Woke up with a feeling of dread and treated that with a headphone dose of rabble-rousing, stare-down, truth-telling punk rock. Not only did I feel much better afterward, but Nicole got a chance to sleep in!
Some other dread-treatments that worked? NBA basketball (the Pelicans lost but oh well), family ‘n’ friend Zooms (Jane, Brian, Myra, Jill, and Rex), piña coladas (Nicole made me sing that horrific Rupert Holmes song–I tried to sing it like Slim Pickens would have if Slim Pickens had sung, but nothing can redeem lines like “If you have half a brain”), a korma konkoktion, weeding yes weeding.
Nicole and I also took on a new project. A couple New York Times Magazines ago, 23 current writers under the banner of “The Decameron Project” published short pieces in the vein of Boccaccio’s Italian “Black Death” classic. You may know some of their names: Margaret Atwood, Victor LaValle, Tommy Orange, Ewidge Danticat, and David Mitchell are just a few. Entering into a fraught school semester, we thought it would be fun to read one piece a night together and discuss it. Yes, we have strange ideas of fun but we like it that way. Anyhow, we were too pooped last night to talk about the first story (it was really an intro, anyway) by the time we’d both read it–but we will catch up on the walk we’re about to take.
Streaming for Strivers:
More mordant musings.