The only thing I felt like doing today was reading cool stuff on the web.
First, a few words from a women’s publication I’d never heard of: BITCH magazine. In it, Joshunda Saunders writes “Eat, Pray, Spend” , a critical look at “priv/lit”, which is self-help writing/preaching to the choir (upper middle class women readers). This is a hundred and thirty year tradition: advice that spurs sales of products that ‘fix’ problems both real and created. Products that coincidentally are advertised in the magazine being read by the self-help seekress.
Saunders mentions a more credible, less ‘subsidized’ writer (Eat Pray Love‘s year was underwritten by a book publisher!) . I’d never heard of the more scrupulous writer–Paige Williams)– so had to read HER stuff…dig up her website (she’s a journalist/writing professor), which catapulted me into her article about a woman my age who’d written “Possum Living“ 35 years ago. “Dolly Freed” (cute pseudonym) was 18 at the time, and successfully sold some publisher her anything-but-humble instructions on living the good life outside the money economy.
The only thing I could do after all this reading was :
a) write a fan note to Ms. Williams and
b) dig around in the potato patch and flip some compost.
Results: unrealistic hopes of a return note, a good appetite, and one monster potato mortally wounded with the shovel. We can’t eat the potatoes fast enough, and often let potatoes sprout. This ‘reaching out’ reminds you to eat ‘em. I had to cook my prize out of compassion– it’s injured… I’ll make oven fries and end its misery…. I might even notice this ‘same-day freshness’ thing everyone obsesses about. I’m so happy with third-rate dumpster produce, I forget that the real deal is twenty feet away, if I’d just go grub it up.
While it was baking, I pulled out an iridescent orange/pink silk wiggle skirt I’d found , probably hurled by some 110-lb style junkie. It looks like it’s about three months out of fashion. Orange is still hot , you know. Toyed with the idea of cutting it up and making a splendid tea cozy, but then thought about the slave labor that went into creating the garment–the zipper, the hem, the slit up the side, the facing on the waist…how dare I slash such skilled handiwork?
Charlie took pictures after I’d packed myself into it…you decide: does that plate of french fries make my butt look fat?