My intern just told me about her run-in with “iconic rock star, Jon Bon Jovi.”
That made me laugh pretty damn hard.
I asked her “iconic of what?”
And now she’s pouting.
Folks, it’s not that I don’t love me some Bon Jovi, but please. Zeppelin is iconic. Bon Jovi is lucky.
Via Sean Braisted, news that women may soon be able to produce our own sperm and thus have our own baby women amongst ourselves.
My first thought, is, of course, that finally, I can have Brittney’s babies, which will be chalk full of curly-headed wonder, big tits, and internet snark galore.
I don’t know. It’s weird, but there’s something cool about looking out across the whole wide ocean of humanity and thinking–“I could have kids with any of you.”
Y’all, I have been reading through the comments from this past week and I am almost certain that we end up coming to the same point in almost all of them.
I can’t quite articulate what this point is–but I want to say that it’s something like, even though we are all people and deserve to be treated as such, our motivations are complex and fucked up and one should not assume that relating to one part of a person means knowing for sure what motivates them completely and that, somehow, that tension between empathy and unfamiliarity can be an enormous kindness, which is why we should strive towards it.
I know you know this, but y’all are so wise and generous and every day I am amazed by what you teach me.
Tiny Cat Pants is fun and I love it and I would write even if it were just me; but y’all are what makes it unique and really incredible.
I don’t want you to think that I ever forget that for a moment.
Love,
b.
Tiny Cat Pants 