This is a still image of the cast of Sleepy Hollow playing baseball.
I caaaaaan’t wait to find out which part of the book of Revelations this is from.
My name is Meghan and this is the most important night of my life.
[Scott Turow] When I noticed that Patti Smith’s “Just Kids” had won the National Book Award for nonfiction in 2010, I ranted about contemporary culture, so celebrity-besotted that we were now giving vaunted literary prizes to rock stars. Then I read the book. It is profound and unique, a perfectly wrought account of what it means to give your life to art and to another person. I expect it to be read with wonder for a long time.
Admitting you’re wrong is cooler than holding the loudest and most contrary opinion.
She’s the wacky Donna from Suits.
Breaking my weird unofficial Tumblr hiatus to say that Chelsea Peretti’s work on this show has been a thing about television this fall that I have enjoyed more than most other things*. RIYL Beth from Newsradio but more so.
*except for Nashville, or more specifically, exclaiming with other people about Nashville eg. “DID YOU SEE NASHVILLE YET”
Four-and-a-half years ago this jerk came to live with me and he wouldn’t, for no reason, sit on laps. Just wouldn’t have it. Would curl up real tight next to you, would rest his dumb little paws on your leg, would lie on his side on your side, would follow you around and talk to you like people, but laps, uh-uh off-limits. Then a couple months ago I dragged him on my lap and he stood there, unheld, digging his damn claws into me like we all was earthquakes. And then, what happened? A couple days later. I looked down at him and he looked up at me and then he jumped, real graceful, into my lap. Settled himself down like of course. Does it all the time now, often when I can’t have it. Sometimes we fight about it but usually we don’t. I take a lot of heart in it. The newness, the bravery, the of course.
When Gurr traveled to meet with various groups and promote the program, he often took along a nearly full-size, wooden cutout of Johnny Horizon created by the original advertising firm. Now, some 45 years later, the cutout left behind by Gurr upon his retirement as the BLM-Alaska Chief of Public Affairs is included in the display in Anchorage. This one-of-a-kind original 1968 advertising piece shows Johnny Horizon as he was first designed: a kindly-looking, middle-aged outdoorsman dressed in green pants, a plaid shirt and a red jacket, with a backpack and a brown brimmed hat. This image was described in BLM’s handouts as a symbol of the thoughtful visitor to the nation’s public lands, with an “origin myth” story of Johnny Horizon as part Nez Perce Indian and the son of a World War I soldier.
Hello, it is Earth Day, and a great day to learn about Johnny Horizon.
On the last day on the mountain we walked through the forest that was the backyard. The forest was also a mountain. On the other side of the forest was a barbed wire fence, rusted, cut. We stepped over it and stood in a field full of brambles and ticks. National Parkland, we realized, the fence had been the difference. There was a shed that was locked, that was covered in camouflage, that had four chairs, that had a typewritten note pinned to the wall that I couldn’t read. We walked and got scratched, then I wanted to go through the pines. By then my wrist had a welt and I kept swatting at it, thinking it was a bug. A short walk away were trees with tree stands. One was old, falling apart like a tree house. The other had been bought from a catalog, and seemed sturdy. We climbed it, one at a time. He held the ladder for me and I held the ladder for him. The view was like all of the other views, but better. He went to look at a stack of rocks and I sat down and tried to be still and to imagine what it was like, when They fought the Civil War here. I imagined we were two soldiers ourselves, diverted from the group, sent off to find something, or just lost. I imagined horses. When he walked back to me I heard the dry grass so loud. A wonder anyone won anything here, but then again, no one did. And it was beautiful. In spite of the ticks.
My friend Brandi has compiled an album of covers, and it is free, and you should download it. You honestly, just seriously, just 100% really should:
Yesterday I was running to catch a train. I misjudged a step so as I got to the doors they closed on me. I struggled in a sort of back-and-forth, caught in a trap kind of way. The doors had trapped my bag, and me. But also, there was a guy standing in the door and he was calm and he said to me, “Just move forward, I’ll hold them.” And so I stopped pushing outward and did what he said. One foot then the other foot then I was through. There had been no reason to exert my energy side to side. No reason to wriggle. There was someone there holding the doors. We divided the fight into two.
Last week a sort of crazy thing happened, which was, the artistic director of a major off-Broadway house wrote an email to subscribers about a play. Which I know does not sound crazy but this email was not an email like, “here is a play we’re doing, come see it” or “here is a play we’ve been doing, it’s great.” It was an email like, “here is a play we’re doing, we have noticed a lot of you leaving it at intermission and we’ve decided to explain to you why we put it on in the first place.”
I got this email because I am a subscriber. I also saw this play. I liked it quite a lot. It’s called The Flick and it’s by Annie Baker, who is wonderful, and it is a well-directed, well-designed, well-acted piece of theater. It’s longish, I suppose? Longer than many things I see, over three hours. But a lot of theater is long, if you do it right. As a person who goes to things, you get to decide: would you like to go to bed, or would you like to be challenged?
The email that was sent was interesting, or puzzling. “I hoped that Annie’s palpable love and compassion for her characters and the play’s fairly straightforward plot about a developing ethical workplace quandary would win you all over,” said the email. Sure! “My goal is not to dissuade any of you who disliked the play. I would rather evince passionate dislike than a dispassionate shrug.” Cool! “The business of putting on new plays is not empirical…. we appreciate that you are taking a risk and putting your faith in us when you sign up with us. We are dependent upon your willingness to take that ride with us. We need you.” OH GOD.
The email was, of course, not about the play at all. The email was about business. Was about relations. Was about smoothing some apparently-ruffled feathers. Of course, the weird side effect was that all of us with perfectly combed feathers all of a sudden felt them mussed. I felt a little fearful, to be honest. I like this theater. They have been responsible for some of my favorite shows in the last few years. They work very hard. But here they were, in a defensive posture. And their defensive posture made me also feel defensive. Already I see so many short plays. Already I write them. Already theater artists crouch when they should be doing anything but. And these are old statements I am making! So what the hell chance does anything have.
So what the hell chance. When your independent things were never really going to stay independent and of course it’s all a business, of course. IN A WORLD where you are somehow both the product to be sold and someone with the power to make an artistic director bow his head. The consumer-merchandise and the consumer-boss, and sometimes they fake one to force you to be the other. You can draw lines, sure. Can draw lines all around yourself but then oh god you’re going to look up one day and did I accidentally sketch like a mystical symbol here, summoning a demon from deep within? And if so can this demon help me draw on my own power, help me figure out how to enjoy the wonderful things that people create while also maintaining ownership of myself?