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August 22, 2014

azspot:


#Ferguson: ‘Nobody Knows My Name’

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August 22, 2014

“Ferguson, Missouri.”
(via newyorker)

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August 21, 2014

Anonymous said: So, how's it going mama? I'm enjoying all your pregnancy posts!

Oh, pretty great, let me tell you. I grunt (loudly) when I bend over and my lower back hurts all the time but all signs point to a healthy baby, I eat a lot but I’ve gained just 15 pounds (which puts me on track for gaining less than 30, exactly what doctors — and every nosy woman over 40 — recommend), and I’m starting to feel like I’ve got a handle on my to-do/to-buy-before-baby list. (We painted the nursery on Saturday a pinky taupe and I am obsessed with how it’s coming together.)

I found a diaper bag I actually love (after obsessing over the search since, oh, week 5), I’ve happily reached DGAF status, as evidenced by the fact that I’m wearing sneakers almost everywhere, and when I think about the birth, I channel Gisele Bundchen in all her obnoxiousness: I believe it will go smoothly, easily even. Except I will do it with drugs.

image

I’m really looking forward to hibernating with this little alien, introducing her to the weird world of gravity, digestion, and food that must come through the mouth. I’m looking forward to figuring her out, little by little, and eventually becoming the expert on her (not the expert on babies, mind you — just an expert on one. Until she goes and changes and I need to figure it all out again). 

I’m really looking forward to my maternity leave, specifically my plan to spend a month with my parents at their condo near the beach in Santa Barbara; Gena will be doing her senior year at UCSB; my sweet aunt, uncle, and cousins live in town; M. (and hopefully Zoe!) will come for 10 days or so over Christmas and New Year’s; and our California friends will hopefully come visit for a day or a weekend (you’d better).

I get anxious and obsess over dumb stuff — stuff that has nothing to do with the baby, not really. It keeps me up at night (I’m convinced that all that extra blood flowing through your veins — the source of the pregnancy glow — overstimulates your brain). I wish I was more fun for my sister this summer — oh god what I wouldn’t give to get stupid drunk, just once — but the truth is when I have a second to spare I just want to lie the fuck down.

As for M., I’m amazed by how our relationship has evolved in the past year. We’ve been together for more than five and a half years, but we’ve done more learning and growing in the past 12 months than all the others combined. He is not a ‘natural’ father, I think he would be the first to agree, but he will make a great one. And he tells me all the time that he has always known I would make a wonderful mother, which is something I need to hear.

Even though — forgive my lack of modesty — I know I will be. I just do.

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August 19, 2014

This sounds far more fantastic than “clam dip” has any right to sound.
luckypeach:

Hugh Merwin is the senior editor of Grub Street and wrote the article “Shell Station” in The Seashore Issue, in which he surveys eight different types of clams. Here, he shares his recipe for clam dip.
Take it away, Hugh:
I grew up working in a sort of broken-down clam bar on Long Island’s Great South Bay. One summer we took over the adjoining fish market—we just knocked a big hole in the wall with sledgehammers to connect the two spaces—and in the rubble I found a stack of old promotional recipe cards with instructions for the original Kraft Music Hall Clam Dip, which reportedly caused a shortage of canned clams in Manhattan the moment it was published in the 1950s. I replaced canned clams with fresh steamers, Worcestershire with some funky Roman-style garum. It was actually amazing, especially after letting the chilled and mixed ingredients mingle for a while. —Hugh Merwin
Clam Dip
Makes around 1 3/4 cups
18 littleneck or topneck clams, steamed in 1/4 cup of water, cooled, and shucked6 tablespoons clam cooking liquidJuice of one lemon 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt1/2 teaspoon garum or Thai fish sauce4 dashes Angostura bitters8 ounces good-quality cream cheeseWhite pepper to taste
1. Combine clams, cooking liquid, lemon juice, salt, garum or fish sauce, and bitters in a food processor. Pulse until clams are rough-chopped and ingredients are blended. Add cream cheese and pulse, occasionally scraping down sides of food processor with spatula, until everything is smooth. Add white pepper to taste. Clam dip is best after it sits, refrigerated, for a few hours. Serve with sturdy potato chips. 

