Cooler than You: Stupid Things I Say and Do

“Mom.” “Yeah?” “I’m pregnant.”  Tho s e  final four words from Rory Gilmore  have now  erupted  shock waves across the internet, phone lines, and social gatherings.  I, like a large score of others who loved the  Gilmore Girls  show for years, am no exception.  I gasped, I laughed, and I logically saw it as an opening for another revival.  But, as I sat on my bed,  my  knitting falling from my hands, staring solo at my television I couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of nostalgia, anger, let down, and longing wave over me.   For months now I’ve been working on various feminism projects, and in the midst of that I’ve found myself re - watching  Gilmore Girls  as the show has always been my feel-good, go-to, comfort food of no calories.  That combo is hard to find, and about four years ago when Netflix released the entire series I was one of those  mid  thirty-year olds who spent the better p...

Since it has been sometime since I posted lackadaisical nonsense . . . okay, not that long , but since the valley of life has thrown me to the weeds in a long, and an undeniable shitstorm of power and persuasion, I escape and release myself through fantasy and humor . . . and as we all know sewing.  Today, enjoy a sewing diversion of sorts. When I am 80 . . . indeed.  Just as I have a to-do list of things for today (like grade, write a letter, pay a bill, finish a lingering article, walk the dog, grade, grade some more, work on another lingering article, read a book for review . . . yawn stretch, are you tired yet?) I have a list of things to do when I am 80.  My bestie and I conference a few times a year, meeting around the globe in airports and hotels, to meet, relax, give talks, make articles, and plot the next one . . . and drink wine and eat chocolate of good quality and seek each city's epic sushi spot (in Amsterdam . . . we found a place, on a side street, that t...

As a girl, as many (most?) have in the Western World, I read Anne of Green Gables  with great flourish and glee.  The entire series, given to me for a birthday I think by my grandparents, was read more than once.  I remember some snotty little shits mocking me for it.  Yea, last I heard they didn't make it very far in life anyway . . . they've never been farther than Florida, think that sinners live in NYC, and the world ends past England and France.  Odd, I know . . . as the prefab furniture I bet they pour into their homes comes from IKEA, out of Sweden, and to them that country would be A) some foreign land and B) not worthy.  Yea, conservative memories of the Midwestern tween and early teen years still have dark strains.   C'est la vie.   As those reads of Anne Shirley went, back then I doubt I really grasped the nature and geographic locale of PEI.  Though, in the late dirty 30s I certainly do.  I was ...