.  Then a poop just fell right out of her when we picked her up.  So we put her down.  And Freaked. Out.  We love this cat so much and she is the one tiny pinprick of joy in this entire dumpster fire of a year.

Luckily, our friend who is a very patient vet tech accepted a disgusting, NSFW text of a kitty balloon knot and talked us off the ledge.  And today, that little brown eye is nearly back to normal.  Waking up to the joyous discovery that my kitten is not suffering an anal prolapse is the best thing that's happened to me all month.  

You'd look a little surly too 

It's entirely possible that I share a link every week with just the comment, "Well this is devastating," and who am I to argue with tradition?  

WWFPD, y'all?  What would Finnish People do?  That's what I ask myself when I'm trying to stay warm, eat pickled herring, and dust every food with cardamom.

Holiday dispatches from the 1918 pandemic.  Ho ho hold my barf pail.

We got a whole generation of toddlers who will grow up to be as socially awkward as me!  

Analog Reading:

How To Be An Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi.  It's good, it's very good.  It's a lot to digest so I'm reading it slowly.

When No One is Watching by Alyssa Cole.  Sweet Fancy Moses, you guys.  I stayed up until almost midnight one school night, plowing through this book.  I know I'm a snob about what I read, and don't usually gravitate towards thrillers, but I definitely want to check out some of Cole's other books.  Just, holy shit.  The thing is, while this book was wildly gripping, packed with entertaining dialogue, and expertly paced for maximum suspense and questioning of characters hidden secrets and motives, the plot was devastating.  It follows Sydney Green, a 30 year old Black woman living in a historically Black neighborhood in Brooklyn that is being aggressively gentrified, which turns out to be...an understatement.  The true horror, though, is that while certain plot elements towards the end take a hard turn and become a little too far-fetched and not really in keeping with the realistic tone of the first 3/4 of the book, the premise is an utterly realistic representation of the horrors wrought on Black communities by racist power structures.

Syllabus #82

It's December 6th, do you know where your holiday packages are?

You bet your sweet bippy* that I do.  I have a daily neurotic routine where I open every shipping confirmation email and check the tracking on every package.  Especially the ones coming to my house, because mail is getting stolen out here in these streets.  I watched someone steal my outgoing mail the other day.  Afterwards, I had the distinct pleasure of filing a police report and getting a new checking account, because if you're brazen enough to steal a Christmas card right outta my mail box in broad daylight, you're probably not above trying to do some pretty fucked up shit with my checks.

*If you, like me, realized you had no earthly idea what a bippy is, rest assured, it just means ass.  I dunno about you, but every time a weird old catch phrase comes to mind, my first thought is to make sure it's not actually racist or otherwise super problematic.  Because 7 times out of 10, it is, in fact, something terrible.

Stare into the void

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Last night we watched Solaris and when George Clooney arrives at the spaceship he's just wandering around it in a space suit but no helmet.  It occurred to me that I'm as horrified by the thought of bopping around outer space without your astronaut helmet as I am by the thought of entering a public space with other humans and not having my face covered.   

Yea, a real oversight if there ever was one.  This bish has been werkin' 9 to 5 for humanity. 

How do we feel about this?   I'm a shameful lightweight so if I'm filling my wine glass to the brim with anything, cake is probably the safest option, but I still have concerns about this.  

I don't think I ever got the laser background, but damn did I want it.  Also the one where there's a vignette profile view of your face in the upper right corner.  That was legit.  You know what was not legit?  The photographer always whipping out a comb and trying to smooth out my hair.  First of all, lady, put your lice-filled communal comb back in the pocket of your corduroy Lands End jumper where it belongs, and second of all, I know my hair is a hot frizzy mess - this is the 90s and self-esteem is overrated.

Analog Reading:

Finished So You Want to Talk About Race by Ijeoma Oluo.  This is me being totally aware of my privilege and I know how this comparison is going to sound, but this book is like yin yoga for social justice conversations.  It presents some uncomfortable truths and asks you to sit with that discomfort and stretch your understanding, but never in a punishing way.  Sure, it might hurt a little, you might get a little sweaty at times, but it gets easier the longer you stick with it.

Started How to Be An Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi.  This isn't me just loading up on the virtue signaling.  I placed a bunch of books on hold a while ago and these two just happened to come in at the same time.  That being said, it's interesting reading these two books back to back.  This one feels like it's taking a more academic approach, whereas Oluo's book was, by design, more conversational.

Syllabus #81

Nine months into this global nightmare, it's no longer original or insightful to remark on the gaseous, ungraspable nature of time.  Without a predictable structure, time will scatter in all directions, disperse and fill the container in which we find ourselves.  In this void, the particles that punctuate our year drift by on the air currents, swirling just out of reach.  Wasn't it just Spring Break?  How did we get here?  

We went through the motions of a two-person Thanksgiving.  It's not that we haven't done that before, but we had to really force ourselves this year.  Would it have been easier to just eat a bowl of cereal, pop an edible, and be done with it?  Yes.  Did we set the table and prepare more food than two humans have any business eating?  Yes.  Did I then feel an overwhelming sense of guilt about having plenty to eat when others have nothing?  Of course.  

So if you're still walking around with your pants unzipped from all the carbs and starches you shoveled into your gullet on Thursday, please consider donating money, food, or time to a local food pantry.  My favorite is The Little Pantry That Could, because visitors can choose the items they need.

Ah, gather round, children, and behold the festive re-lighting of the liquor store sign

So what else happened this week?

Finally, some good news.  Lord knows we deserve it. 

Deb Perelman approaches National Treasure status for me - her recipes have never steered me wrong and her tone is so conversational that I find myself getting sucked into even her meat-centric blog posts, imagining a life where I, too, have an actual social life where I cook for appreciative friends and family.  Sure, I might also win the lottery, get my writing published, or join the circus as a contortionist.  Not technically impossible, but so unlikely as to be laughable.

Shit's bad out there.  Give what you can.  I mean ideally we would have a functioning government that provides a better social safety net so people don't fall into such desperate situations, but you know, absent that, let's not let our neighbors go hungry.

Man, the census.  What a mess.  I was hired to be an enumerator, thinking it would be a great "summer job" serving an actually important cause (leaving aside for the moment that we don't pay teachers nearly enough if I was honestly considering a summer job).  Shit was on pause all summer and they didn't call me to start working until after the school year began, and then those jabronis hounded me for weeks.  Like, let's direct some of this energy into getting people to submit their census data, shall we?  

This NY Times list of notable books from 2020 has me feeling like a slacker - I haven't even heard of most of these, though I did read a small handful of them.  

A compelling case for calling in vs. calling out 

Interesting?

Let us pause for a moment to remember just some of the ways that the T.P. administration has been horrendous and enacted policies that violate basic human rights, this time of the LGBTQ community.  See what I did there by abbreviating?  Their full names give me a visceral shudder, but the abbrevs tells it like it is.  We'd all like to wipe our collective asses with them and flush them away.

Analog Reading:

Finished The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett.  Loved it.

Reading The Party Upstairs by Lee Conell.  I like it so far, but I feel like I've fallen into a pattern where I keep reading books about white women under the age of 40 being complete and utter messes at life, and like, that checks out, but it's hitting pretty close to home and I feel attacked.  Or seen?  Validated?  Maybe it's just that misery loves company?

Syllabus #80

This feels like a diary entry from an explorer on a polar expedition.  Nothing new to report.  The days are getting shorter, and I'm just so tired.

 The only evidence that I'm not completely dead inside is how much I frigging love my cats.  Today while I was unloading groceries, Lola tried to get inside a paper wine bag.  She first tried crawling in, and then realized she was too big, or the bag was too small.  At any rate the physics of it were not working in her favor but she was determined to make it happen.  So she backed up to get a running start and skidded across the wood floor, head first into the wall, shrouded to her torso in paper bag.  The bag crumpled like Volkswagen Beetle in a high speed crash test.  I haven't laughed that hard since a certain orange goblin contracted the 'rona, only this time it was a wholesome, delighted laugh and not a schadenfreude-y, vengeful one.

Show me a cat that doesn't love the shit out of laundry day

Yea.

Winfrey/Parton 2024.  I'm calling it now.  Oprah is a Boss who knows how to get things done and influence people, and Dolly quietly accomplishes things behind the scenes while charming the pants right off of all of us.  

I've been opining about the delicious simplicity of the Charlie Brown Snacksgiving spread for years.  I feel seen.  

Analog Reading:

The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett.  It's brilliant and beautiful.  Go get it in your hands as fast as you can.

Syllabus #79

Was it just last weekend that we were celebrating a Biden/Harris victory?  That was hopeful and all, but meanwhile, 2020 keeps goose-stepping onward at a pace I don't quite understand.  What even is anything anymore?  I just go to work every day with the knowledge that my job will possibly kill me, really pound the living shit out of the 'other duties as assigned' bit of my position description, and walk out the doors at the end of the day wondering what the hell is the point of anything we are doing?

