I guarantee you, that no one, not James Taylor’s most rabid fan, wanted to see that. And, the article is pretty much six pages of this:
“We’re eating a lunch of poached salmon, soba noodles, bok choy, and spring rolls in the dining room of his large, unfussy hilltop house. The meal was prepared by Taylor’s wife of six years, Kim, a longtime executive with the Boston Symphony Orchestra. The couple’s 4-year-old twin sons, Rufus and Henry, are hurling themselves onto their father’s lap and biting my nose with a snapping turtle made out of a paper plate. Taylor feeds them chunks of fruit and sings “Kumbaya” with new words about honeydew melon until Kim manages to shepherd them into the family minivan for a trip to Seiji Ozawa’s pool.”
Arm yourself now with these droll bon mots of Brahms! Why, lob some of these like molotov cocktails into the center of one of Lady Bracknell’s tedious dinner parties, and you will absolutely scandalize everyone! You may never be invited back!
(Seriously, who is Slate writing for these days?)
Overheard at Fluff fest:
“I can’t believe there’s a war on, and here we are watching the Flufferettes. I guess it’s better than, I don’t know, caring about what Angelina Jolie is doing.”
I guess a little apertif of smugness helps numb the sense of guilt over not doing more to end the war?
FDR’s first inaugural address. Now, there’s plenty of his legacy to not admire, and you could certainly argue that in practice, he exploited fear to consolidate executive power. But still, the goal seemed to be to end the fear.
I am certain that my fellow Americans expect that on my induction into the Presidency I will address them with a candor and a decision which the present situation of our people impel. This is preeminently the time to speak the truth, the whole truth, frankly and boldly. Nor need we shrink from honestly facing conditions in our country today. This great Nation will endure as it has endured, will revive and will prosper. So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself—nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance. In every dark hour of our national life a leadership of frankness and vigor has met with that understanding and support of the people themselves which is essential to victory. I am convinced that you will again give that support to leadership in these critical days.
The Globe reports that the Boston area’s two biggest dairies are going to stop using growth hormones. This is good, but it should be noted that they don’t seem to be going for organic certification, which would actually require them to really officially not use them, and to have it verified. Another thing that jumped out at me was that some “guy on the street” they interviewed at Whole Foods said “Organic to me means they let the cows out of the pen,” which they let pass without comment. That’s actually not really the definition, and it’s not at all true.
Personally, I’ve recently developed a very visceral distaste for milk, totally aside from any moral considerations. It’s really actually pretty vile-tasting, and really weird to think about. Killing and eating animals doesn’t really seem odd to me, but putting them in pens and extracting their secretions to drink is bizarre. No wonder we have collective nightmares about being used for fuel.
At any rate, soy milk has started tasting better to me.