Just in case you read that last post and thought, “Well, that’s was a terrible story, but luckily most folks don’t think being fat is the most awful thing a person could possibly be,” please allow me to introduce you to the AspireAssist.
Here’s a thing that happened once.
I was walking down Union Square West in New York City with my husband. It must have been June, because it was the kind of warm weather where you could meander around reveling at the heat on your shoulders without being accosted by the humid garbage funk of Late Summer in the City. We had just done something normal-weekend fun — a movie? A book shopping spree? An afternoon in the park? — and were on our way to dinner, standing at a light and waiting to cross 14th.
I was just in Bologna, Italy, where, between eating platters of the best cured pork products Euros can buy and eating more gelato than is probably wise, I visited the Teatro Anatomico, where 17th century medical students and 17th century non-student creepers would gather to observe human dissections. While reading the informational literature, I learned about Laura Bassi. Have you heard of her? Neither had I.
Hello! My name is Michelle, and I cannot write a book.
Here is a list of other things I have written (non-exhaustive):
Did you have a day where it seemed as though everything you did was either wrong, or stupid, or shitty? Are you ending your night feeling like the world’s crappiest person?
If so, please come over and join my pity party. There is bourbon. I don’t like bourbon, so someone has to drink it. Thank you and good night.
I was recently looking at a map of northern Scotland, was endlessly amused to see that a goodly number of northern Scottish towns have names that could also be nicknames for 1930s gangsters on the lower rungs of the gangster hierarchy and/or young men at a very WASPy prep school in the mid 1980s. To wit: