I don't get to see @grammar_girl for two more days, but I DID just get to watch the first chunk of James Acaster's Cold Lasagne Hate Myself 1999 with the kids, and that alone makes it a pretty good birthday.
(M and I watched it months ago with friends, but this is the first time the stars have aligned to watch it with both Casey and Elvis, and I didn't want to watch with just one. Oh god it's so perfect.)
My dearest wish for you in this holiday season is that one day you have a child who turns to you and says "we should watch his season of Taskmaster again together."
Also I'm making picadillo for the kids and the parents tonight, so...
(Just realized that somehow I didn't share my picadillo recipe in the early days of the pandemic when I was locked at home fearing the sunlight and teaching people how to cook stuff. That will be rectified soon. It's the best thing I know how to make, by a yard.)
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I just want to get past this, Shadi. My girlfriend is sick, my daughter is immunocompromised, my parents are 80 and 78 years old. I just fucking want to get past this.
I am vaccinated and boosted, @shadihamid, and I don't want "endless COVID restrictions"—hell, I flew to Europe in November. What I want, what I need, is for my kids to stay healthy and my parents not to die. That's what I want.
And I read your essay, @shadihamid, where you say that I need to "live life...as if COVID doesn't exist." And no. Fuck that. I'm going to do what I can reasonably do to keep my parents and my kids safe—and, crucially, keep them in each others' lives.
So here's the thing about lock-picking. It's fiddly, but not hugely difficult. It's a skill you get better at over time. And it's a real thing—a lot of locks that actual people actually use are pickable by a semi-talented amateur.
A decent set of lock-picking tools only costs like twenty bucks, and again, this isn't a toy—it's real tools you can use for real work.
Just saw a reference to Michael Keaton as "the first Batman on the big screen," and ahem.
The Thalia theater on 95th and Broadway was a revival house when I was a kid—double features every day, one price for both movies, with the lineup changing five days a week.
The great thing about a double feature revival house is all the opportunities it gives the programmer for juxtaposition—one day I went and saw a 1950s sci-fi B movie on the same bill as a 1970s Italian sex-and-gore Frankenstein flick, just because they were both in 3D.
I've been thinking about this a lot since yesterday, and this is what really galls me—rooting for your students to fail, and creating conditions to maximize the chances that they'll fail.
(Context: Professor went viral for leaving students directions to hidden $50 in his syllabus. None of them found it, but it turned out the phrasing and location of the "directions" made it near impossible for even a conscientious student to collect.)
Every professor has a choice to make all the time: You're a mentor and colleague to your students, working for their success, or you're their adversary, trying to trip them up, block their way, slow them down.
When I was in England last month, I could walk into a pharmacy—as a non-resident—and walk out five minutes later with two boxes of seven rapid tests each. Psaki's mockery is misplaced.
When I arrived at my aunt's house in Manchester, I had some minor cold symptoms, and was supposed to go out with older relatives last night. So I just ... took a test. In my bedroom. And another one the next day.
It was wonderful that doing the right thing—the careful, prudent, responsible thing—was so easy. There's no excuse for making it hard.