All I did yesterday was listen to the Hamilton cast recording, which is streaming in full on NPR. It is perfect. I wish only that you could see Daveed Diggs’ unbelievably sexy/funny swagger, and Jonathan Groff’s…well, here:
You’ll only take a couple losses if you can’t see Hamilton with your own eyes, King George being the biggest. When I saw the show, Jonathan Groff was so absurd he made Leslie Odom Jr., playing Aaron Burr, break with a particularly well-executed shoulder shimmy. Revivifying that guy as a louche party boy, insouciant in the face of his first rejection in life, felt like an actual upset applecart, a way of looking through a historical figure that I’d never considered before. When you listen to Groff sing those lines, just trust he murdered the dance floor. Also Anthony Ramos, as first John Laurens and then Hamilton’s son Philip: When he raps a little something he wrote to his often-absent father, the idea of rap as a form of writing that could be a life’s work surfaces. The respect given there to fathers whose work is rap alongside the empathy for kids missing a parent felt new and necessary and I was grateful.
Excellent roundup of #BaeOfPigs
Do not do this in the workplace:
Cliffnotes: Former partner at the law firm where I am an associate, Jim, left the firm last year. We worked together for approximately a year, during which time he took lengthy FMLA absences. I haven’t spoken to him in the year since he left unless he dropped by the firm to see the senior partner about something. I had heard a rumor Jim was into BDSM, but gave it very little thought. (Whatever floats your boat, no skin off my nose).
Cut to last Friday. He Facebook messaged me asking if he could ask me a question. I thought it would be firm-related, so I said sure. He said nevermind. Two days later, a mutual friend (Sharon) asked if I’d be interested in entering a D/s relationship with Jim. She made the request at his behest, she said. Sharon described it as, “You let someone pamper you and you belittle them.”
The indigenous Aymara women have centuries of experience of knitting and weaving distinctive woollen hats, sweaters and blankets.
Now, they are applying their expertise to a hi-tech medical product – which is used to seal up a “hole in the heart” which some babies are born with.
One of the worst things I’ve ever read:
KABUL, Afghanistan — In his last phone call home, Lance Cpl. Gregory Buckley Jr. told his father what was troubling him: From his bunk in southern Afghanistan, he could hear Afghan police officers sexually abusing boys they had brought to the base.
Tits and Sass does a wrap-up on that gross Mary Mitchell thing:
I’m not squeamish when it comes to free speech, but there are real consequences for sex workers when we face this kind of derision by mainstream journalists. The “unidentified prostitute” Mitchell disparaged should be lauded for her bravery in going to the police. Countless women who aren’t sex workers fear adverse reactions from reporting their rapes, and the risk of being discredited by the cops grows exponentially for those of us who are. When Mitchell writes,“It’s tough to see this unidentified prostitute as a victim,” she is perpetuating what all predators already assume to be true. When I was raped by a client, I was struck by how powerless I felt, how easily he could take from me, secure in knowing I had no recourse to hold him accountable.
My friend Carrie’s puppy has a new duck toy, but she is still not quite right, and continues to need your thoughts:
This is the initiation rite for the other club David Cameron was in at Oxford. Much worse than the pig thing pic.twitter.com/0u2bOth2hb
— Gabriel Roth (@gabrielroth) September 21, 2015
