This is a stunner from Chloe Caldwell: “My Year of Heroin and Acne.”
I’m liking Salon’s “Body Issues” series. Here’s “Sexy Dresses That Barely Fit” by Lily Burana.
I’m radically perplexed and a little alarmed by this apparent love-fest for “My Little Pony” among…uh…adult men? My husband and I sat in the car, after he read this article, with me saying, “But wait–is it a kink thing?” and him saying, “No, it doesn’t seem to be,” and me saying, “I don’t believe that, how can that be true,” and him saying, “Read the article,” and me saying, “I’m afraid to read the article,” and him saying, “I’m going to send it to you,” and me saying, “I don’t want an article about pedophiliac bestiality,” and it going around around in a circle like this. Apparently he was correct. This is a very confusing world.
Jacqueline St. Joan, author of Press 53’s My Sisters Made of Light, is fundraising for a girls/women safe shelter in Pakistan, and has already raised more than $15,ooo. She’s so close to her goal for this phenomenal project–please check it out, and consider contributing. Go, Jackie!
The eloquent Jillian Lauren, inspired by Stephen’s recent Rumpus essay on the memoir, defends confession.
50 Best Literary Insults…tell that certain someone where to shove it, with style…
Loving Emily Temple’s “Alternate List” of the top literary heroines of 2012.
Another essay putting Frenchwomen on a fashion pedestal and claiming American women are too lazy to put on anything involving a button, snap or zipper. I want to say “yawn,” but the truth is it raised my ire last week, and inspired some lively consternation on my FB wall from all factions.
Our Other Voices Books spring writer, Rob Roberge, is also the guitarist in The Urinals. I don’t know anything about punk (well, that would imply that I know “anything” about other music genres, which is not, in fact, true), but this interview with the smartly demented Urinals threesome is freaking hilarious.
Hey, on another note entirely…we’re closer to an AIDS vaccine.
This Tuesday, I’m interviewing Margaret Atwood for The Sunday Rumpus. I’ve worshipped her since I was 19. Sometimes things happen, and you just have to stop and realize how your Young Self would have pretty much fallen over dead with disbelief. I’m lucky–I get a lot of those moments. But man…this one is really up there. Wish me luck not making a total ass of myself.
