Tomorrow I’m leaving for Central America—for two whopping weeks—but this space will not be empty: I’ve got some fun posts lined up for you, so do keep checking in. And expect me back on the 28th.
For reasons I’m not nearly technology-literate enough to understand, subscribers have not been receiving GOACA in their mailboxes for a couple of weeks. And for that I issue a profuse apology. If you’re reading this, then—yay!—it’s actually fixed and yesterday wasn’t a fluke. Meanwhile, check out the actual blog to see what you missed, why don’t you?
There is nobody who traffics in women’s magazine cover research who will tell you that putting “real” women on the cover is a recipe for big sales—and in fact, frustratingly, there is a huge gap between how much imperfection and realness many women say they want on their covers and how much they are actually willing to accept (alas, I have seen the research). Which is why I am so proud of Tribeca Mom for putting actual real-life, life-sized women on the cover of Redbook’s September issue (she wrote a fantastic editor’s letter about it that you can read here). Such badass moves are few and far between in the world of lady mag covers. I certainly never had the nerve to do it.
Recently, I tried to learn how. Every morning for a number of weeks I would give it my best, and every morning, I just wound up just feeling kind of distracted and sleepy, which is not the point at all. Somebody suggested I sit in a hard chair, and still I just nodded off. Then that same person suggested I buy an adult coloring book (I know, I know) so I ordered this one—it’s all patterns, perfect for me—along with some colored pencils. And damned if coloring in that adult coloring book doesn’t smooth my thoughts right on out.
I feel like I’m opening myself up for ridicule on this one, so please be dear and open yourself up to me too: how do you meditate? How often do you do it? And: does it ever get easier?
I need to stop with the tattoos, I know*. Get myself a hobby, or perhaps just some amusing nail art when the fever strikes. But is this not rather cute?
*I’m also aware my cuticles look pretty busted here.
Posting is going to be light for the next couple of weeks, guys: I’m booking it up to the mountains to be one with nature, do yoga, and finish up a special project—one that will be pretty exciting if it works out, and about which you will be the first to know. (Also: there’s a BIG hint somewhere in this post as to what that special project may be.)
At the risk of getting far, far more personal than I typically do, I’ve got to say that no decision I’ve ever made comes close to being as pivotal and positive as the one to walk away from my marriage. And you?
John Updike once said that the true New Yorker secretly believes that people living anywhere else have to be, in some sense, kidding. I’m a little ashamed to admit that on some level I can relate to that statement. But after waking up to this view for a few days, a person starts to realize that Northern Californians probably feel precisely the same way.
I saw my new spirit animal, Esperanza Spalding, perform Saturday night and have to say that even if you aren’t a jazz fan—and I am not—it is well worth checking her out. She is so talented and winning and drop-dead gorgeous and stylish it’s like she is another species entirely.
Yesterday I had the loveliest visit with longtime reader Claire Jarvis (she’s a fancy-pants English professor at Stanford): we met for coffee in the Mission District and talked shopping, her upcoming wedding (the bride shall wear Cornejo), love, and the relative merits of the west and east coasts. We’ve corresponded a bit over the time I’ve done this blog so it was a treat to meet her, but also just so wonderful to meet one of you. Makes me wish it could happen a lot more often.
My favorite of the stores we visited: Gravel & Gold, which is a little craftier than I usually skew, but thoroughly charming. They’ve got their own line of rather fantastic prints and a multitude of other items that aren’t on their e-commerce site, so if you are ever in the vicinity, do make a point of dropping by.
For me, it’s a simple white button-down shirt. Also: I miss supermodels.
A trillion apologies for making my way back to you so slowly, people—as it turns out, my body was not quite down with my brain’s plan to bounce right back to work a week after a pneumonia diagnosis. So I’ve been spending my time alternately napping and lounging, marathon-viewing Broad City and The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, ordering takeout Pho, and wondering how it used to feel to actually, like, accomplish things. Next week I will be back to you; this I promise. Meanwhile, do please enjoy Joni Mitchell being absolutely divine.