I went on a walk around town today and on a whim decided to pick up a journal (actually it’s just a fancy composition notebook).
"Journal hunt" has been on my to-do list for a while now… And knowing how I am when I’m "on the market" for something, I’m never going to pick one. The marketplace is too kind (and too cruel) to us.
This one fits the bill. College-ruled. Lays flat. Fun cover.
The last time I hand-wrote regularly was during middle school. I’ve since re-read that thing a few times — and can say with confidence that 90 percent of it was about boys. Singer boys. Actor boys. Tennis boys. IRL boys. Hearts all over. Stereotypical stuff.
I wrote my first entry in the new journal today. So far no boys — and even when a certain boy does make an appearance, it won’t be the same. I’m no longer gushing from afar. This person is in my life and we’re deeply invested.
That’s one big change of the last ten years.
Too good to be true?
Though I’d indulged in a fair share of young adult fantasy and grown-up fluffy romance fiction titles over the years, I was always most attracted to what I found in the non-fiction shelves. Books that would explain how one specific slice of the world worked and why — something about Google, something about food, something about China as a world superpower.
Upon reading a part that’s fantastically detailed and gripping, I’d think to myself — wow, how could the author be so precise? Was there someone frantically recording things in a notepad 24/7?
Nevertheless, I would count myself in the mass of readers who believe non-fiction books are the most reliable media sources out there.
Apparently, we are mistaken. Here, two recent articles discuss the lack of fact-checking in the non-fiction genre.
“A lot of readers have the perception that when something arrives as a book, it’s gone through a more rigorous fact-checking process than a magazine or a newspaper or a website, and that’s simply not that case,” Silverman said. He attributes this in part to the physical nature of a book: Its ink and weight imbue it with a sense of significance unlike that of other mediums.
— “Book Publishing, Not Fact-Checking" | The Atlantic
The book spun out lurid tales that collapsed with just a phone call or two. Without much effort, I found nine people named in the book or known to have been involved in events mentioned in the book, including the legendary actor Cary Grant, who was once married to Hutton. All disputed Heymann’s account. One example: Heymann claimed that in 1965 Hutton was flown from Mexico to San Francisco Presbyterian Hospital, where Dr. Lawrence Nash treated her with “a nutritious soybean protein mixture” and warm Coca-Cola to wean her off alcohol. The hospital told me that no doctor by that name had ever worked there and that no such treatment would have been allowed.
Hmm, makes me feel itchy inside. Books, all the books, I trusted you!
How often do you google a word (or phrase) to make sure it’s real/not made up/means what you think it means/has been used by others in a similar way?
I do it too much.
How then is it possible that I am a writer and am pursuing it professionally?
How can I even be original if I need so much assurance?
As someone who struggles at being critical (I swear 97.5 percent of my movie reviews for the college paper were 4 out of 5 stars), it brings me great joy to say this “revitalizing eye treatment” from Juice Organics is a zero-ambivalence no bueno.
It’s but one member of my mother’s ever-growing potpourri of seems-like-a-good-deal purchases from TJ Maxx and Marshall’s. (No wonder TJX — parent company of those two, plus Home Goods— is outpacing profit forecasts, killin’ it while other retailers are limping)
Anyways. The cream goes on fine at first — my skin feels firmer almost immediately. After a while though, the product itself (not my skin, thank god) starts peeling, so you get an onslaught of white residue.
A quick google search reveals that other customers have had similar experiences. Although it appears that this is a discontinued product (ohitallmakessensenow) and a newer version may not have the peeling problem.
I guess the moral of the story is to be judicious/practice self-control at TJX stores (herro, mommy!) But really, I just wanted to practice criticizing something, anything.
Andrew-ism: VMAs edition
I haven’t watched the VMAs in idontevenknowhowmany years, but tuned in with my bro tonight and thought it was rather fun.
Found myself cheering for Ariana Grande throughout — mostly because I’m (belatedly?) obsessed with her signature high ponytail…
ANYWAYS, unsolicited commentary from Andrew:
sometime early in the show
Nicki Minaj’s face looks like plastic
after performances by nicki, ariana, jessie j, taylor swift
so it’s pretty much confirmed that all the popular female singers shake their butt while singing…is that how you get popular?
after ed sheeran accepts award for best male video
he has an accent too? so it’s pretty much confirmed that no american singers are popular
At this point, Andrew says he has a headache, “probably from all the butt shaking” — alternatively, it could be because I was shaking his head while singing to boom clap.
And there is not a home in Chengdu, in which an older man lives, that does not have a box of cheap Sichuan green tea and a mug so brown from years of use that it must be carcinogenic by this point.
If you want to learn what someone fears losing, watch what they photograph.
…we don’t choose the forms our work takes. We feel the pressure, wait for the explosion, then stand back, stunned and speechless at the shape that emerges.