I saw the streets fill up with people that I knew, people who looked like you

Rabbit, rabbit! derspatchel just came upstairs with the latest issue of The New Yorker and its excellent cover.



I like that there's a real, practical link for artist Abigail Gray Swartz between the women's marches and the idea of Rosie the Riveter, not just an obvious update on a cultural icon:

I started thinking how there was this effort on the part of women to create a symbol for the march. It felt reminiscent of World War II when women rationed silk stockings in order to have enough material for the soldiers' parachutes. How women knit for the soldiers and filled in at the factories while the men were away at war. Just like how we are reclaiming the word "pussy," the hat is also a symbol of our history in our country—we are knitting something for the new "war effort" to fight for our rights as women. We are knitting for ourselves.

I also like that the idea of Rosie as a woman of color was, for her, a "no brainer―I want to paint Rosie as a symbol of the Women's March and she should look like this." So many of the real Rosies did.



More of this sort of thing, please. Much, much, much less of this.

This makes it funny

So the news today has been almost exhaustively upsetting and I've been amply warned it's going to get worse tomorrow. This is a terrible progression. Here is a handful of things that did not upset me:

1. Clockwork Phoenix 5 made the Locus Recommended Reading List.

2. Alan Turing is no longer alone in his posthumous pardon.

3. This is true (barring use of the word "dating," which I have never used outside of those rare times in my life when I was on an actual date) and also I like the layout:



4. derspatchel and I managed to get out of the house on a grocery run and came back with bags of produce such as have been missing from our kitchen for ages and cooked Not Even Faintly Authentic Beef Stroganoff, which involved steak and shallots and bratwurst and mushrooms and sour cream and dill and egg noodles and not enough caraway and we might have hurt ourselves splitting it between us, but we have agreed to reget nothing. Autolycus eyed me with jealousy as I licked my plate clean.

5. No cat of our household has vomited today!

I don't feel like I can think anymore. It's bad. I need my brain for all sorts of reasons. The fascists can't have it.