No Stone

Keep digging

The Chatter Blog

I’ve been told it’s time to go out and turn over a new stone.  I like rocks and stones.  And I was pretty pleased with the way they had been laying.   I didn’t really have a desire to go out and roll over stones because someone else thought it was a good idea.  But there are a bunch of stones.  Maybe there’s something I don’t know about this turning stones over thing.   So I went outside to look for this new stone.  Walking right past and avoiding all of the old stones. It took some looking -but I found a new stone.

I turned it over.

All I found was moist dirt under it.   Dark.  Moist dirt.

But apparently this is something.  Why else would I be told to turn over a new stone?

What do you do with moist, dark, dirt?

I planted a seed.

From…

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Honest Acceptance Speeches

Hahahaha stay classy

Half and Half

Yeah, we all know you want to thank your parents, your family, and your fans.  But really, how can you forget all the things that really make the world go round?

First and foremost, I’d like to thank:

  • Bono, for single handedly fueling sales of blue polarized sunglasses.
  • Puppies, for teaching couples that kids are really going to be a lot of work.
  • Crunchy peanut butter, for diversifying the snack game.
  • Maxi dresses, for being my entire summer wardrobe.
  • Sunglasses, for allowing me to sneakily stare at people without being noticed.
  • Snuggies, for repurposing the bathrobe by simply wearing it backwards.
  • Text messages, for allowing me to ignore phone calls because “I can’t talk right now.”
  • Tattoos, for permanently reminding me of how stupid I am.
  • Beyonce, for being “everything,” so girls all over the world “literally can’t even” to the point that they “die.”
  • Grease, for clearly indicating when I…

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A letter to that Nice Guy I ignored that one time

I like this

days like crazy paving

A comic depicting the difference between what a Nice Guy thinks is happening between him and a girl and what is actually happening. a shift in perspective can help.

Dear Nice Guy,

I’d say you probably don’t remember me, but I know you do. I know you remember me the way you remember every single girl you’ve ever latched onto like a leech who also happens to recommend books and carry shopping bags. I know you remember me because this is a small town and people talk and you wouldn’t believe some of the things people tell me you say about me, except that I guess you would because I know for sure that you said them.

I know you’ve waxed poetic at length to anyone who will listen (and a fair few people who won’t) about how I don’t know what I’m missing. And you know what? I guess you’re right. I don’t know what I’m missing. Maybe if, somewhere between the endless offers of a lift home and the free coffees…

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I choose MORE

One of my best friends to his wife of 27 years tomorrow. Congrats guys and wish you two many, many more happy years together.

Keeping Track

You may remember the concrete wall we sat on in Glenmere Park, many years ago, on which I asked you this question: “Will you be married to me?”  Even then, I used an active verb with a present tense – I think we both knew it would be forever.

I can’t help but think of all the lost opportunities I missed to make our marriage better.  I should have DAWDLED in that Belgian Chocolate Shop with you, instead of finding a European cell phone to call Ethan on.  I should have listened to the Nils Frahm music you were in love with for a while, instead of assuring you that “I’d get to it soon”.  Why did I not listen better when you said you are truly an introvert and parties with more than a few people were seriously exhausting?  I still am not sure how much art gallery time…

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Let’s Talk About Class: Hierarchies of Taste and Gender

The gendering of tastes

BINARYTHIS

Posh man: I ain't one Posh man: I ain’t one

Recently, I found myself at a wine-tasting session with a friend, only to be confronted with the embarrassing reality that I had no idea how to act “appropriately” in the situation. The whole thing wasn’t helped by the fact that I was wearing an outfit much like Julia Roberts circa Pretty Woman, as I sometimes care to do (it’s a great look). Trying to “be myself” rather than affect a more refined countenance turned out to be quite the faux pas in terms of the disdainful/pitying/embarrassed looks I got from other patrons. While on the one hand I was rather “f*** you” about it, it also later resulted in me crying into my pillow.

Ladette to Lady: teaching us how not to be working class Ladette to Lady: teaching us how not to be working class

Later, I came across this article about the UK’s Education Secretary Michael Gove, and his comments that

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