“The city is being constructed by an old woman born in 1881 who wants to record all the important events in her life so that she can remember them. Each year that she has lived is designated by a street, and each week is represented by a door. The doors belong to places where important events occurred. The blank doors are for those weeks that she can’t remember. The old woman hopes that out of her memory and forgetfulness, as recorded in the streets of doors, a pattern or sign will emerge and she will one day see the story of her life. Every door opens on a small closet-like space. Only one door in each street of doors leads to the next street. It is therefore necessary to go from door to door searching for the entry door.”
“But there is no female counterpart in our culture to Ishmael or Huck Finn. There is no Dean Moriarty, Sal, or even a Fuckhead. It sounds like a doctoral crisis, but it’s not. As a fifteen-year-old hitchhiker, my survival depended upon other people’s ability to envision a possible future for me. Without a Melvillean or Kerouacian framework, or at least some kind of narrative to spell out a potential beyond death, none of my resourcefulness or curiosity was recognizable, and therefore I was unrecognizable.”
Candice Sortino, age 17, ran out on the field during the 7th inning of the Arizona vs. South Carolina game at CWS on June 25th. She smacked two players butts; the one shown here is center fielder Joey Rickard.
so i got interviewed for the blog MS. BEHAVED about my fashion sense or whatever, and it got published the first day of my period, and when i saw it, i ran around for like 15 minutes going NOOOOOO GAAAAAAAAAD and felt really weird and gross about it
but now my hormones have died down and i feel a little better! i talked about selena, magical girls, compton, and chola stuff. here it is
From the article: “I consider throwing in the towel. The lack of respectful coverage, the slut-shaming and name-calling, all the girly book covers and not-my-titles despite high literary aspirations, has worn me down, made me question everything: my abilities, my future, my life. This is what sexism does best: it makes you feel crazy for desiring parity and hopeless about ever achieving it. A few months later, after delivering a lecture on the media-invented ‘mommy wars’ at the Sun Valley Writers’ Conference, a song pops up on my iPhone as I’m walking back to my hotel room: Bob Dylan’s ‘Like a Rolling Stone.’ ‘When you ain’t got nothing,’ Dylan sings, ‘you got nothing to lose.’”