Maureen Dowd: “The politics of purism makes people stupid. And nasty.”
Just saw “The Lion King.” Spoiler alert: Beyoncé kills all the hyenas.
“It has come to a point where you can rely on the Philippines for all sorts of things: trolls, click farms, whatever you want.”
On behalf of my people: I’m sorry, Internet.
“Trump has ‘unleashed something that’s always been just barely beneath the surface for racism against people of color.‘”
Frannie to the puppy, while making herself nachos: “Have some cheese, buddy. Because we all need some cheese in our lives.”
My parenting work is done.
Finally, a national publication recognizes this. “Chicago’s Real Signature Pizza Is Crispy, Crunchy, and Nothing Like Deep Dish” (Bon Appetit)
The New York Times has produced a fun seven-or-fewer-degrees-of-separation look at the B-52s’ first album, connecting the dots from Yma Sumac and Yoko Ono to Agent Orange, Nirvana, and Madonna.
Having grown up in Southern California hearing about a fancy L.A. hotel with his name, I keep thinking of St. Bonaventure as the patron saint of luxury overnight stays. #FeastDay
I suppose I could go back where I came from. But San Diego is so expensive these days.
I love Chicago. And you go, Alligator Bob!
Those of us who are second-generation Americans can relate to Julian Castro being unable to speak Spanish. The experience of a conflicted monoglot like me is indeed an authentic and “uniquely American” thing.
I swear I thought Ross Perot was already dead.
On a rare Sunday morning off, watching the Women’s World Cup final and marveling at how utterly happy the puppy is to have his hoomin back home. It was a long, agonizing week of anxiety and errant potty practices for Winter.
“There’s a very high cost to our politics for celebrating the Trump style, but what is most personally painful to me as a person of the Christian faith is the cost to the Christian witness.”
So depressing to see the rumors appear to be true, especially a few months after the husband got the kid a subscription: “What, me buried? Mad magazine reportedly to shut down after almost 70 years” (Chicago Sun-Times)
Spent a half-hour in a dentist’s chair having a tooth screwed in and watching “Let’s Make a Deal” with a guest appearance with RuPaul. I can’t decide which plane of existence to which that experience belongs.
Last open house for us at F’s grade school. Still trying to come to terms with the fact that she’s in middle school next year. (More open house pix at the blog.)
“I’ve found that real life, face-to-face, hug-to-hug contact offers more bang for my buck than anything on a screen ever could. Why cheat yourself out of those pleasures for the momentary high of a pile of ‘likes’?”
KJ Dell’Antonia: “I came to a simple conclusion about getting the reactions of friends, family and acquaintances via emojis and exclamations points rather than hugs and actual exclamations.
“It’s no fun. And I don’t want to do it any more.”
Been a while since I was last on Micro.blog. Allow me to reacclimate myself here with a photo of a puppy that isn’t even 6 months old yet.
The Beatles’ “Help” is being used in a Google ad.
I need a drink.
“A good dog does not lick people’s pants.” — Frannie, age 11, to her exuberant puppy
A rough day at work that’s not over yet. I will take this time for an extended break with Ichiro videos and a Portillo’s chocolate cake shake. Because I can.
A Deadspin commenter on Ichiro’s inevitable induction into the Hall of Fame, presuming the entire nation of Japan will descend upon Cooperstown:
“Every AirBNB from Rochester to the Berkshires is gonna be booked, and every guest will leave the place cleaner than they found it.”
This passing of the torch during Ichiro Suzuki’s final game as a major leaguer reminds me that I don’t have enough tissues at my office.