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TNC on his time learning French this summer, and basically everything else:

And there were the latest developments, the likes of which I perceived faintly through the French media. I had some vague sense that King James had done something grand, that the police were killing black men over cigarette sales, that a passenger plane had been shot out the sky, and that powerful people in the world still believed that great problems could be ultimately solved with great armaments. In sum, I knew that very little had changed. And I knew this even with my feeble French eyes, which turned the news of the world into an exercise in impressionism. Everything felt distorted. I understood that things were happening out there, but their size and scope mostly eluded me.

I got the horrible sickness. I have given away my Eagles tickets for my birthday, WHICH IS TODAY. Everything is dust. I will make a game-time call about NYC later today but cannot imagine it will work.

Roxane Gay on the leaked celeb photos.

The Rotherham scandal is horrible.


Patricia Lockwood did a food diary for NY Mag and it’s ALL THAT and the commenters have no idea:

8:30 p.m.: I make it a habit to eat whatever’s in the books I’m reading. This means chowder for Moby-Dick, mixed grill for The Corrections, mushrooms and sour cream for Speak, Memory, and a hamburger with french fries for Ramona Quimby, Age 8. It means that whenever I readRedwall I go out into the yard and eat flowers. (Be careful with this. There are daturas in my yard, and if I accidentally eat one of these I am told I will experience a “vision quest” in the manner of Ayla from the Clan of the Cave Bear books.) Right now I’m reading the new Murakami, which means I eat pasta while listening to classical music and thinking about cats and wondering what it would be like to live down in a well. I bet I would love it.


11:30 a.m.: A handful of Craisins, the clit of fruit.

3 p.m.: I watch Tampopo while eating ramen. (Yes, I DO eat ramen every day, because I am a student of life.) What is going on with that one scene where the guy puts a live prawn on a woman’s bare stomach and lets it wiggle around until she climaxes? How do I figure out how to do that at home?

5:30 p.m.: Time for a Purse Surprise. Purse Surprise is where you open up your purse and just eat anything that’s accumulated in it over the past few weeks. I get lucky this time — five beef sticks (???), three oranges, a box of mints, two coffee truffles, and a pill that could honestly be anything.

7 p.m.: All I eat for dinner is the internet. It tastes awful.

You know how sometimes you get fixated on something small, bc THE WORLD, and it becomes your white whale? Well, there’s this obviously hate-filled FB page which is all about exposing how Jews ritually murder people for their evil rituals, and I have reported it a BUNCH, as have other people, and it just…somehow keeps getting reinstated, despite obviously being hate speech, and, like, ARCHAIC hate speech, at that! But for some reason, FB puts it back up every time, after “reviewing the report,” and if you want to take a minute to report it (I’m sorry that you have to go to the page to report it, it’s not the best system), maybe they’ll eventually just yank the page. I don’t know. This is my plastic bag in the tree outside Liz Lemon’s apartment.


You should check out Saeed Jones reading from his poetry collection, Prelude to Bruise, and then you should pre-order it, if you want!

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