Syllabus #93

It's always something, isn't it?  That's a very milquetoast assertion, but I mean, let's be real.  Of course there's usually something but I recall times when there was actually a whole lot of nothing, and yet for the past year we've been living in this heightened state of red alert, like a cat with its ears turned back, spine arched and ready raise our hackles at the slightest additional provocation.  It's coming up on one year that we were awakened by a tornado in the middle of the night, yet this past week we've been buried under an utterly unusual and crippling amount of snow.  Granted, we're in a much better place than the Texans, to whom you can send aid in a number of ways, but some of us are learning about the physics of cold the hard way:

This is thankfully not my house.  I wouldn't even post this to exploit someone's actual misfortune but it's a vacant house owned by some absentee Neglect Monster who probably was going to tear it down anyway.

After this past week, I'm leaving this here as a note to self to maybe think about eventually getting around to buying a snow shovel.  However, I'll be skipping right the hell over the advice to KEEP CASH IN MY CAR AT ALL TIMES in case of emergencies.  I think leaving cash in my car would BE the emergency.  Are you insane?  My car hasn't been broken into yet, but when it does eventually happen, I don't think my car insurance covers "the wad of cash I casually left in my glove box."

 Wow, nobody better come for Glen 'Hurricane' Schwartz.  Don't let the bowtie fool you, that dude will not let aggression stand.  Also, this quote is me IRL:  "For example, the study finds that men tend to expose themselves to greater risk than women because of traits including high self-belief and a fear of external influences undermining their authority. This leads to a distrust of tornado warnings, failure to take shelter, and dismissal of the alerts entirely". You better believe at the slightest gust of wind I'm strapping on my bike helmet and hiding under the table with my Go Bag.

Speaking of weather, y'all leave Texas alone.  I mean, stop messin' with it.  I live in Tennessee and realized that despite lifetime membership in Club Smug New Jersey, plus living in Idaho and Utah for over two years, we were woefully unprepared for the snow we just got.  After multiple moves and some time living in an apartment, we no longer own a snow shovel.  As a matter of fact, we no longer own any type of digging implement more substantial than a serving spoon.

This is relatable and also makes me feel a little better about Charlie, like, yea he's got a screw loose and he's difficult to handle sometimes, but the dog in this essay is next level demon spawn.  

A to-go drink sounds great in theory, but what makes it so great in a place like New Orleans is the (to me) subversive feeling of bopping around on the street getting your drink on.  Schlepping your well-crafted cocktail home in a sippy cup to drink in the confines of the space where you've spent the last 350+ days staring at the same walls feels about as ceremonious and joyful as a 7-11 Slurpee.  I'd be more excited to see alcohol delivery stick around - sit at home and get a little drunk, run out of booze, and let somebody bring some more to your doorstep?  Count me in.

Speaking of New Orleans, I love what they're doing down there, decorating the houses as Mardi Gras floats since the parades are canceled...but doesn't this just reverse the roles?  The floats now line the sidewalks, and people will parade down the streets to see them?  I guess that means at least viewers aren't clustered together in the same spot during a designated period of time, but it still feels like it's going to draw a lot of people out to congregate in the streets.

Analog Reading:

Read Sisters by Daisy Johnson.  It was dark and uncomfortable and [spoiler alert] gave off kind of a Flowers in the Attic meets The Sixth Sense vibe.  That probably just ruined it for anyone who hasn't read it yet, sorry, but I did warn you.

Reading Shuggie Bain by Douglas Stuart.  It takes an adjustment period to get used to the Scottish dialect, but after that hump, it's just so cringey and sad that you can't look away from the train wreck of this family's story.

Finished Greetings from New Nashville, edited by Steve Haruch.  It's a collection of essays published at various points over the last decade in local and national publications.  It was as entertaining as it was eye-opening.  In some ways it made me feel guilty or complicit in the ways that Nashville has changed for the worse over the years, vis a vis gentrification, but overall it was just cool to learn a little more about this strange and interesting place I've been living for almost 3 years.