This sounds far more fantastic than “clam dip” has any right to sound.

luckypeach:

Hugh Merwin is the senior editor of Grub Street and wrote the article “Shell Station” in The Seashore Issue, in which he surveys eight different types of clams. Here, he shares his recipe for clam dip.

Take it away, Hugh:

I grew up working in a sort of broken-down clam bar on Long Island’s Great South Bay. One summer we took over the adjoining fish market—we just knocked a big hole in the wall with sledgehammers to connect the two spaces—and in the rubble I found a stack of old promotional recipe cards with instructions for the original Kraft Music Hall Clam Dip, which reportedly caused a shortage of canned clams in Manhattan the moment it was published in the 1950s. I replaced canned clams with fresh steamers, Worcestershire with some funky Roman-style garum. It was actually amazing, especially after letting the chilled and mixed ingredients mingle for a while. —Hugh Merwin

Clam Dip

Makes around 1 3/4 cups

18 littleneck or topneck clams, steamed in 1/4 cup of water, cooled, and shucked
6 tablespoons clam cooking liquid
Juice of one lemon 
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon garum or Thai fish sauce
4 dashes Angostura bitters
8 ounces good-quality cream cheese
White pepper to taste

1. Combine clams, cooking liquid, lemon juice, salt, garum or fish sauce, and bitters in a food processor. Pulse until clams are rough-chopped and ingredients are blended. Add cream cheese and pulse, occasionally scraping down sides of food processor with spatula, until everything is smooth. Add white pepper to taste. Clam dip is best after it sits, refrigerated, for a few hours. Serve with sturdy potato chips. 

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August 18, 2014

Tamron helps women open up about domestic abuse


One of my closest friends, Katie, was on the Today Show this morning speaking about her experience with domestic violence (she is the blonde woman who speaks first). I’m floored by how courageous and well-spoken she is. And the organization she works for, Day One, has raised more than $20k since it aired — a lot of money for a small nonprofit. So, so proud of her.


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August 18, 2014

Anonymous said: How did you meet your husband?

Gah he IS my husband, isn’t he? Still getting used to that — though we’ve really launched straight into married life. In the first week we met with a lady about life insurance, added him to my health plan, went to Ikea, and installed complicated shelves in the baby’s room — and we’re still married. Amazing.

We met nearly 6 years ago at our friend’s supper club. I was helping to serve and he was there early to hang out. Our friend introduced us ‘cause we both work/worked in green buildings (he specialized in clean tech law) and we immediately hit it off. (Though his opening line to me was that in all my jewelry, I reminded him of his (Indian) mother. Never letting him live that down.) He took my card and emailed me on the spot, lalala.

And then … his date showed up.

She was kinda mousey, nothing I couldn’t handle, and I could tell it wasn’t serious. That night I got home, sank into an easy chair, and told my roommate Jane, So I met a guy….

But then he didn’t make it to my crazy global warming birthday party the following weekend (man, those were the days), and then I was hit by an SUV and was out of commission for a month, so we didn’t see each other ‘til Halloween. Jane and I were absolutely not going to go out ‘cause we had a 4 am wake-up call the next day to leave for PA to canvass for Obama. But our third roomie, Andrea, coerced us. When I mentioned this guy I knew (M.) was throwing a party in the East Village, her eyes lit up. Little did we know that her real motive was to casually meet up with a guy she had just started dating who she knew would be out in Manhattan.

This guy.

Clearly we forgive her subterfuge.

Anyhoo, long story long, Jane and I found our kitties in Wilkes-Barre, Obama was elected, and M. and I were just friends for the next few months. Friends who had a crush on each other for sure — though I have since learned he was very dismayed at the prospect of dating “a blogger,” cue maniacal laughter, and, for my part, he was growing this outlandish beard and dressing in overly formal clothing to counteract it and I was concerned he was one of those hipsters (turns out it was for a charity bartender competition and all is forgiven all around).

Then in January I was on a two-borough, three-party, fuck-the-blizzard tear with Andrea and the aforementioned guy (file under shit you would never dream of doing in your 30s), and we ended up at the 30th birthday party of the guy who introduced M. and me.

M. was behind the bar, clean-shaven and wearing a t-shirt, and I got a load of those pecs and biceps and that. was. that.

Moral of the story is, girls are just as lecherous as boys and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

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August 14, 2014

Oh and by the way … we got married.

