“Listen to my girl Virginia Woolf.”—Lisa Bloom from her stupid-confusing book, Think: Straight Talk for Women to Stay Smart in a Dumbed-Down World. I’m assuming Vanguard published this with the intention to empower women, as well as to prove that Lisa Bloom has degrees, the ability to commune with the dead, and great recipe tips when cooking for your family.
“and populated by melancholy-seeming famous people”— an excerpt from Vulture’s description of the guests at Sofia Coppola’s wedding that I love because Caroline Bankoff knows you can’t be sad when you’re famous.
Mom:Don't go in any underground elevators this weekend. What happens is the elevator goes below ground where there is flooding and the door opens and you drown. Sounds unreal but this is exactly what happened to a fellow employee last time there was a hurricane in Carolina.
Me:That is honestly the scariest thing I've ever heard.
Mom:So promise me you'll stay in and read a good book or work on your blog at home. How was the concert last night?
It is hot therefore I sweat. And because I am an incredibly vain person who doesn’t want to be seen with pit stains, I applied a recently purchased, aluminum-heavy brand to clog up my pores. With my fresh pits, I left my apartment, hopped on the G, made my transfer, and as I stood, trying to keep my grip on the M train, I absentmindedly watched debris rain down on the two passengers seated in front of me. I twisted around and searched the car for the source of these molted white flakes, and I was about to shrug off this mystery, until I realized that my exposed armpits were the culprits.
“Listen, we know the average Californian was born amid a thundering 7.5 magnitude quake and popped out directly into a mudslide. We’ve all read tales of how the bright pioneers of San Francisco bathe their young in tsunamis and kill mountain lions for sport (and yet would shrivel and die if the temperature fell below 65.)”—I’ve been forced to witness an impression of myself that I liken to this excerpt, “I’m Allie Kokesh and I’m from San Francisco, ever heard of it?!”
5.8 on the Richter Scale with an epicenter in Virginia
Fire Marshall (blaring over the PA system):EVERYONE! PLEASE STAY CALM! THE ENTIRE BUILDING EXPERIENCED A TREMOR! AT THIS TIME PLEASE STAY CALM. PLEASE STAY CALM AND WAIT FOR FURTHER INFORMATION! PLEASE STAY CALM IN THE MEANTIME!
These two columns also force me to reflect on how stupid my past two submissions have been. My proposed columns were last minute and desperate for laughs: I think the first was about some bullshit anthropology ploy and the second about anti-feminist women. So this year, I’ve promised myself to be honest, to devote some forethought to my third submission and to still be just as desperate for comedic approval.
“I didn’t write this book to be about revenge or make him or her into a devil, because I believe in strongly there’s no such thing as good guy/bad guy. And because I have children with him, I have a very strong interest in investigating why he’s not bad. Maybe he didn’t handle a particular part of his life very well, but I was married to him so clearly there are parts of him I dig. Plus, his wife puts sweaters on my kids. I really like her.”—
From an interview with Isabel Gillies about her memoir, A Year and Six Seconds.
The “him” she is referring to is her now ex-husband and the “her” would be the mistress turned new wife. And I need to know, will I one day possess this amazing maturity, too? Because I still resent my high school boyfriend for dumping me, claiming he wanted to be a priest and then dating another classmate.