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December 19, 2018 in Harriet Matters

I’m just going to list all the details of my terriblehorriblenogoodverybad day and then let you remind me how much worse the rest of the world has it because I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW you’re right. A. I landed on a grand jury for the week between Christmas and New Year’s Eve. B. My car trunk will no longer open and the replacement part will be unavailable until AFTER the holidays. C. My Winter Solstice cold is overstaying its welcome like a bad SNL skit. D. When, in my feverish state, I flung open the window to yell at a person incessantly and needlessly buzzing my apartment,  I somehow flung it onto my face instead, leaving me with a bruised, bloodied lip that looks like an HPV outbreak (not there’s anything wrong with that). E. My house is super super messy and since I live alone i have no one to blame but MYSELF and certainly not an innocent and very lazy permakitten. P.S. You know things are loathsome when you wear workout clothes all day but never get a chance to actually work out. Ok, love you madly…

February Rains

February 25, 2018 in Art Matters, City Matters, Essays, Feminist Matters, Harriet Matters, Music Matters, Sabboytical, Weather Matters

I wake and for the third morning in a row hear Joan Armatrading singing these lyrics in my head:

If you’re gonna do it do it right
Don’t leave it overnight

Also for the third morning in a row–more like the sixth, who am I kidding?–the rain is pounding against my window. I can tolerate this much rain in the spring–there’s a point to it, even a gift–but in February it’s just mean. Cold and wet and mean. Which is how I’ve been experiencing everything, including myself. Take the dream from which I’m waking. It’s as rough as the weather. Continue Reading →

All the Pretty Girls, Humblebrag Edition

January 13, 2017 in Harriet Matters, Style Matters

I received my best compliment of the year already and it’s only January. I’d been railing for a full hour to a friend about work, love, politics. Then I mentioned as a grumpy aside that I’d been taking dance classes “all year.” “Well,” I corrected myself. “One class anyway. Yesterday.” “What kind?” she asked, finally interested in something I had to say. (I couldn’t blame her; I was being terribly boorish.) “Tap,” I answered. “See?” she said. “That’s the thing about you. You act like a grouchy grownup but you’re wearing braids and striped socks and corduroy gauchos, and I heard you singing Hair songs on your way into my apartment and the kind of dance you’re taking is tap. You’re a cute person who doesn’t admit she’s cute, which makes you cuter.” Of course I’m repeating the story here, which is not especially cute. But all in all, a great compliment, one that says more about my friend’s generosity of spirit than my own alleged charms.

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy