Jupiter Best and Greatest
January is my least favorite month. It may include my two most favorite people’s birthdays (LT Capricorn like me, Aaron later Aquarius), but January fucking blows, even in times when the world is not going to shit.
But honestly, when was that? (“That” referring to the world going to shit.) A thousand years ago? Nah, there was plenty of war and strife in 1025 too. Although 1025 was the coronation of Polish king Boleslaw (either “the Brave” or “the Great” depending on who was writing things down). I would have been in a medieval Polish prison immediately for making cabbage jokes and calling him Coleslaw the Brave. You would probably be in the next cell.
I have been reading a biography of Pliny (the Younger), who was pretty interesting and also a great letter writer, two things I aspire to be. His uncle though (the Elder) is the one who wrote a thirty-seven volume “encyclopedia of everything,” and it strikes me how common it was in ye old olden days for a rich guy just to be like “here’s a book about everything.” Even Jonathan Swift, much much later, had his essay “Thoughts on Various Subjects,” which is a terrible title because how do you know if you want to read that. Turns out Swift was mostly fucking around, and you do want to read that. But you know what I mean.
The only people producing books about everything these days usually have serious mental illness. Their books are in teeny tiny handwriting on a roll of shop towels and they try to tell you all about it on the bus.
Here is a story about Francis Bacon, a ghost chicken, and a woman who was minding her own business until a carriage pulled up and a rich dude who had a Passing Science Thought forced her to be part of his narriative. Men. I swear.
WHAT HAPPENED NO SERIOUSLY WHAT HAPPENED
- We are preparing to finally renovate the upstairs and I am frightened of the coming disorder, and not soothed by the contractor’s cheerful declaration that we “don’t have to move furniture, just everything else!” Everything else is a very large category. It is worse than moving because there is no truck or new space in which to place your items, they just have to be stored elsewhere in your house until the ordeal is complete.
- I must tell you of the existence of the following bands: Onyon, Suburban Lawns, Bodega, Lunar Leo, and Self Improvement (specifically the song by Self Improvement called “Self Improvement”). I really like this no-wave resurgence (or rediscovery in the case of Suburban Lawns). I was of age when there was synthy New Order-type stuff and screamy hardcore but I was a little too young for spiky angular bands like Gang of Four, extremely early Talking Heads, deeper-cut Devo). I came to them later as a listener, but man that is the kind of band I would have loved to be in. We’re all different kinds of frontman(person). Some people want to rock hard or belt out a power ballad, I always wanted to wear a silver jumpsuit, march in place and make odd jerky movements with no facial expression, recite names of popular laundry detergents in a shouty monotone while a guitar goes DINGDINGDINGDING.
- In the notes from my annual gynecologist visit is the sentiment that each part of my genitourinary system is “appropriate-appearing for age” and that “appropriate” is SENDING me. It wouildn’t do to have a Brandy Melville vulva at my age! How inappropriate! I have a nice, age-appropriate Eileen Fisher vulva, thank you very much.
—mimi smartypants was walking down the road with her heavy heavy load.