On a 1930s Wifely Rating Scale, republished in the APA’s Monitor on Psychology, using slang or profanity alone nets you a motherfucking negative 5 points. (Via Crooked House; apologies if you already saw and laughed over this three weeks ago at Jezebel.) Overall, I probably score something in the neighborhood of -105. And for the record, Caitlin Flanagan, my grandmother . . .
The New Yorker’s summer fiction issue includes “Natasha,” a Nabokov story never before published in English, & much more.
In a move likely to hit neediest kids hardest, banks decline to extend loans to community college students.
A couple years ago, in email that the Telegraph’s Peter Robins recently called “a marvelous blast” of “municipal librarian machismo,” an old friend excoriated me for criticizing the New York Public Library. This friend, the amazing Christian Zabriskie, moved to Brooklyn last year and now works as a children’s/young adult reference librarian at the main branch of the Queens Library . . .
Goodnight Bush: An Unauthorized Parody depicts three lines of cocaine next to GWB’s bed. They slowly disappear, one by one.