Please enjoy this decaying shack as a metaphor for my mental wellbeing.

This is comedy gold but the jokes have already written themselves.  It's a very fitting denouement to the ineptitude and outrageous behavior of the past four years. 

The only one of us who has managed to make 2020 their bitch is a giant orange sociopath, but not the one you're thinking of.  Gritty.

What a mensch.  To anyone who customarily receives a Christmas gift from me, buckle up because your "stockings" are getting stuffed with holi-dildos from Fantasy Island.

Now let's take a turn into serious territory.  This is important information and much-needed perspective.  

Peter Turchin sounds like he's a lot of fun at parties.  Also, hold me.

Analog Reading:

Grown Ups by Emma Jane Unsworth.  For once, a book set in non-pandemic contexts that was, narcissistically, relatable.  A 35-year old woman flops her way through life blinded to emotional needs of those closest to her because of self-centered, self-loathing tendencies and a crippling addiction to her phone and social media.  ISN'T IT GREAT TO FEEL SEEN?

Just started The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett.  Obviously, it's very good so far. 

Syllabus #78

 [I'm starting the draft of this post on Sunday, November 1st and, not to be dramatic, but I don't know whether it will ever be posted.  What if the whole world is burning by next Sunday?  What if I die in the streets before then?]

Well here we are now on Sunday, November 8th.  It took a few days of nail biting and ulcer-developing and stress-constipating, but I swear the sky looks bluer, the birds are chirping louder, and the gunshots popping off around the neighborhood are probably being fired in celebration.

Kindness and decency and competence won.  It was close enough that we should all be concerned that a plurality of our fellow citizens continue to endorse hate, but we won.  This is only the beginning, but at least we can move forward with hope for a better future.

So, uh, where to start?  Not exactly a slow news week, but here were some notable highlights:

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Youse guys clearly haven't been paying attention if you think it's ever a good idea to come for Philly.  

Earlier this week, packing my bags sounded like a viable strategy.  I dunno, maybe I'll stick around now.  

Other monumental things happened this week, let's not overlook them.

This guy. 

Wish I was there. 

Relief. 

Historic. 

Analog Reading

Just finished Elena Ferrante's The Lying Life of Adults.  I feel like a broken record in my assessment of books lately - I probably would have enjoyed it more if I could have devoted longer chunks of time to reading and had more brain space to digest literature, and if it wasn't weird and hard to identify with representations of "normal" existence.  Maybe now that we are about to have some grownups in charge again, some of that psychic burden will lift and I can actually enjoy a dang book for a change.

Syllabus #77

Just another Sunday from the precipice.  It's strange to know that you're living through history.  Who knows whether someday, twenty years from now, I'll be telling my children cats, "Boy, we were scared that things were about to get darker than they'd ever been in our lifetimes, but democracy prevailed, the Biden/Harris administration righted the ship, and look at us now, flourishing under the leadership of President Ocasio Cortez!"  Or whether I'll be telling my cats, "Look, we've been over this, you get the turkey and giblets and I get the seafood medley, and yes I know these cans of Fancy Feast expired in 2023 but times are tough all over."

You hear that, Lola?  Turkey and giblets.

So like, here's some stuff that probably won't make you feel any better, but it's all (mostly) important.

Shit's dark.

Two more days.  Just for the love of Nancy, vote if you haven't already.  

Stay safe out there, Philly.  

Are we doing holidays this year?  More and more I feel like it can't happen responsibly so it's just not going to happen. 

This is relevant. 

Also this.  We watched Ernest Scared Stupid on Friday because some of it was filmed in our neighborhood.  Shit holds up, man. 

File under: Forced monkey labor is probably the least shocking and disturbing revelation of 2020.

Analog Reading:

Finally got my hands on Elena Ferrante's new novel, The Lying Life of Adults.  If I had a longer attention span and more free time I would have finished it in three days.  I know it's good, but like, who can seriously read right now?  

Mischief Night 2020

 Because most of 2020 has felt like opening your front door to stomp on a flaming bag of dog shit, only to find all the foliage on your property draped in soggy toilet paper and your car windshield crusted over with egg whites, I'm resharing my Mischief Night essay from last year.  

Please also enjoy this picture of a black cat that may or may not sprout bat wings and drink my blood tonight:

If you do go Mischiefing tonight, I totally get you.  It's been a rough year, and sometimes you just have to purge some emotions.  Do keep in mind, a lot of people have doorbell cameras now so, you know, maybe wear a ski mask.

