Why Women Are Better Than Men

February 23, 2012

Reason #779:

” ‘Thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes,’ though Levin about his wife, as he talked to her that night.

“Levin thought of the Gospel text not because he considered himself wise and prudent.  He did not, but he could not help knowing that he was more intelligent than his wife and Agafya, and he could not help knowing that when he thought about death he thought with all his heart and soul.  He knew, too, that many men of great intellect, whose thoughts on death he had read, had pondered deeply about it and did not know a hundredth part of what his wife and Agafya knew.  Different as those two women were, Agafya and Katya, as his brother Nikolai called Kitty and as Levin particularly liked to call her now, were absolutely alike in this.  Both knew without any doubt whatever what was life and what was death, and though they could not possibly have answered or even have understood the questions that presented themselves to Levin, neither of them had any doubts about the significance of these phenomena and both looked upon them in the same way, sharing this view with millions of other people.  The proof that they knew firmly what death was lay in the fact that they never doubted for a moment how to deal with the dying and had no fear of death.  Levin, however, and others like him, though they could say a great deal about death, quite obviously did not know, because they were afraid of death and had not the faintest idea what to do when people were dying.  Had Levin now been alone with his brother Nikolai, he would have looked at him with terror and would have sat waiting there in still greater terror, and that would have been all he could do.”

~Guess

Me, Wishing I Were Dooce

February 22, 2012

Ew, as IF!

But still:

Thinking…

Does the printed “New York’s Boldest” on the side of NYPD Correctional Facilities vans refer to the policemen or the convicts?

Another PEN Obsession

February 22, 2012

Another thing I found in PEN America that I love:

IN THE BATHTUB WITH GERTRUDE STEIN

by Angelica Freitas

gertrude stein has a big ass slide over gertrude

stein and when she slides it makes a great noise

as though someone dragged a wet cloth across

the huge glass window of a public building

gertrude stein from here to there it’s you the washcloth

behind your ear’s all yours from here to there it’s me the rubber

duckie’s mine gertrude stein and thusly we’re pleased

but gertrude stein is a charlatan thinks it’s fine to let one

loose under the water not i gertrude stein? it’s impossible

that anyone could so enjoy making bubbles

and because it’s her tub she pulls the plug and steals

my towel

and runs out stark naked huge ass descending the

staircase onto the streets of saint-germain-des-pres

One-Liner Sunday

February 20, 2012

“[Medieval sex] totally turns me on.”

Fuck You, Universe

February 18, 2012

Instead of finishing Tolstoy, I’ve been watching old SVU’s, and TWICE in the past THREE episodes I’ve watched, someone has quoted Anna Karenina.  Really?  This is Xanadu all over again.

Cheer Up, Charlie

February 16, 2012

So yesterday was weird –– got even weirder when I got home, made myself a whisky ginger ale, started munching on cold buttered popcorn, and realized I had written “Tay Sachs” on my hand as a reminder –– but today seems to have gotten a wee bit better, as I am off to Miami, my second home, just in time for something called KITE DAY!

Okay, so maybe it would be cooler in India, but I just don't have that kind of dough right now.

I am feeling incredibly twee right now posting this, as if I’m a New York magazine writer who keeps a blog about her hipster husband and their precious dinner parties, or a Mormon print press designer from San Francisco who blogs about DIY confetti.  Deep sigh… that bitchy aside made me feel a LOT better.

Is Whatever Wednesday Over Yet?

February 15, 2012

It could be worse, Alexander. You could be a suicidal Russian slut.

Shit got weird today, and I all of sudden was washed over with a wave of DOOM, as if something really terrible was going to happen or had happened and I just hadn’t found out about it yet.  I’m counting down the moments until I can go home and hide underneath my blanket with a wee flashlight and Anna Karenina.  Don’t bother me –– I’m indulging in some at-least-I’m-not-_____ (basically, insert ANY CHARACTER from Russian literature here.)

Charts

February 15, 2012

I discovered illustrator Wendy MacNaughton (wendymacnaughton.com) in the latest issue of PEN America.

Ain't that the truth.

My Brother Knows Me So Well

February 15, 2012

IS (Itinerant Son, for those of you who don’t know him well enough to call him by his nickname) wrote me an email in response to something I said in my intro to the guest post (re-read, people!)

Subject: This is what you are OMG-ing over

Body: We knew she had recently sojourned to the holy land of Israel where she was hosted in the middle of nowhere desert town of Dimona by the African Hebrew Israelites, a vegan polygamist group who believe a former bus driver from Chicago was their messiah.  (He is currently mourning the passing of  his “spiritual daughter.”)  Whitney’s bizarre attempt at spiritual rebirth before her 40th birthday did little to save the troubled star.

Of course, my brotha, of course!

Oh Great

February 15, 2012

Now even the New York Times Book Review is mocking my inability to finish Anna Karenina.  I was flipping through a recent issue and came upon an essay by Elizabeth D. Smart* entitled “Grand Allusion.”  It begins like this:

“A good friend recently treated me to one of the preposterous yet mostly true tales for which I prize him.  This one involved the Texas Tech University mascot’s horse, Double T., skidding on the turf during a pregame gallop and careening into a stadium wall.  While my friend described the fatal accident, I recalled the scene in Anna Karenina in which Vronsky’s horse –– whose name I had momentarily forgotten and was desperately reaching for –– falls in the steeplechase and must be put down.

‘Like Vronsky’s horse!’ I announced.  ‘You know,’ I stumbled on, ‘Vronsky’s horse… injured at the races… has to be shot… what’s the name of Vronsky’s horse?’

‘Who’s Vronsky?’ my friend shrugged, and I was reminded that each unhappy allusion is unhappy in its own way.”

Well, Mrs. Smart, I for one did get the allusion (the horse’s name is Frou-Frou, btdubs) and yet am still unhappy as I am sort of convinced you’re part of a larger nefarious plot to remind me of my personal literary failings.  Awesome.

*Wondering, now, if Elizabeth D. Smart always used her middle initial or if she perhaps added it post-Mormon Elizabeth Smart’s kidnapping in order to distinguish herself?