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WOMAN WRITES ABOUT FEELINGS IN MAGAZINE!
A privileged, white blogger-lady has taken to the pages of the Times magazine to TALK ABOUT HERSELF and her feelings! RELEASE THE HOUNDS!
Maybe she could do some sort of home decorating column for y'all.
RELEASE THE KRAKEN!!!
Dammit!! It was my turn to release it!!
Sy Newhouse?
If she'd been gazing at fast food she would have eaten the eggs faster.
that photo caption is also the opening line of an incredible short story
Unemployed, the author became obsessed with gazing at and eating eggs, and the impossibility of turning away from or making a proper frittata out of these eggs was itself a component of the egg-gazing and a contributing factor in its runny omelet essence.
Despairing, then, of describing the egg-gazing process, the author hoped at least to be able to express something of its context-its ovoid shape and yolky middle, as it were-by recounting circumstances related to its etiology. The guy at the farmer's market, for example, who had assured her that these were eggs laid by cage-free hens, all the while making a concerted effort to run down the eggs at a rival farmstand, which, the original farmer privately expressed to the author, were not as loaded with Omega-3 fatty acids as the signs on the rival farmer's crate claimed-and which the farmer indicated that he was sharing with the author not out of typical commercial rivalry but as a matter of "principle." And the author always took care to express, when writing a blogpost or magazine article for a supportive editor about the venomous struggle over the indecipherable claims of organic purity, to concede that it may well truly have appeared to each farmer to have been, in fact, a matter of "principle," though unfortunately not a "principle" that took into account their consumer's feelings at receiving the emotional message that scoring petty points off each other was more important to farmers than her own dairy obsession and thus constituted, if considered from a certain perspective, a form of egg disparagement or even outright cholesterol-shaming, an abuse clearly connected-here she nearly always inserted that her therapist concurred with this assessment-to the bottomless, chronic adult desire for some really good Hollandaise to accompany the egg she poached every day and felt hopelessly hungry for.
RIP David Foster Scrambled
'assured her that these were eggs laid by cage-free hens'
How ironic considering she is TRAPPED IN HER BEAUTIFUL COASTAL RHODE ISLAND HOME*
*(Alan Ball movie!?)
I read this aloud to The Gift by The Velvet Underground doing my best John Cale and it sounded pretty good.
@Balk: Oh God, now I understand your aversion to writing a book. Ooof. (Though "outright cholesterol-shaming" was nicely done.)
I totally hate that sentence. WHY not "The unemployed author?" Jesus.
Oh God, pleeeeeaaaaaase submit that to the Bulwer-Lytton folks!
This is scarily well done. Bravo sir.
I smell a book deal!
closing byline –
"Dominique Browning writes a column for the Environmental Defense Fund Web site and has a new blog, SlowLoveLife.com. This piece is an excerpt from "Slow Love: How I Lost My Job, Put on My Pajamas and Found Happiness," to be published next month by Atlas & Company."
NOW PREORDER THAT SHIT
@Miles: For the sake of sanity I will assume you skipped directly to this without reading anything else.
correct
That's farther than I got. When I skipped ahead and saw "The folding of the magazine was ruthless" I yawned and hit close tab.
I saw that photo caption and cursed Choire for "making" me see it and then apologized to him and then thanked him. But I didn't go near the article.
I made it to the peanut butter.
That's where I stopped too — and said aloud to my empty office: "Oh, lady, if you're not eating it out of the jar, AND you could find a clean plate for it, you aren't THAT depressed."
I managed to get through quite a bit of it by singing as a little refrain at the end of each sentence: "… existential gravitas intended!"
That caption! It belongs in one of those "literal music videos" on YouTube! Tanyth does not deserve this!
Meta Poor Joke Alert
My brain says Whatever.
Kudos.
Does she have kids? Does she sit in the window of a nail salon wearing a jean jacket in an attempt at youthfulness? Is there a metaphor to her gazing at and devouring eggs?
She claims to be rebuilding her nest.
Hmmm… but if this were fiction, would I not reject some of her examples as being too, too on the nose? A woman of a certain age becomes obsessed with eggs? Someone who's lost a central aspect of her identity begins missing the "i" key while typing? Really?
That's the great thing about nonfiction. Real life is totally unbelievable.
Too true. Even so, I first tried to read it all as metaphor.
It was only at the end, when she wrote, "These are my intertidal years," that I realized she was being littoral.
'eggs' = ovaries
Because women only think about making babies and pleasing their menfolk.
And bourbon, HG. Don't forget the bourbon.
KUDOS on LITTORAL!
Nomina: LITTORAL! HA!
@HG, BS: And of course these allow a lady to multi-task, as the bourbon drinking and man pleasing and baby making work together so nicely.
@kneetoe: THEN WHY THE FUCK AM I STILL SINGLE? (Right, hideous personality. And all those moles….)
@jolie: the hunchback, can't forget the hunchback.
@jolie: Fear not, this can all be done by single ladies too.
@HG: Clarification: is jolie the hunchback, or does she have a hunchback partner that she's forgotten?
I was gonna say it's the lithp, Jolie.
Note to self: getting drunk on straight Lillet is something only people who use phrases like "small-boned miracles" do.
@kneetoe: if you have to ask, you'll never know.
@bakes: LET IT GO, LOON.
love littoral.
World Ends: Lady Writers Hardest Hit
Sometimes, I wonder if the Times is purposely just fucking with me. Like when they run those stories about the sufferings of people with second homes — how hard it is to keep them up and after all that trouble, people STILL won't come to visit? They do that on purpose, right? Like, "Man, this is going to just send them over the edge."
There was some article this week I didn't read about that NY Social Diary photographer, and I couldn't help but think it was a "the poors may have health insurance now, but the rich will always have the accommodating gay sycophantic social diary photographer" way to sooth the pain of a tax increase
My theory, and I'm sticking to it, is that the Times runs at least one article every other day that is The Most Insane Article The Times Has Ever Run, At Least For The Next Two Days.
She should do an extensive Easter egg hunt for herself in her garden and then blog about it on slowlovelife!
"These are my intertidal years." Bitch, get in line.
Who hasn't found happiness after putting on their pajamas and eating eggs?
"It was then that I realized that it was Friday, but so what? I wasn't working, but I wasn't poor."
Egg-zactly.
I'd already read that and was thinking that even with a fast-selling house in Westchester and a second house on the RI coast and no reported need for an income, she's still lost things and is still disoriented, poor girl. I still think that but not quite as much. Also sweetpickles is exactly right.
Just remember: a woman with an appetite is a woman who is seriously OUT OF CONTROL.
Before too long, I was hungry again, but balky, wary of my own housekeeping. Better to have a drink.
Heh.
aw, guys. i liked it!
This was a commission, but it was still made with love.