Syllabus #76

The theme this week is Escape.  Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego?  I dunno, but if that B is as smart we thought she was, she probably isn't trapped in the smoldering ash heap that is the US of A.

I could get down with this island hermit lifestyle.

Si, por favor.

On escaping the trappings of the beauty industry.  Yo, real talk, I haven't touched my hairdryer since early March, and I didn't pluck my eyebrows from March to June.  It was majestic, though a little less Kahlo and a little more McPoyle than I would have hoped:

Escaping to the Jurassic era - hold onto your butts

Watching:

The new Borat movie.  I cackled, and then fell into a deep depression.  I'd love to watch a making of documentary about the Borat movies - how can these people be serious?  I want to be skeptical about these people not being in on the joke because I don't want to believe people are that despicable and unflinching in the face of racism, sexism, anti-Semitism, and sexual abuse, but like...*gestures randomly at all of the world we live in...*

Analog Reading:

Almost finished with Emily Temple's The Lightness.  It has really picked up.  It's kind of erotic and clearly heading for disaster.  Just like 2020.  Minus anything erotic, unless you're into dinosaur buttholes, I guess.

Syllabus #75

Yesterday I was returning home from a long walk with Charlie.  I turned off the main drag to head up the alley that runs behind our house so I could deposit his bag of party favors in the trash can out back.  I have this thing for alleys - these weird, liminal spaces that aren't intended for foot traffic, really, but who cares?  You never know what you might find - interesting compositions of garbage, expertly-rendered graffiti, stray cats.  Yesterday, the alley gave me the most wonderful gift.

A few paces in, I looked up and saw a woman sitting cross-legged on a pile of dirt, her back up against the wall of this abandoned mechanic's garage.  She sat there twisting her long, brown hair into a braid as if it was the most natural thing to be doing at 10 in the morning on a Saturday.

She could have been 25 or 45 - she had one of those ambiguously-aged faces you sometimes see as the 'after' photo on a meth PSA.  Not wanting to be rude, I nodded to her and said good morning as Charlie and I passed by her earthen perch.

She called back to me in response, "Them the new in-style glasses?"  To which I replied, "Uh, what?"

"You know.  The in-style glasses - you see er'body wearin' 'em," she informed me, her remaining teeth looking like so many yellowed piano keys.

"I guess so, then."

"You know, it's like, 'steada the new iPhone or money in your pocket, people be buyin' these glasses."

"Well, I'd be blind without these, so uh, there's that.  Have a good one," I said, pulling Charlie away from the discarded take-out container he was sniffing.

As I picked up the pace to put distance between us and this oracle of fashion and discretionary spending, she called out, "That's what they all say, but I don't think I much believe 'em."

What a rich tapestry life is.  What a fascinating, weird thing.  You can be walking your dog, minding your own business one minute, in in the next, a stranger braiding her hair on a pile of dirt questions your sartorial choices, spending habits, and ocular health all in one fell swoop.  

Speaking of things that make you question the world and your place in it - here's some shit I read on the internet in the past 7 days!

Tell it, Cory.  It's not normal, and Amy Clowney Butthole is the worst kind of conservative christian - she acts all nicey on the surface but she uses language like 'sexual preference',' which is almost certainly not a mere slip-up, but rather deliberate and coded language used by those who would be quick to take away gay rights on the basis of believing that your sexual orientation is a matter of choice. 

I didn't watch the town hall, I just couldn't, but I'm proud of the thrashing Savannah Guthrie dished out.  

 

Cool idea, guys.  Actually this might have been the only reassuring thing I've read all week.  I was ready to throw myself on the middle-age bonfire and just burn my irrelevant body to a crisp but it seems I still have a couple youthful tricks up my sleeve.

What are we doing for the holidays this year?  I know for me, Thanksgiving is a hard no because of my work situation, but Christmas is more of a gray area.  I'm not sure if I find these suggestions and mathematical breakdowns of risk to be encouraging or horrifying.  

Uh-duh.  I feel judged and pitied and pressured and guilty ALL THE TIME.  I'm including this whole paragraph because IT ME:

In our society, the consistent message is that if you opt not to have children, your life is less meaningful. To become a parent is the norm, and anything else is a deviation from that norm. In a study conducted by Dr. Leslie Ashburn-Nardo, participants reported significantly greater feelings of moral outrage―including anger, disgust, and disapproval―toward voluntarily child-free people. At the same time, child-free people were consistently viewed as being less personally fulfilled than those with children. According to Dr. Ashburn-Nardo, perceiving child-free people as less fulfilled acts as a way of “punishing” them for violating what’s often considered to be both a social norm and a moral imperative.

