What the fuck, Arlington?
(We saw on Friday when we went out to meet my godmother for dinner at Tom Yum Koong II. I used to walk by that mural on a near-daily basis. I remember when it was painted. There was no need to destroy it—and then leave just enough of the ruin in place to show what might have once been.)
What the fuck, CBS?
(I watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade with my grandparents every year they were alive. And after my grandmother died and my grandfather left Portland and we could not watch the fireworks over Casco Bay anymore, we watched the Boston Pops for the Fourth of July—a combination of the national broadcast and the view from the roof of my grandfather's girlfriend's building next to the Symphony, then later from the Esplanade with my cousins and my now-fiancé. But my parents watched at home. I don't like being forced to choose between traditions, but Macy's already had one holiday, thank you. I am quite seriously considering a letter to CBS explaining that I will not watch their coverage of the New York fireworks this year, and more to the point, I won't buy a thing from Macy's. They have burnt their Miracle on 34th Street credit with me. And seriously, in the wake of high-profile damage to one Boston tradition, can't another one catch a break?)
Oh, good. This was about to be a "What the fuck, New York Times?" for telling me about an author I hadn't heard of, after which I'd find the book had been out of print since the '50's. But that's why we have NYRB Classics, and so I imagine a library will be able to accommodate me.
The afternoon was fine.
(We saw on Friday when we went out to meet my godmother for dinner at Tom Yum Koong II. I used to walk by that mural on a near-daily basis. I remember when it was painted. There was no need to destroy it—and then leave just enough of the ruin in place to show what might have once been.)
What the fuck, CBS?
(I watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade with my grandparents every year they were alive. And after my grandmother died and my grandfather left Portland and we could not watch the fireworks over Casco Bay anymore, we watched the Boston Pops for the Fourth of July—a combination of the national broadcast and the view from the roof of my grandfather's girlfriend's building next to the Symphony, then later from the Esplanade with my cousins and my now-fiancé. But my parents watched at home. I don't like being forced to choose between traditions, but Macy's already had one holiday, thank you. I am quite seriously considering a letter to CBS explaining that I will not watch their coverage of the New York fireworks this year, and more to the point, I won't buy a thing from Macy's. They have burnt their Miracle on 34th Street credit with me. And seriously, in the wake of high-profile damage to one Boston tradition, can't another one catch a break?)
Oh, good. This was about to be a "What the fuck, New York Times?" for telling me about an author I hadn't heard of, after which I'd find the book had been out of print since the '50's. But that's why we have NYRB Classics, and so I imagine a library will be able to accommodate me.
The afternoon was fine.
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