The N-Spot: Beloved and Sula Reviewed

Georgia School Makes Clear that Different is "Not Okay'
Well, of course, Jezebel beat me to posting this, but here it is in any case.Transphobia in Public SchoolsA Georgia high school has “asked” a 16-year-old, male-bodied student to dress in a “more manly” fashion or consider homeschooling. Jonathan Escobar, the student, wears—according to this article (and as is evident in the video interview)—wigs, high heels, skinny jeans, women’s ‘vintage tops’ (whatever that means), and makeup to school. After being invo

O NOES! The Miscarriage Tweeter!
Oh! Here’s something. So who heard the story of the woman—Penelope Trunk (works for careerist.com, I believe, geared towards teaching people how to market and manage their careers)—who tweeted about her miscarriage in a board room meeting? The tweet, on her account which is, I guess, public and possibly also geared towards career-based networking, reads: “I'm in a board meeting. Having a miscarriage. Thank goodness, because there's a fucked-up 3-week hoop-jump to have an abortion in Wisconsin.” The media, of course, flew into a frenzy—how dare this woman be so blasé about the loss of a special-snowflake life! Is there nothing sacred in the cyber-verse? What compelled thi

Rainy days and creepy ways...
A rainy day in Beantown; the sort of day you stay curled up under covers with a book (or laptop) on your lap and a cup of coffee at your side. Which is exactly what I’m nursing right now. Surprised to say I’m not hungover this morning, despite drinking liquor, wine, beer, and champagne all in the course of four-or-so hours and getting to bed at 4:30AM, then waking up at 10. Perhaps my tolerance is upping the ante again? I realized, with much terror, that I was becoming an ancient, haggard old queen last week—I had hangover throw-ups! Who does that? Vomming the night of is respectable, especially if you nobly force yourself to do so in order to preemptively strike back at the imp

Well, the results...
Well, the results are in, and my second full week of graduate school is complete. I’m drained, though fortunately, mostly in the physical sense now. The emotional drip of the first week or two alone in Boston has nearly dried up, and I’m becoming accustomed to, well, this new life o’ mine. I had a brief relapse the other day, walking home from the T, though. I passed a woman walking a long-haired dachshund, and I wanted nothing more than to walk in the door of my apartment and find Cookie and Sula yapping at my ankles and furiously wagging their bushy tails. [Note: if/when I move out of this apartment, I’m finding a dog-friendly place, and I will be getting a puppy. Or will b