Analog Reading:

Just finished Our Lady of Perpetual Hunger by Lisa Donovan.  I loved it so much, in no small part because she's a Nashvillian and it's wild to read a book that takes place largely in your literal backyard.  Then I found her Instagram and discovered that we are practically neighbors, in that I am certain I have run/biked/walked by her house multiple times before.

Picked up Lightness by Emily Temple again.  I'm sure I'll enjoy it, but it's off to a slow start for me, maybe just because it's hard for me to concentrate on fiction these days.

Syllabus #74

Hey all you cool cats and kittens!

Can you tell who is the buffer friend in this picture?  I like to imagine that when I'm not around, the cats have nothing to talk about except me and that it's really uncomfortable for them.  Is that weird?  Don't answer that.

The sun setting on my sanity

Are we still talking about the fly?  I mean it was some real gallows humor.  Everything is shit and we're all going to die, but this fly brought us all together for the kind of shared cultural experience we haven't enjoyed since Tiger King.  I mean, the fly was funny and all, but let's not let the hilarious symbolism distract us from the actual evil coming out of Pence's mouth - failing to condemn white supremacy, threatening the civil rights and bodily autonomy of black people, gay people, and women, you know, just some of his greatest hits.

So basically, stressing about the virus makes you more likely to become severely ill from it.  That's quite a troubling feedback loop.  Super helpful to know!  I'm not stressed out, you're stressed out!  I didn't break out in an unexplained rash after visiting my mom because, despite isolating to the best of my ability and obtaining a negative test before driving for 6 hours without stopping to pass Go, collect $200, or empty my bladder, I was convinced that I had brought a pox upon her house.  I didn't have rolling panic attacks for two days straight until I got another negative Covid test after I got home.  Nope, not me.  I know how to chill.

God damn, Lindsay Graham!  You just saw the line and sashayed all the way across it.  Whether you live in South Carolina or not, consider throwing Jaime Harrison some bones.  He's giving Graham a hell of a run.  I watched their first debate and Harrison did a damn fine job.  He was focused on the issues and what he would do for the people of his state, and still managed to come back with some totally respectful, factual zingers to the utterly ignorant, trash comments and questions from Lindsay Graham Cracker.

If you have to protect everyone from things that conflict with their religious beliefs in their workplace, here's a brief, non-exhaustive list of things we just have to eliminate:

• Some religions have strict dietary laws that their adherents follow.  No more restaurants where pork or shellfish are served, or where meat and dairy are mixed.  After all, what if a Jewish person works there?
• While we're at it, let's get rid of the entire pork industry just to be safe.  You like ham?  Too fuckin' bad.
• Some religions are very clear that divorce is forbidden.  What if a clerk in some government office just gets the vapors at the very thought of filing divorce paperwork?  Better take divorce off the table.
• What about religions that are opposed to premarital sex and/or sex outside the purposes of reproduction?  Let's wave goodbye to condoms and birth control pills, dental dams, spermicidal lube, sponges (do they still make sponges or was their discontinuation the whole point of that Seinfeld episode?). After all, someone has to manufacture and sell that stuff, and what if it violates their religious beliefs?
• You know, some faiths require women to dress with extreme modesty, but there are an awful lot of clothing stores that sell risqué fashions that would violate religious laws.  Guess we better shutter the last 7 remaining malls, and just put the kibosh on the whole fashion industry, save for the burlap sack sector.  The Pantone color of the year is just 'ehhh I dunno, brown?' from now on.

Just a super casual, not at all worrisome headline to add to your list of things to think about during your constant, rolling panic attacks.  Just a little garnish on this horror smorgasbord.  Just a lil' sprig of parsley to get stuck in your teeth.

Analog Reading:

Finally finished Utopia Avenue by David Mitchell.  It took a hard left turn towards the end in a surreal, mystic direction that I did not see coming and I'm not sure how I feel about it.  Overall, I liked it, and despite its length, I found myself feeling sorry it was over.

Started reading Lightness by Emily Temple.  I picked up an ARC at a library conference shortly before we started staying at home.  I'm only a few pages in, and the premise seems interesting, but it's too early to pass any judgments.

Plowing through Our Lady of Perpetual Hunger by Lisa Donovan.  I wouldn't call her the female Anthony Bourdain, but she writes about cooking and the restaurant industry with honesty and rawness and fervor and she isn't afraid to season her words with a well-placed fuck here and there.  Given that food is one of the only experiential pleasures available to me (or any of us, unless you're a maniac) right now, I really appreciate food-centric books these days.

