It used to be exclusive to my newsletter subscribers but then TinyLetter imploded!
Gang I’m gonna level with you: I’m rill mad about insurance right now, and if you think about it for half a damn second I think you’ll find that you are too. Now, I don’t wanna blog angry1–I don’t want that for you or for me, least of all during the sacred span of Bloganuary2. You know what I do want? This old dude’s fuckin’ rad glasses in Witch Hat Atelier:
BITCHIN’ HEXAGONAL SPECS AND $700 FUCKING DOLLARS FOR A DISCUS OF TRELEGY NOTWITHSTANDING, I was reading Jon Mooallem’s fantastic This Is Chance!, about the worst earthquake in recorded history ripping Anchorage in half like an unwary calzone in the hands of a hungry me, and of all the amazing things I’m learning and true stories of community and humanity, the thing I can’t get over is that all of these 1964 people have incredible names, like Genie Chance and Frank Brink. I just imagined saying “Hello, I’m Frank Brink” and She Who Is My Wife turned to me on the couch and asked “Did you just get…magnetic?”, and sure enough, the next time I used my debit card, it turned out I’d erased it with my ass. This is not to express a belief that “we used to have proper names”, for such ideas are rooted in racism, misogyny, and fear of our own obsolescence; rather, this serves as a warning Anchorage would’ve done well to heed: A given area can only support so many cool names before collapsing under their weight.
GOOD NIGHT, AND GOOD LUCK.