For the International Women’s Day, N gave me a fuchsia ballroom gown with a generous décolletage.
“It’s nice,” Klara commented, “but it’s broken in the front. You look like a ladybug without spots, Mommy.”
There won’t be a photo for now because I need heels, a hairdo, ñ and ideally a page to carry the train behind me.
But it’s really sweet that this is how my husband sees me. I have a feeling that a tiara is coming next.
Bernie Sanders, everybody:
Just in case anybody still sighed over his loss. He could have kept quiet, at least, if he doesn’t have the balls to oppose Newsom. But no, he has to go make an idiot out of himself, and for what? The party that betrayed him to promote slick, evil bastards like Newsom?
Pathetic, truly pathetic.
My American child taught me that saying “baseball ball” is wrong. The name of the ball is baseball. Weird as that is.
She’s also teaching me the correct American intonation patterns. I try to imitate her but, as a native speaker of Russian, I have a very flat natural intonation. At least, I’m Ukrainian and not Russian, so my affect isn’t flat.
On my part, I teach her to range problems in the hierarchy of importance because she already started picking up at school the idea that everything is “a horrific problem that hurt my feelings.” Also, I’m teaching her that difference of opinion among friends isn’t a catastrophe but something normal and actually good.
The Journal of the American Medical Association has a podcast. In a recent episode, the host was mildly skeptical of (the utterly meaningless and idiotic) concept of structural racism. Mind you, he didn’t call it that. I did.
Be that as it may, the podcaster was accused of “literal violence” (what else?) and will now be forced to undergo a struggle session titled “a Restorative Justice session.” It will involve the poor podcaster’s entire department and the diversity office. The professor in question is a surgeon at UCLA. Very known in his field and highly respected. He’s now being destroyed over expressing some mild dislike of a slogan. And not even THE slogan. A slogan, one out of a million.
Please tell me some more about how I’m paranoid and worry over nothing.
Remember how we wondered if librarians were going to stand up to book bans?
The Chicago Public Library system is banning the same six Dr Seuss books Amazon and eBay banned earlier.