Syllabus #73

I'm a day late with this post.  Sue me.  I mean, don't.  If this is worthy of litigation, you might need to like, do some breath-work and check your priorities.  

The past 8 or so days have been another vanishingly short and incomprehensibly long interlude.  Weird times we're living through, amirite?

Speaking of Weird, 1994 was a great vintage:

Is some of this even relevant anymore?  Probably not, but being slightly out of style is kind of my brand.

Vote, vote, vote.  Vote for Biden.  Our lives, our country, human decency and dignity depend on it.  What we saw on display during that debate was terrifying.  It was an explicit, not tacit or subliminal, encouragement of white supremacist violence and voter intimidation.  

I've never been more terrified to exist in this country 

Schadenfreude.  There's too much to say about it all.  Who can keep up?

Halloween's not canceled, but if your child shows up on my porch this year in any type of 'Rona or Trump related costume I'm going to give them an uncooked, previously frozen Brussels sprout rolled in used cat litter.  Honestly, that's what I'm giving any child that has the audacity to ring my doorbell this year.  Stay off my lawn.

Speaking of Halloween, here's something pointless and dumb and weird that made me laugh for a second: 

I think I'm more scared of post-Covid lingering symptoms than I am of just straight up dying.  

In the words of the Sex Pistols, I wanna be anarchy.  What IS so bad about it, exactly?  I think the problem lies in the fact that these types of movements can only succeed if those who affiliate themselves with the movement are acting in good faith.  Distributed movements without formal leadership can accomplish a lot but they're also fragile in critical ways.

Watching all of this interrupting was very triggering for me. I know Joe Biden is capable of deep empathy, and now he knows what it's like to move through the world as a woman, with some asshat talking over you and cutting you off every step of the goddamn way. 

Analog Reading:

Still plodding through Utopia Avenue.  I like it, but it's hard to concentrate on it.  That's my sophisticated literary criticism.

The Isolation Journals #111

Your prompt for this week:

Choose a color (any color!). Write about the sound, smell, taste and feel of that color.

You can write in lines of poetry or prose. You can focus on one color, or if you’re writing shorter lines and sentences, jump around to different colors.

Bonus prompt:
Choose a sound (maybe a sound that you love, or that you hear all the time, or that you heard once and will never forget). What is the color and shape of that sound? How does the sound smell, taste, feel on your skin?

---

Have you ever had your aura photographed?

Mine was clear

Like I'm not even here

My spirit is sheer

Just vacant and weird

That's a joke

I think

If I ever let someone

Capture my aura on film

What would be seen?

My guess is puke green

The dissonant chords of nagging

Claws scritching on the walls

Each little talon stroking a different anxiety

Carving little grooves

For me to dwell on

When every creak and pop and bump and groan

Could be nothing, or a disaster

The burp when you're hungover

Waiting for your body to decide

If you're going to rally

Or spend the day in bed

The gurgling breath that reminds you

Two drink maximum, ma'am

You can't handle liquid truth

Those bumps you feel 

On the backs of your thighs 

Right after a shave

On a cold morning

Stepping out of the steam

In-grown hairs

Puke green

Syllabus #72

I unlocked a new pointless life goal yesterday.  1000 Days of Yoga!  Every single damn day since January 1, 2018, I have done yoga.  Come hell or hangovers, I took the time to stretch and move.  I'm not talking full-on, hour-long practices every day.  That would actually be impressive.  No, I'm talking a bare minimum of 5 minutes a day.  What a meaningless milestone! 

Also, here is my 6th grade yearbook profile.  Someone was kind enough to randomly post it on my facebook page the other day.  I'm going to make a wild claim here that I was one of those rare people who never had an awkward phase.  Because you can't call it a phase if you're still living your best weird life 24 years later.

Last name redacted - I have one but do you think I would give something like that to just anybody? NO!

Can we talk about how my favorite saying was yoinked directly from Susan Powter's weight loss infomercial?  It could have been worse, I suppose.  We're all just lucky I didn't go with Richard Simmons, "Don't you feel like a pony when you sweat?"

So what was I reading this week when I wasn't ogling Randy Taylor on my favorite sitcom or rocking out to Jagged Little Pill?

---

I can't wait to watch all of these movies (in theory...in practice I'm sure I'll never bother). This quote about Concrete Cowboy starring Idris Elba:  "It’s not a movie that makes my city look good, but it makes it look the way it is, and that’s good enough."

