“The Rooses told me it wasn’t ‘quite nice’ for girls to loll in hammocks—that you could only do it when you are married, but I believe it is because they don’t have pretty enough petticoats. Anyway…as I knew my ‘frillies’ were all right, I hammocked too, and it was lovely.” - The Visits of Elizabeth, by Elinor Glynn (the first writer to use the term It Girl) in 1900
varieties of apples
Arkansas Black Baldwin Braeburn Bramley Cortland Cox’s Orange Pippin Earliblaze Freedom Liberty Lodi Newton Pippin Northern Spy Red Rome Roxbury Russet Tydeman’s Red Winter Banana
What bug would you not mind waking up to find on your floor if the bug was instead a tiny wild animal? Or even domestic. I thought about this for a while, and have settled on zebra. I almost chose a tiger, but they’d look like crawling bees, and they would bite. I don’t believe zebras would bite. I wouldn’t mind a herd of black and white stripes galloping around my kitchen from time to time, in...
Erin: Well, I want to open one in SF. And my donut shop in New York! It’s going to be a 24 hour donut place that also serves waffles. The Awl: YOU LIE. I will loiter! Babycakes and dreams over at the awl.
She remembered it had made any given day seem bearable, that impulse toward a joke. It had been a determined sort of humor, an intensity mirroring the intensity of the city, and it seemed to embrace and alleviate the hard sadness of people having used one another and marred the earth the way they had. “It was like brains having sex. It was like every brain was a sex maniac.” She looked down at her...
Something broke, at home, one of the bones holding the happiness together. Or at least, holding the structure that supports the few moments of happiness a day together. Smiles can’t stand alone. They need a foundation. It used to hold up to two pounds of happiness and now, because of the break, it holds none. We could tell, at the office, because of the smell. Carol left him, we could tell. Not...
When she packed up to leave, she knew she was saying good-bye to something...– Lorrie Moore, “Agnes of Iowa”