My own efforts to create a voice and a perspective on these failures haven’t really been about chastisement, or a certain set of assumptions about what the articulation that I’m critiquing should have been, or what the failure of it represents in the person, but rather a collective effort to build a feminism that does more of the work that it claims to do.

Kimberlé Crenshaw on intersectionality, the term she coined, quoted in this article.

The system fails and it doesn’t matter whose fault it is, so long as we do what we can to repair it.

As a rule, I am allergic to the adjective “best,” which asserts only the inferiority of all other things—not a useful or appealing function, for those of us who are promiscuous thing-lovers.

In her altogether excellent meditation on Middlemarch, New York magazine’s Kathryn Schulz offers this characteristically brilliant one-liner on why “best” is the worst qualifier of all – a reminder particularly timely in the age of the linkbait listicle that tends to take the form of “The X Best Y.” (via explore-blog)

Nothing is best, nothing is worst, everything is always somewhere on the scale.

I was at Lake Tahoe in the late ’60s. I already had the mindset that when people wanted to interrupt to say things, the first thing is to understand what they are saying, and then respond as if you were really interested in what a person was saying. When you listen to that, many times if you stay linear with it, you can get rid of ‘em post haste. So I walked out onstage, had on a brown leather suit, and the shoes I had on were high-tops and had sort of like a dark brown mustard color. It was a midnight show, so the people have a chance to medicate themselves with alcohol. The room holds 750—Harrahs, Lake Tahoe, one of the most beautiful rooms in the world. And a woman’s voice shouted out, “I hate those shoes!” And because of the way I think—which is not to challenge, not to beat up the person but to understand what the person has just said and to remain linear—I said, “Madame, you are very, very fortunate, because these shoes will not be performing.” And, man, I never heard from her again.

I went from people just thinking I was, like, a baby to people thinking I’m this, like, sex freak that really just pops molly and does lines all day. It’s like, “Has anyone ever heard of rock ‘n’ roll?” There’s a sex scene in pretty much every single movie, and they go, “Well, that’s a character.” Well, THAT’S a character. I don’t really dress like a teddy bear and, like, twerk on Robin Thicke, you know?

Miley Cyrus, The New York Times Arts & Leisure 12/29/13

For anyone who thinks my online presence is meant to actually represent me, please remember the mission statement: I’m just bein’ Miley

I have thought about their remarks, tried to put myself in their place, considered their point of view. I think they are full of shit.

Nora Ephron capping her essay A Few Words About Breasts, which I obviously read because it contains breasts in the title. We are similarly obsessed, and I think it is fair to conclude a personal essay this way when it concerns your obsessions. Not that I’m writing about breasts any time soon.

Zolpidem’s reputation for outlandish side effects may be inflated by gossip—by the interaction of medication and the Internet. Thomas Roth, the director of the sleep center at Henry Ford Hospital, in Detroit, who has consulted for Merck and other pharmaceutical companies, told me he has not yet seen persuasive evidence that there is more of this behavior among Ambien users than among the rest of the population (which includes drinkers).

Laughing both out loud & in loud at Thomas Roth, who, despite being director of a goddamn hospital sleep center, seems unaware of the subculture recreationally abusing zolpidem. There’s a webcomic character canonized by the New Yorker for heaven’s sake!