Bittersweet birthday today. I was born on my Dad’s 29th birthday, which I’ve always loved. But we also share our birthday with Anthony Bourdain. He would have been 62 today. Such a bummer. Earlier today my Dad also reminded me that Custer’s Last Stand was on this date. Every year he reminds me of this. He also used to tell me I was the best birthday present he ever got. He hasn’t said that in a very long time. He must have received a better birthday present at some point. I wonder what it was.
Spent the weekend preparing for our sudden move to a new home. Getting items checked off the To Do list feels good. I’ve put a deposit down on a moving company. Up next, contacting all of our utilities to get services switched over on the right date. And shopping for the little things like a shower curtain and dish drainer (we won’t have a dishwasher in the new place, which will be tough). I’ve also ordered a new, more compact desk to fit the space where I’ll be working from home. My current desk is a big ugly beast. And I’m oddly excited about my first new set of flatware in years. My dear ex-husband picked out the set I currently have and I’ve never liked it. The pieces are weighted all wrong and too big for my small paws. My ex is more than happy to take back the half-set he left behind, to be reunited with his half of the set. And I’ll get new flatware that will, hopefully, not frustrate me so much. Win-win.
Still processing yet another police killing in Minneapolis, of an African American man, IN THE BACK. I have no time for people who don’t acknowledge institutional racism. This is a great twitter thread about systemic oppression. It is real. I was also dismayed to hear about white attendees of the Pride parade yesterday who found Black Lives Matter protestors to be off-putting. Pride began as an anniversary of the Stonewall riots, that were protesting police brutality. If you’re going to attend Pride you should be aware of that history and welcome others protesting injustice. I am baffled by those who can’t make that connection. Also, trust black women. I feel like I adding those three words to every conversation I’m having about anything ever.
How about Five Good Things for my 45th Birthday?
- So I’m 45 today. Solidly middle-aged I guess. Some day I hope to become as amazing as these women: The Glamorous Grandmas of Instagram
- Last year Lynn Marie ‘Fluffy’ Murray passed away. She was the proprietor of the beloved South Minneapolis safe haven for weirdos like me, The Book Trader. She was the best kind of hoarder. Her business was so packed with amazing things it was difficult to navigate. Shoppers had to carefully wend their way through single file. She knew the history of each item you brought up to purchase. If she didn’t feel like it she wouldn’t sell the thing to you, if she deemed you unworthy. That never happened to me but I saw it happen to others. We bonded over Palad khik once - Thai penis charms - and I was good in her books after that. I’m not sure what the story is with this, but turns out The Book Trader will be open one day only. On the 4th of July. But I really don’t need any more stuff. In fact, I’m holding an estate sale to offload some of the excess I’d rather not move into our new place.
- When my son was small we watched a multi-part Beatles documentary series. He isn’t much of a music fan in general (though I’m still music obsessed) but the Beatles stuck with him. He is very aware that Paul and Ringo are the only surviving members and he wonders how often they hang out. Saturday morning I asked my son to watch this with me: James Corden tears up at Paul McCartney’s carpool karaoke.
- That’ll do, pig. Be free.
- I took a break from packing Saturday day to go to Twin Cities Pride for a bit. Then another break in the evening to watch Hannah Gadsby’s Nanette. Wow. Powerful stuff. Watch it. Trust me.
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