More on hotels: apparently the Burj Al Arab Hotel in Dubai ranks #28 on CondeNast Traveler’s Best 100 Resorts 2014 list, but frankly, I think it looks TERRIFYING. It’s like Kubrick does political interior design. Also, I could make soooo many jokes based on this little review, but I’ll spare you.
Again, I’m strengthening my resolve in this new calendar year to focus on the big projects rather than the essays that pop into my head all the time. As William Styron’s daughter said of her father’s depression, he felt not comforted by the masterpieces he wrote, but hounded by the little pieces he had never gotten around to, “that they were like little beasts and he had watched them turn their backs on him and walk away.” But I’m thinking, perhaps better to let them go than try to hold tightly to their leashes as they sprint toward the horizon?
So Internet, you’re welcome for this idea: a follow up to this New York Times article about travel blogger Meghan McEwan, who recently bought a very pretty house in the utterly magical Leelanau Peninsula in Michigan intending to turn it into a B&B. Some things to cover in the article: do virtual dreams fail to satisfy? Does critical expertise translate to practical know-how? Is the Leelanau Peninsula the next big thing, or should we never speak of it again so that it remains untouched and pure? Does she know where Mario Battali lives? And so on.
You know what, fuck this––if any editor is interested, lemme know. I can make time for it, depending on how many expenses you cover.
KM: I’m really emotional
KM: I must be getting my period
KM: When I was watching SNL the other night, there were so many poinsettias on the stage, and it just looked so pretty that I started sobbing
KM: actually sobbing.
Hey guys,
I’m working on a research project––totally legitimate, connected to a big macher in academia––that is requiring me to watch a lot of Anwar al-Alwaki videos and read Tumblrs of teenagers who’ve fled to join ISIS. I am not, repeat NOT, of this persuasion, like at all. Just wanted to let you know.
xxx,
ID
PS Would a wannabe jihadist really be using a yiddishism? Doubtful!
Upon reading a review of John Lahr’s Tennessee Williams: Mad Pilgrimage of the Flesh, I came across this infuriating little piece of information:
“Even after he died in 1983, alone in a sour, pill-strewn Manhattan hotel room, he was mocked. In his will he had stipulated that he wanted to be buried at sea, his body thrown into the water at exactly the point in the Gulf of Mexico where the poet Hart Crane, his hero, had jumped off a ship and drowned. Instead, his brother had him buried in his hated hometown, St. Louis, and tried to make a tourist attraction of the grave.”
According to my most favorite website ever, Williams is buried in section 15A of the Calvary Cemetery and Mausoleum in Saint Louis. I propose we go over there, dig up his body, drive it down to the Gulf and fulfill his last wish. Who’s with me? I’m particularly looking for people with strong arms, poor senses of smell, and grave robbing experience.
MB: random question… do you think its odd to bring my therapist cookies?
A little soon for another blog post but: a $1K diamond KALE necklace.
“I value money literally for its own sake. I like the feeling of dollars and quarters rubbing softly together in my hand. Always it reminds me of those lovely chestfuls of gold that Captain Kidd buried––no one seems to know just where. Usually I keep some fairly-clean dollars and quarters to handle. ‘Money is so nice!’ I say to myself.
A. Sylvia Plath
B. Mary MacLane
C. Eloise
Forgot to tell everyone this story a while back: so you know how, in some articles or books or works of writing in general, the narrator will refer to his or her friend who is at the Iowa State Fair with him or has just given some super sage advice or something? Well, I’ve always wanted to be that friend, and this fall, my wish came true! My friend (see what I did there?) TR wrote a piece for Tablet about attending KosherFest, which is exactly as overwhelming as it sounds, and made a reference to lil ole me! Shucks. Excerpt below, but you can read the whole thing here:
“My friend and I exchanged knowing glances when we walked by a booth pitching a new cholov yisroel (a stricter dairy kosher certification) nutritional supplement—both of us recovered anorexics with now hearty appetites, these densely-caloric drinks were once a hospital staple for us. “Nugen is great for seniors and people who can’t eat solid food, and who won’t eat cholov stam,” a representative explained. Since a major deterrent for very Orthodox and Hasidic families sending their daughters (or sons) to hospital in-patient programs is that the food served us not up to their kashrut standards, I suggested the company reach out to programs like The Renfrew Center in New York and Philadelphia, both of which draw large populations of Orthodox Jews, with their new product. They took notes, and just like that, I felt less gluttonous and more magnanimous.”
I had a dream that Putin and I were emailing, and he signed his letters “xo.”
