talk of nettles. and thistles. and other things to eat.
And "Soup to Nettles," one family's experiments in 19th C Russian cookery. Also tasty.
The Emdashes interns are right, hip-hop Sesame Street is sublime. I also liked both Sasha Frere-Jones' posts the price of soul at the Christies' auction of James Brown miscellany. One sounded a bit like a good Talk; in the other, a picture spoke a thousand words.
The end was a bit pat, on Frere-Jones' longer piece (and the Russian one, for that matter), but that's how Talks are, huh?
Well, maybe not. The end of "Kranking It" was quietly dismissive in the best way.
Rebecca Mead's nuptial Talk was alternately seductive and repulsive. I got confused when the now-divorced Ms. Tucker is describing her wedding ceremony:
"'My dog Rosy was in the wedding. She wore a thistle collar. It was very me.' Was it also very him, she was asked. Tucker paused. 'I have no idea,' she said. 'Herein lies the problem.'"
The first two times I read it, I thought the him was the dog Rosy. The gender of dogs escapes me, I fixate on the weird psychological shit people put their pets through, I don't know . . . Anyway, when I went to post today, I realized the him in question was probably the ex-husband.
But the absolutely most disgusting line the whole thing is this, "The couple have been engaged since before Niederhoffer was pregnant with Magnolia but have no immediate plans to marry." Ew. Just ew. If you live in a world where you feel you have to be explicit about the dates, just . . . never mind.
To quote Tucker, “It’s like the perfect bohemian existence, except not.”