I’ve been blogging over at Blisstree.com for the past few days. This isn’t replacing any of the other writing gigs I have. It’s just another chance to make more money writing about new topics.
One tab on my browser stays on Twitter throughout the day, because that’s the main way I keep up with the world. (And the only reason I remembered once seeing Tiki Barber on Project Runway.) Yesterday, someone I follow linked an article titled, “How Do You Know When to Stop Writing?”
Immediately, I thought, “When you make enough money! But you won’t! Ever!” I was in an afternoon slump, followed by my evening slump.
It’s always hard to explain to my friends from the Northeast that I grew up where Christianity was compulsory. Everyone believed in God and our lord and personal savior Jesus Christ, because…
Just because.
It’s how everything was explained and not explained. Things that didn’t make sense were part of a plan we were too small to see.
I can’t pinpoint the moment when I went from a confident, inquisitive kid to a self-conscious adolescent, but I think God must have been at the root. One day I went from believing in Him, because it’s what everyone did, to doubting such a being could exist. And if there were some sort of God, I was skeptical that He or She or It would hold some of the beliefs that everyone said He or She or It did.
Man, oh man, was it nice to discover a new Sassy Gay Friend video today. For Great Expectations, too - Miss Havisham is full of the lolz.
I think Brian Gallivan, the man behind Sassy Gay Friend, is hilarious, so I have no problem with him making money off these videos. And I really like that he stayed in character when he said he was getting paid for endorsing MiO without some pseudo-earnest “I’d only endorse products that are just as sassy as me” schtick.
“P.S. It’s not vintage if you’ve been wearing it since it wasn’t.”
Last year, I spent Valentine’s Day on a really awkward date with a French guy.
And oui, I wrote about it. (Warning: contains jokes about French people):
I knew very little about him. His name was Arthur. He was from France. And I’d deemed him tall and literate enough to engage with on the Internet.
I stood in front of the travel books facing the wall. I didn’t expect much from this date—besides an alcoholic buzz. But who knows? Maybe he’d be really cute and charming and accented .
He wasn’t. Well, not cute. I was hoping for Olivier Martinez. He was more Gérard Depardieu. I know this makes me sound like some hick from a town that serves freedom fries with its hamburgers, but I was shocked he wasn’t better dressed. It turns out, French people do get fat.
Yeah, I know. I’m kind of mean. But New York Press put me in my place by putting the words “Desperate for a Valentine’s Day date, AMANDA GREEN…” on its cover that week. And that’s all I needed to see. “Desperate.” My full name.
If you groaned at the pun in the title, congrats, you paid attention in English class.
I’m a fan of artist Christoph Niemann. You might remember that he’s responsible for I LEGO NY. When I saw that book, I didn’t want to finish it. Had I borrowed someone else’s copy, they’d have been like, “Hey, leggo my LEGO!”
If you groaned at that, congrats, you watched morning cartoons in the eighties and nineties.
Over the holidays, The New York Times published Niemann’s whimsical take on creationism called “Let It Dough!” I didn’t cover it for a couple of reasons: 1) I’m not religious, and 2) ugh, I don’t do Christmas. On December 24, I volunteered at a soup kitchen, ordered food, and spent the rest of the night imbibing and watching Netflix with my favorite mensch. The next day, I ate at a diner and came home to find my apartment’s boiler broken.
But I still thought “Let It Dough!” was cute. I just needed to wait a bit for people to stop playing Christmas carols at deafening levels. Here’s a belated gift (not a Christmas one, a just because one) for you:
But there’s something to be said for love songs. Sure, they have a harder time standing out - many are vapid and not about the enduring companionship you actually need to maintain a relationship.They’re like songs.
It’s Valentine’s Day, though, and I want to share 10 of my favorite love songs. Caveat: I left out many that are amazing. I mean, I could’ve just had a catalog of Etta James tunes.
And interestingly enough, many of the singers responsible for my favorite love songs also sang some of my favorite breakup songs. Perhaps for the same person, no?
I’ve dreamed of urban exploration since I was a kid yearning to break into the decrepit Corpus Christi courthouse. I never did, but I once dated a boy who first impressed me by saying he had done just that. (He was lying).
If you have a half-hour, check out Andrew Wonder’s short documentary Undercity. In it, he explores the forbidden tunnels of the NYC subway system, including the abandoned City Hall station downtown.
If you love this, I also recommend you check out one of my favorite documentaries, Dark Days.
Since reading Gretchen Rubin’s The Happiness Project, I’ve been really interested in cognitive science. I think a lot of people associate psychology with big life events, like how we process trauma. I’m interested in the daily mental grind that determines whether we’re more optimistic or pessimistic and our emotional instincts.
But I’ll own this: I’m also really interested in this sort of research, because I never feel good enough.
Not just good, either. Happy enough. Rested enough. Productive enough. Enough enough.
Today I published a piece on Nerve about pop stars like one Justin Bieber who make millions singing mindless tunes and then decide they have something very important to say about the human condition.
I kind of love when they do that.
This may be the first and last time I ever write about Insane Clown Posse and Christina Aguilera, so please savor the moment. You can read the post (and leave a comment and share it on Facebook and support your only favorite blogger from Noisiest Passenger) by clicking on The Bieb’s button nose or rosebud lips.
In the name of all that is good, okay, and “c’mon guys, it’s not that bad,” someone made a United States of Awesome map in response to the United States of Shame map.
Yeah, the low high school graduation rates in Texas are worrisome, but have you checked out their wind power production? Top of the charts.
New York has the worst daily commute, but the highest use of public transit. Like anyone thought those things were mutually exclusive…
Still, the researcher was scraping the bottom of the barrel with some of these. I’m not sure we should be proud that Kentucky has the highest rate of gun ownership.