Eloquent and important words from Barack Obama regarding the passing of RBG 

We don't deserve this book but we need it. 

See you on the seesaw, Cindy (seriously though, good on ya, and let's hope party defections like this help make a difference)  

Slow. Clap. The right to vote is worth fighting for.  

It me - "One minute you're like: Yup, we're in person. I can do this. You know, it's not ethical for me to, like, desert my students and be unwilling to do something that's scary and makes me anxious because I'm selfish and I just don't feel like it. So I'm going to suck it up and do it. ... And the next minute, I see that we added seven cases in our county today, and I feel like, oh, my God, everybody's going to die!"

It's time to strap in or strap on.  You can either get fucked by winter this year, or be the one doing the fucking.  That's a graphic metaphor but these are desperate times.    

And for your horrifying long read:  What if the unthinkable happens?

Analog Reading:

Finished Michael Arceneaux's I Can't Date Jesus.  We have more in common than you might think.  We both had alcoholic fathers, and we both had a thing for JTT growing up.  I feel like we could be friends.

Reading David Mitchell's Utopia Avenue.  It's enjoyable as a form of escape, but I'm having a hard time giving myself over to it, like I'm expecting anything I read right now to be making some kind of statement about race, culture, politics, or the state of the world.  This book feels a little too fluffy for the current moment, but I guess I'll finish reading it anyway.

The Isolation Journals #110

 Your prompt for this week, from Rachel Schwartzmann:

[On the topic of slowing down and stepping back from our devices and our to-do lists]

Set your timer for five minutes and do nothing. Stare at the desk or the wall or the dust motes in a slice of sunlight. Then write about the thoughts, the questions, and the answers that came up in that moment of slowness, of stillness.

---

In my brief moment of silence, I thought about the workday behind me.  It was hectic.  This morning feels like last week already.  Nonetheless, it was just this morning that I taught a virtual class of kindergarteners about the importance of balancing your time online with the time you spend in the real world.  We talked about why it's important to take breaks from technology, to ask permission before using a grown-up's devices, and why you shouldn't ignore someone who is in the room with you when you are using a device.  

I wonder how many of their parents could stand to follow the same advice.  How many of these kids have grown up with a shiny, expensive, handheld sibling standing between them and their parents, hogging the spotlight?  A perfect sibling that can be quickly silenced when it cries at inopportune moments, speaks only when spoken to, and can be easily replaced when it misbehaves.

I'm not a parent, but I know I'm guilty of getting sucked into the vortex of my phone, endlessly scrolling, hoping for a hit of dopamine, something, anything good or amusing to fill the void.  If I had kids screaming at me to wipe their butts or invest in their 529 account or make them some chicken nuggets, or whatever kids do when they're feeling spicy, I'd probably never put my phone down.  (Do not call child protective services, I have no plans of procreating.)

So, parents, I get it (do I, though?) and I'm not judging you (am I, though?).  It's just, we all need to slow our rolls.  And our scrolls.  Be present.  Get some fresh air.  Shake out your legs.  Sniff a flower.  Watch a caterpillar wiggle across the sidewalk.  Talk to your kid or your pet or your partner or your reflection (if you're that isolated, you probably need the practice before you put yourself back out there with other live humans).  Listen.

During this virtual class, I asked kids what they could do instead of spending time on their screens.  One little girl said, "Play with my cousin!"  Great, good answer.  Another said, "Pet my doggy!"  A kid after my heart.  Another said, "Play Roblox!"  And there's always one that completely misses the point.

I was like guys, it's ME you're talking to.  Remember ME, your friendly neighborhood librarian who read you stories 8,000 years ago last year in PreK?  What's one SUPER IMPORTANT, SUPER AWESOME thing you can do instead of screen time?  *Gestures behind me at the spread of books displayed on my couch, as I sit on the floor at my extremely professional ottoman desk*

"Watch Netflix!!"

We tried, y'all.  We tried.

Syllabus #71

The blows just keep coming.  Ruth Bader Ginsburg.  Notorious RBG.  Trailblazer, hero, scion of decency.  Her dying words were, "My fervent wish is that I will not be replaced until a new president is installed."  After a lifetime of service and fighting for justice, can you imagine carrying that burden as you go about the business of dying?  If anyone is deserving of peace and rest, it's someone like RBG.  Let's do everything we can to uphold her legacy.  Make donations, call your senators.  Put your head between your knees and wail, then wipe your nose and get back to it.

