No end of my love for Laura Veirs.

“Every moment we spend together gestures toward this horizon of departure—like the perspective point in a painting, everything refers to it. Confessing it does nothing to dissolve it.”
“I was actually a pogo stick champion when I was about 10, and no I am not doing that anymore. But YES, I AM STILL WRITING. In fact, I finished a book about an hour ago.”
“Gina Carano was an amazing fighter, and she had a fantastic rack," Rousey says of the MMA fighter-turned-actor. But then again: "You don’t see big titties in the Olympics, and I think that’s for a reason.”

Sister Rosetta Tharpe with Lucky Millinder and his Orchestra, “The Lonesome Road,” 1941. There’s not a second of this I don’t love. (Via Brooke, who notes that she sees a lot of Janelle Monae in Rosetta Tharpe; I agree, though I see almost as much of her in the high-waisted white-pants dude. And I see myself in those fringed underoos and feathered tiaras IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.)

“Kris Kristofferson went, ‘Joni! You know, keep something of yourself.’ Johnny Cash said, ‘The world is on your shoulders.’ They all recoil because the game was, I’m bad, I’m bad, make yourself larger than life. Don’t reveal anything human and my thing is, why?”

Been thinking a lot about this Mrs. Julian Heath. When I saw these photos on the Library of Congress Flickr page earlier she existed only as a woman eyeing/buying some poultry three days before Christmas 1915. But when I returned to look at them again just now, there was a new comment identifying her as “founder and president of the National Housewives League,” including a link to a November 1915 New York Times article regarding her involvement in some fracas around a botchced baking powder sponsorship. Many questions yet remain about her hat.

“Like, picture a lady standing in a field with her dress flapping nobly in the wind, and maybe she’s holding a basket of wheat and squinting into the distance, and she’s like, Oh man, when is he gonna return, because I’ve borne so much already? Except I don’t want to look all weathered, just, like, super pretty but also like I have a ton of inner reserves? Does that make any sense? No?”

I watched the first episode of Top of the Lake while taking in a chambray button-up that had been sitting for too long, too big, in my closet. I did it by hand because I broke the replacement needle on my sewing machine in August 2008 and I haven’t yet brought myself around to figuring out how to fix it. I didn’t think I would watch the second episode because something about the first deeply bummed me out, almost in a chemically-altering way, like possibly the episode itself gave me SADS. The color palette is so dim, all grays and muted greens and blues, chambray itself, and that deep, deep black. When I wore the shirt I thought about the show all day and after a while I decided to watch the second episode just to see how it went, and then by last Thursday I was nearly catatonic on my couch, gasping/argh-ing every time the credits came up because I could not get Netflix to get me to the next episode soon enough. All through this time I was listening a lot to the new Laura Marling album, too, and just like the show attached itself to my shirt somehow it sewed itself together with the album, too. This didn’t wind up surfacing in the review of the record that I wound up writing, but I feel like the record and the show are very much of a piece. Part of this is just that I experienced them around the same time time, but also they share certain themes: water and beasts and woundedness, and lots of anger, particularly the anger of being a woman in this particular world, and then the anger that comes from expressing that anger and feeling as if you perhaps shouldn’t have. There’s a real sense of melancholy, too, the kind that comes from making the choice to do the work the way you know it needs to be done, even when the price is your dignity or your sanity or your basic sense of well-being in the world. "I won’t stare at water anymore."

Little baby Laura Marling! This album has always hit me square in the cryzone but now it’s like rifling through baby photos. How is it possible for someone to start out so good and still keep getting better and better and better?

Here is the great video for Pistol Annies’ “Hush Hush,” which has been lodged in my brain for more than week now. And here is something I have written for Slate about the seemingly unlikely but increasingly cozy relationship between weed and country music. And now I would like some green bean casserole please.

“A couple of chips and salsa at the beginning of my shift for quality control purposes. Work exploded into rollicking margarita-fueled bedlam and I was running around like a crazy person. I had to pee for five hours. At one point my hands started quivering weirdly and I wondered if the pee had gone back up inside my body and was poisoning my blood. I had a couple tacos before the kitchen closed, at 9:30, ribeye with cilantro and onion and salsa verde. Some pals of mine had come to eat at my restaurant for a birthday celebration, one of them was Sam, one of them was Teri, I gave them a free dessert, a cajeta crème brulee thing. I had a couple of bites of it once the rest of the customers were gone. I accidentally opened up a bottle of Dos Equis Amber for no reason so once the restaurant was closed I drank it. I deserved it. I got home at 1:25 AM and ate a Golden Delicious apple.”