Today, in your Undergraduate Philosophy Class that actually ends up lasting for every semester of your entire life: is there really such a thing as truth? And Is truth the same as fact? And with the infinity of fact in the internet, is there such a thing as Fact anymore? It is human nature to find evidence to support our belief, and ignore everything else. Isn’t then truth just fact + pre-existing belief / life experience = truth? I keep coming up against this question in my adult life, when I find myself torn between two existing schools of thought. In an effort to try and place myself on a certain side, I scour the internet for Truth. More and more I realize the insanity of this quest. IS THERE EVEN SUCH A THING ANYMORE? AND IF THIS IS QUESTION IS TRUE, IS THAT NOT TERRIFYING?
Here’s a downside of having a blog that you’ve been bloggy upon for going on 9 years: you think to yourself, I made a soup with my leftover Easter Ham! How thrilling! PEOPLE NEED TO KNOW! But then you realize: Seven years ago, you did the exact same thing and also already blogged about it and you are on roller-skates and your life is a round rink of sorts and you just go around it and go around it, touching the wall for support at the same points. Oh, so then maybe you should perhaps dig a tiny bit deeper and think about something else to blog about today? NOPE. WHO HAS TIME FOR THOUGHT? NOPE. SOUP AGAIN. I MADE SOUP WITH MY LEFTOVER EASTER HAM. IT WAS GOOD, CARRY ON WORLD, CARRY ON. But also, before you do, here’s the fantastic recipe.
Given that Morrison and I are magical fairy tale giants with deep affection for sleep, we decided that it was time for a magical fairy tale giant mattress to matchus. After extensive research, by which I mean I asked my coworkers, hey, what kind of mattresses do grown ups get, and some one said, uh, I think I heard an ad for something on NPR, Casper? I found CASPER. I don’t even know what it is. The uber of beds? The tinder of sleep. The instacart of dreams. It’s a super hip, sleek mattress company that promotes ‘better sleep for everyone.’ Obsessively engineered for outrageous comfort, our mattress, sheets, and pillow work together to create a sleep environment that loves you back. THE EMOTION ROBOT OF SLUMBER. Also the mattress comes in a giant box that you can take pictures in,
or you know, carry around on your bike.
Snark and wonder aside – -we spent our first night on it last night, and it was TRULY AMAZING. A sleep that can only be described as being gently supported by a hundred angel butts. Also Morrison just shouted out of nowhere, I FEEL GREAT! I’m stoked to see what tiny but brilliant changes will occur if we’re sleeping better in our giant bed.
JUST PRETEND THAT’S A PICTURE OF OUR ROOM / DEFINITELY WHAT OUR ROOM LOOKS LIKE / PERHAPS NOW WITH MORE SLEEP I CAN MAKE A ROOM LIKE THAT.
Friend Magie, or Iceland, as I dubbed her in grad school after her home country, posted this picture she took of me nearly three years ago when I arrived at the Reykjavik airport. It makes me feel and ask so many things, like: Is my face actually made of Play-Doh? But mostly: I hope that I get to land in many more countries for the first time, and that I am always greeted by a beautiful friend with a camera and her mom’s old Toyota which we then drive all over, exploring, stopping only occasionally, by which I mean all the time, for Ice Cream.
A very happy Easter to you and also yours! May it be full of pastels and new beginnings and CARBS. LOTS AND LOTS OF CARBS.
SO MANY CARBS THAT YOU SLEEP FOR TEN DAYS AND WAKE UP A DIFFERENT PERSON WHO ONLY WEARS OVERALLS.
YOU KNOW. BECAUSE OF ALL THE CARBS THERE IS NO LONGER SUCH A THING AS PANTS.
Morrison strongly dislikes any sort of staged pictures, especially when it comes to couples. I GET IT. I REALLY DO. But also maybe we need a picture of us casually strolling through the canyon like we’re in love we’re in love and we don’t care who knows it. But to get said picture, I had to be quite covert.
Me (whispering loudly): DAD TAKE MY PHONE I’M GOING TO RUN UP THERE WITH MORRISON, WILL YOU TAKE A PICTURE OF US WALKING?
Me: SHHHH. A PICTURE OF US WALKING BECAUSE THAT’S A THING THAT PEOPLE HAVE AND NEED.
I join Morrison.
Morrison:…I heard all of that.
Me: All of what? Just walk normally.
Morrison: as if we’re not getting our picture taken at all?
Morrison: Okay, here we go. Normal walking.
GUYS THEY TURNED OUT GREAT AND NOT STAGED AT ALL.
TOOK MY PARENTS ON A HIKE / TOLD THEM IT WAS TWO MILES / OOPS IT WAS ACTUALLY SIX
SORRY THE PARENTS / HELLO INHERITANCE
I can barely express how much I love that on my calendar today are the words ‘pick up Ham’ and that the Ham has a confirmation number and that I will buckle the Ham in like a baby and drive it home, perhaps talk to it, guide it into the fridge like a prize. AND THEN YOU KNOW, EAT IT ALL.
As revealed in the VERY FANTASTIC GO WATCH IT THIS SECOND new HBO documentary on Nora Ephron, Nora’s mother used to tell her that everything is copy. Meaning: everything that happens to you, no matter how devastating or terrible: it is a story that is yours to tell. And if you tell it, you control the laugh. Isn’t that brilliant? If you put yourself in front of your own angst, your own tragedy, get ahead of it, announce it in your own way — it no longer controls you. Among the 900 other fascinating things about this resplendent woman, the doc (made by her son, after her sudden death from leukemia at 71 in 2012) hits home how, after making a career out of writing movies and books and essays about her personal life, with scathing honesty — she managed to make her death private. She told no one except for immediate family that she was dying. When she could have capitalized on her own illness, her own confrontation of death, she kept it to herself — so that in a way, she could control it. Isn’t that amazing? An old friend interviewed for the movie asserts that ‘Nora was not a genius.’ But he meant it as a compliment. If she were a genius, she would not have been as human and accessible as she was. I have often worried that I’m not a genius. Or rather, I very much know that I’m not. But thanks to Nora, I officially embrace this. If being a not genius means pulling people closer and closer towards you with the truth that you tell about how sad and wonderful and insane it is to be alive at all, then I am all in.
Happy Happy Birthday to my beautiful and resourceful Mother of the Bride, who I am becoming more and more like every day IN A GOOD WAY.