RBG exhibit at the National Museum American Jewish History, Philadelphia 

I was lucky enough to see the RBG exhibit at the National Museum of American Jewish History last December with my mom and Chuck.  She was born the same year as my grandmother, 1933, and it was fascinating to see the time and circumstances in which she grew up.  How many obstacles did she have to overcome by sheer force of will to become the person we know her to be today?  I tried to imagine my grandmother following a similar path.  I've long held that she would have made a good lawyer - she's always questioning, always arguing, sometimes, it would seem, for the sheer fun of it.  Ruth proved to all the generations of women that followed that they, too, could achieve anything.  She proved it by her example, and she ensured it by fighting for equal legal protection for all.  

---

If you, like me, are terrified about what a conservative Supreme Court appointee might do to eviscerate women's rights, civil rights, LGBTQ rights, immigrants' rights, and so on, I wrote us a little ditty, to the tune of DJ Kool's Let Me Clear My Throat:

Now all you ladies in the place
If you got real anxiety, real fear
If you got a birth control prescription, or you're going to Planned Parenthood
And y'all need Roe v. Wade to not be overturned so you can handle your business
Make some nooooooiiiise

---

So it's been a week.

This final comment from retired Justice Kennedy:  "By her learning she taught devotion to the law. By her dignity she taught respect for others and her love for America. By her reverence for the Constitution, she taught us to preserve it to secure our freedom."

Well, shit.  It's gonna be the winter of our discontent and there's not a lot we can do about it.  Except, you know, vote (for Biden, obviously) so that we can get ourselves on the right track, finally.  And wear your damn mask.

Yes, is this a medical procedure?  Is there a co-pay?  Do I need an appointment?  Sign me up.

Analog Reading:

Elena Ferrante's The Lost Daughter.  Short and sweet.  This is one of her earlier novels, or perhaps it's slim enough to be considered a novella.  It was interesting to see how she later repurposed or reimagined certain characters for her Brilliant Friend tetralogy.  

Michael Arceneaux's I Can't Date Jesus:  Love, Sex, Family, Race, and Other Reasons I've Put My Faith in Beyoncé.  This book is a delight.  It is insight into a lived experience so totally different from my own, but it is also relatable and often hilarious.

The Isolation Journals - #109

 

Prompt 109. What the Living Do by Marie Howe

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won't work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven't called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It's winter again: the sky's a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through

the open living-room windows because the heat's on too high in here and I can't turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,

I've been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss—we want more and more and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a cherishing so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I'm speechless:
I am living. I remember you.


Your prompt for this week:

This is what the living do…

Use this line from Marie Howe’s poem as inspiration—perhaps as the opening sentence of your journal entry, or as a poetic refrain. Reflect on the mundane; revel in the glorious everyday details of living.

---

I am a philistine.  Not usually one for poetry.  I respect it, but I don't always appreciate it.  It's a personal failing.  But I loved this poem.  It's a reminder that all those little moments, even the frustrating ones, the boring ones, only happen because you're alive.  I mean maybe they happen when you're dead.  I haven't been dead before, so that's a mystery, but rationally, let's just assume they don't.  This poem makes me think of all the deeply human, James Joyce-ian moments we all experience but seldom deem worthy of mention.  The moments that are too common or too private.

This is what the living do...

Driving exactly 8 or 9 miles per hour above the speed limit, picking your nose

Tempting fate on multiple levels

Stripping down in the morning, stepping on the scale

Sitting down on the toilet, phone in hand

Feeling strangely productive as you empty your bowels and check your email

Feeling strong and proud, yet slightly appalled

As you step back on the scale and do the math

Does anyone else do that?

This is what the living do...

Daydreaming about what you'll make for lunch

Before you've finished breakfast

Eating that grape that fell on the floor

Because no one saw you

Licking the rim of the hotsauce bottle

Double dipping your spoon in the peanut butter jar

This is what the living do...

Walking the dog after dinner in the steam of a Southern evening

Sweaty enough to warrant a shower

Skipping the shower and getting in bed later, feeling just a little sticky

Telling yourself you'll wash the sheets...this weekend, maybe

Laughing until you cry when your kitten falls in the toilet 

While you're scooping her litter box

Not even caring that she took off running

With poop-water paws

The look on her face when she realized she'd made a terrible mistake

Oh my god

Living is messy

It's rarely the tidy lists, the major accomplishments, the milestones

Living is breathing and walking and folding laundry

It's paying bills and waiting in lines and eating leftovers at the sink

It's full of hunger and germs and stink

This is what the living do...