I drew this for a cookbook and I just ran across it again and I like it. Everyone’s Thursday going OK?
I reread that Rainbow Gulag piece on Jezebel and thought I would look up Lisa Frank HQ on Google Streetview and this is what the back of it looks like. Have a great day.
An exact image of the city as constructed by your nine-year-old self. Noises: a jackhammer, a car horn, a ringing telephone, a hey-watch-it, a darling-you-simply-must, a silver lid being lifted off a silver platter, a credit card impression-maker making a credit card impression, a small glass breaking, a big truck in reverse, ice cream bells, a bottle rocket, air brakes, a trash can being slowly crushed, four stories of scaffolding collapsing onto the sidewalk below, chattering skeletons, squealing pigs, the slop sloshing beneath them, a sack of diamonds hitting a Formica countertop, a lone hubcap rolling down a street, into a spray of grass, also into a plastic milk jug. Sigourney Weaver, clenching her teeth through some embarrassment, winning even when she loses.
And I ask the woman what she did, and she says she worked on the gender wage gap and she worked on the glass ceiling.
And when she says this, I reach into my satchel and I take out my glass ceiling, and when she sees it, her eyes widen.
Because she’s never actually seen one work. This thing that stopped her career. I turn it on, unlock the screen, pass it to her.
She takes it. And she strokes the glass ceiling with her ruined hand. And she says something to Cathy.
And Cathy says, “She says: It’s a kind of magic.”
The hours leading up to the anniversary of the death of a loved one really begins to take on a Stations of the Cross-type feel:
"This is when my mom called…"
"This was when the insensitive surgeon came in…"
"This was the last time I heard my father’s voice…"
"This is when I decided that…
I know literally no one cares, but if anyone cares: here is the Behind the Tweet of this tweet: