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?