Load of Bollix

I love tabloids. As a way to unwind after “teaching” the youth of America this school year, I would often peruse the Daily Mail at the expense of reading “real” news. No one does tabloids better than the Brits. For every grainy baby bump picture in People magazine, there are 30 clear shots in the Daily Mail, plus actual columns devoted to all of the Middleton’s wardrobe choices. Even their celebrities are better than ours. We have the Kardashians, and they had Peaches Geldof (Let me quickly bring you up to speed: socialite/model/TV personality named fucking Peaches, succumbs to drug problem).  When I realized that I was wasting a lot of time reading about vacuous pretty people, I uninstalled the Daily Mail app from my phone. This was a Bad Move, mostly because the situation in the world today is no better than poor Peaches’ life. Since school let out, I have subbed real news for celebrity news, and I’m just about ready to throw in the towel. The world has gone bat shit crazy,

I dedicate this post to my cat, Angus, a deep lover of the EU despite living in a Little Englander household. I also dedicate this post to my husband, who is carefully monitoring scotch prices now that the pound is so much weaker against the dollar. Lastly, I dedicate this post to a dear old friend (I’ll call him “Joe” to respect his privacy) who thinks I actually know what I’m talking about. What follows is a mostly fact-checked account of Britain’s involvement in the European Union.  The author as a useless college student, studying abroad, pointing at famous things, and racking up lots of student debt. The first man to teach me about the European Union was an unapologetically conservative Oxford don named Leslie Mitchell.   Leslie taught history at University College, Oxford. On my first day of class with him, he told me that the only way to travel is in first class: “If there is one piece of advice I would give a young person it would be never to go anywhere until y

I dedicate this post to my mother, a wonderful, insanely kind woman who does not have Facebook. If she did have Facebook, I'm confident she would not understand how to use it. Some people write because they have entire novels inside of them. Some people write as an act of courage. Some people write to bring change. Some people write because they are going batshit crazy and just need to get something off their chest. … Much like Tiny Fey did at the end of “Bossypants” (that is, the whiny, not-so-funny part), I have to get out my thoughts on procreation. Much like my students (that is, YOUR future, America), I will write with no regard for coherence, logic, or accuracy, and insodoing, will probably cause offence. I have a great lifestyle for a kid. This is a thinly disguised way of saying, “You don’t go out and you naturally wake up very, very early like some sort of freak.”   I have a decent body for a kid. This means that my “pre-baby” body basically

Accidentally put the plastic bag in the crockpot with the chicken. Came home to find Coq au Vin au plastic. Ate it anyway, since anything cooked on low for 10+ hours must be consumed. Will not crock-pot again before 7 AM.