After editing an advice column for two years, I’ve decided that there is no such thing as advice. There are only problems and the ways people handle them. Advice, on the other hand, is when you hear a description of someone else's problem and then tell the person something about yourself. Hopefully whatever you say is funny or interesting, but it has little to do with actually helping anyone. It may seem or feel like it does, but there are always more variables than we'll ever be able to see or understand, and best case scenario you’re pressing on the problem a little bit in a way that engages [...]
"My sleepy mind slowly whirred to life and I scanned for reasons that a random stranger would offer me, a young and seemingly able-bodied person, her seat on a packed downtown 2 train at rush hour. If I were her I’d have clung to that choice seat so hard, someone would have to roll in with an iron lung before I would consider getting up. And even then I’d be real pissy about it, rolling my eyes and such. Then again, I am a terrible person, and maybe this girl was not. Maybe she was being sweet because I looked exhausted?" OH NO GIRL, THAT IS NOT WHY.
Some people get so touchy when they hear the truth—they'd rather be getting nothing but blind support and relentless, sugar-coated praise. Plus sugar-coated other things, too. Because those people, the ones who can’t take brave and brutal honesty? Those people are fat."
This begins the seven-episode Kindle Serial "An Experience Definitely Worth Allegedly Having: Travel Stories From The Hairpin." (Episode Two, by Maria Bustillos, is excerpted here.)
Here is something weird I did when I lived in Buenos Aires: I did a lot of aerobics. My favorite class was at 6:30 p.m., and when I say it was my favorite I mean that I would plan afternoon and evening dates with friends around it, so that—no matter what—at six o’clock or so every night, I’d be in shorts and tennis shoes cutting across the traffic on Avenida Gaona, with the buses honking along and the late-afternoon light slanting, and [...]
So I hope by now you and your colleagues have made plans for National Duck Out For A Drink Day, the day when we all slip out of the office for a quick shot and a beer, because it is tomorrow! And that is not all the drinking some of you will be doing tomorrow: those of you in the New York and Boston areas should definitely continue the party at The Hairpin meetups in those fine cities. Man, Friday is going to be ROUGH.
Emma Carmichael—recession-era graduate, hip hop enthusiast, most recently managing editor of Deadspin, and previously managing editor of Gawker—will become the editor of The Hairpin beginning next Wednesday. She plans to turn the site into a field hockey fan forum. Lots of gifs of amazing goals. Kidding! No, it's mostly just NASCAR coverage from here on out. And what of trusty Hairpin founder Edith Zimmerman? She will take a little break and then return to continue making The Hairpin the Special People's Club that it is. Questions? Ask them in the comments over there. Just not here. We're trying to keep this a safe space. (Yes, [...]
"Now the man’s lap who I would bounce on forever, until my hips shattered from the 7.9 Richter scale fuckquake we would have is Imperioli. GOOD GAWD! Have you seen him go from guido to East Village gypsy with his wiley mustache, Serpico leather jacket, and slender hips? He’s like a Voltron of fuck parts. And with Christofahh I feel like he’s crazy without being socio, like Tony. Imperioli, with the chest hair and the gonzo schonz, just drives me wild. Michael and I would have great theater people sex. All performative and smelly…. ARE YOU READING THIS MICHAEL IMPERIOLI, I WILL MAKE YOU SEE STARS THROUGH MY MIDDLE [...]