When we told my parents I’m pregnant — just 6 weeks along and sitting in the steamy veranda of the Bangalore Club — they surprised me by (very gently) suggesting that we get married before our wedding date. My parents are anything but traditional but they’re certainly pragmatic and it does make sense — should anything go wrong, M. should be the one making decisions for me and the baby, no questions asked. Turns out M.’s dad, who encouraged us to have a baby before the wedding (“I’m not conservative, Nora,” he said, that grandpa-twinkle already in his eye), also wanted a shotgun wedding. And, I should add, we wanted a shotgun wedding. But we (M. especially) didn’t want to overshadow the big wedding next summer — we didn’t want our friends and family to feel like they missed the ‘real thing.’

So we were going to do it stealth. And I was on-board, really I was. I wasn’t going to buy a special dress or make a fuss — just City Hall with our witness, my sister Gena, and dinner at Betony with his dad afterward. But I couldn’t help it — I instagrammed. I mean, we got married! 

And you know, it felt right. It is a big deal. There were tears in both our eyes as we took vows in a nondescript room by a city clerk. I was emotional just watching all the other couples as they applied for marriage licenses or got married — every color, religion, and sexual orientation represented and goddamn if that’s not the kind of state I want marrying me. (We watched two young twinks get their license and really, they were way too young — but I support your right to make bad decisions!)

Afterward all I wanted to do was pop the champagne and get drunk-but-not-too-drunk but instead we got dressed up and went to Betony and I sipped my one glass of very good champagne and had an incredible meal. M.’s dad was giddy and talking a mile a minute, presenting me with a stream of gifts befitting my new status as an Indian wife, and referring to our baby as Lakshmi (that’s not her name but sure, whatever).

I was in bed by 11 (the happiest words in a pregnant woman’s vocabulary), my beautiful sister lying next to me as we saw, for the first time, the baby rippling under the surface; later, M. told me that his dad said to him, “Finally, Mayur — we have a family!”

And while reciting our own vows before everyone we love — before our daughter! — will be in many ways more significant, that is what a marriage is. Something new where before there was not. A brother-in-law, a son-in-law, a daughter-in-law — a family. Surely that is Instagram-worthy.

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August 14, 2014

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August 12, 2014

The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames.

DFW on depression and suicide (via peterwknox)

Bright Wall/Dark Room.: On losing Robin Williams 

A number of people are posting on Facebook and Twitter that if only he knew how loved he was, he never would have taken his life. A video from his film World’s Greatest Dad in which he describes suicide as a permanent solution to a temporary problem has been making the rounds, captioned with the likes of “he should have taken his own advice.” If only… If only…

But depression doesn’t work that way. It doesn’t work in any way that’s comforting or reassuring or filled with lessons.

I’m reminded of my dear friend Fiona’s wisdom in the face of her brother’s (my ex-boyfriend’s) suicide. She described his depression as ”a debilitation, mentally. It blocks off certain parts of the person’s vision.”

"One thing I’ve found in coping with this, is that I’m amazed at how my mind doesn’t allow me to be overwhelmed by everything at once," says Fiona. "So when I think about Cian, I think about different aspects of it. My mind finds a way to strategise it, I suppose, in order to get around that. That’s a survival mechanism. Depression, I think, is almost the opposite of that, because you are overwhelmed by all of the negative thoughts."

If you think about it as losing the ability to strategize around and through overwhelming emotions, you understand that a person can know that he is loved, and kill himself anyway.

(via peterwknox)

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August 11, 2014

Must be something for me to write this.
Queen, I ain’t seen you in a minute.
Wrote this letter and finally decided to send it.
Signed sealed delivered for us to grow together.
Love has no limit, let’s spend it slow together….
flyartproductions:

There are times when you’ll need someone, I will be by your side.
The Kiss (1859), Francesco Hayez / The Light, Common

Must be something for me to write this.

Queen, I ain’t seen you in a minute.

Wrote this letter and finally decided to send it.

Signed sealed delivered for us to grow together.

Love has no limit, let’s spend it slow together….

flyartproductions:

There are times when you’ll need someone, I will be by your side.

The Kiss (1859), Francesco Hayez / The Light, Common

(via tenderbuttons)

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