Trying to be really rosie.

maurice sendak is dead. i think this might be the thing that finally keeps me off facebook today. person after person mourning. when did it become a thing to post that someone's dead? i guess it's one more thing to identify ourselves with. one more way to build our personality out of other people's bones. and here i am, doing the same thing. i'm not sad -- i mean, he lived a full life, and he knew it was his time and he loved it, and he laughed at death, and now he's with his boyfriend, and hopefully happy, but it still ensaddens the hell out of me. here's Carole King singing "Pierre." I'm still not listening to music because it's sefira, but let's see if this gets me out of it.

R.E.M. review, circa 12th grade

One of the coolest reactions I've had to my book Automatic, a memoir about my dead best friend and my favorite R.E.M. album, was this: Mayim said that it inspired her to jump up and down on the family bed with her sons while listening to Monster. 

My first reaction was: "Monster? Really?"

Because Monster is sort of cringe-worthy to R.E.M. fans. This loud, boisterous, rock-guitar followup to this beautifully whispered string-quartet album. But I actually really like Monster. (And I guess so does Mayim?) And then last week my mother came over, trying to unload all my boxes from high school, and one of them had my review of Monster. 

I promise my music writing has gotten better. Please, trust me.

Is "Hunger Games" a Fairy Tale?

This article mostly talks about Hunger Games (which I like) (the book, not the movie) (not cause I'm anti-movie, but because I haven't figured out how to go to the movies for, like, a year) -- but the quote is about Cinderella. I've been working on video games lately, so in my brain, it's about that, too:

The real problem with fairy tales is that the protagonist never actually does anything to become a princess.  Forget about gerrymandering or slaying a dragon or poisoning her rivals: does she even get a pretty dress, go to the ball and seduce the prince?  Those may be anti-feminist actions, but at least they are actions.  No.  She is given two dresses, carried to the ball, and the Prince comes and findsher. Twice.  Her only direct and volitional action is to leave the ball at midnight, and even that isn't so much a choice as because of a threat. (1)  The clear problem with this isn't that girls will want to hold out for a Prince, but that it might foster the illusion their value is so innately high that even without pretty clothes or a sense of agency a Prince will come find them. Sleeping Beauty and Snow White are worse: they don't even have to bother to stay alive to get their Prince. 

(Thanks to C. Alexander for the link.)

Israeli Food Is Safe, for now

So, um, yeah. The Co-op last night. Utter craziness. First, a recap from the Daily Show:

The Daily Show with Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Co-Occupation
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor & Satire Blog The Daily Show on Facebook

The Story

Last night, the Park Slope Food Co-op had a special election, deciding whether to boycott all Israeli-made products. Because we are the Co-op and are totally masturbatory overprocessing Brooklynites, it wasn't actually a vote -- it was a vote about whether or not we should have a vote.

If I put it in one of my books, no one would ever believe it. You can't make this up, people.

Anyway. This international BDS movement (I keep wanting to say "BSDM movement," and really meant to slip up accidentally-on-purpose on stage last night, but forgot to), an organization that wants to boycott Israel, has been trying to infiltrate the Co-op for the past few years. It always comes up, but last night was the real boiling point. Two thousand people packed into an auditorium. Supposedly it cost over $10,000. The election would've cost another $20,000. The entire assembly was people speaking for one or two minutes. It was a LOT of people.


What I Said


I'm a walker, and I've gotten into some of the best fights of my life at the Co-Op. We're all different. We have nothing in common except for the fact that we like really good food. And that's the way it should be. I'm a vegetarian. I totally think the Co-op shouldn't sell meat. I also really hate lima beans, and I'd encourage everyone not to buy them. But I don't think it's right to ban other people from buying them. Keep listening to each other, people, and please, keep the arguments alive. Don't just ban them.

The Aftermath

• Got  home. Our boarders were like, "you're Internet-famous." Went through the Twitters, and there were a ton of references to "the hyper Hasid" and "this surfer with payos." Hey, I even got my own Twitter hashtag, which is super awesome and flattering, if ephemeral. Amy Sohn said "a star is born" about me! My friend Liz said " Highlight 4 me was @matthue on his hatred of lima beans." P.S. my mom is so gonna kill me.
• There were a lot of BDS people at the vote last night. A lot of them weren't actually Co-op members; they were just there to protest. I asked them, and they were really forthcoming about it. Totally fine for them to be there. On the other hand, they were the only ones not waiting to be admitted, which meant that the reporters got to speak to a lot more of them than anyone else--say, for instance, actual Co-op members. I'd call it "infiltration," but then again, I watched every episode of the X-Files  (not an exaggeration) and love conspiracy theories.
• I was one of the last people to speak. Itta said the people around us (big BDS shippers) didn't understand what I was saying -- granted, I'm not entirely coherent; I talk really fast and get bubbly, and the mic was really loud. On the other hand, I got stopped by a ton of people on the way out complimenting me. Granted, they were mostly old Crown Heights Hasidic ladies, but they were still awesome. 
• I still want someone to ask if I'm in favor of the BDSM movement so I can just say, heck yeah!

5:05 a.m.: The baby screams.

A day in the life.

Dude Week

I'm not really sure how it started, but I wound up guest-editing the mommy-blog Kveller.com, where I work, this week. We're calling it Dude Week. Let me try that again: We're calling it

And among our guest columnists are an Orthodox rabbi's husband, my boss, and Mayim Bialik interviewing her husband, since we love her at work and her man is, like, lovable squared. And he has what might be the best line of the week, which I can't repeat due to POSSIBLE SPOILERS, but you'll see soon.

Anyway, this morning I kicked it off:

We don’t write about our kids. We write about ourselves. I’m not saying this to be offensive, and I’m definitely not complaining: Look, babies sleep 18 hours a day. Most of their waking hours are spent doing slight variations on very simple tasks: feeding, peeing, vomiting, crapping, and crying. Just mention the phrase “the miracle of birth” around a new parent and they’re likely to pelt you with any one of the above-mentioned substances. 

Mommy-blogging isn’t about learning how to take care of your child. Despite what diaper companies and daytime TV commercials would like to convince you, you are born knowing how to care for your baby. Neanderthals raised babies successfully. Sloths sleep 18 hours a day, and they raise children successfully. Freaking Libertarians raise babies successfully.
Read the rest >