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1. I learned to type in a thing called typing class; it's one of the few marketable skills I picked up in high school. I've had zero opportunities to show off Trigonometry, a course of study my guidance counselor swore would pay dividends down the road as I sat crying in his office because of Trigonometry.

2. Read this and weep:

3. I often wonder, if arranged marriages had still been a culturally accepted norm in the Midwest of the 1980s, who would my parents have hitched me to? Some bonehead from my senior class? A toothy, clean-cut Christian CPA with a grill on the patio and a freezer full of deer meat, or a shy, homeschooled farmboy from a neighboring town with a spade for a hand and a song in his heart? Would I have had a veto option? How would courting work in the age of Fatal Attraction and Roseanne? Ironically I do dream of living in a barn.

4. I've also been wondering where to hide my spiral staircase

5. Do you know about Medium? It's an online writing collective cooked up by one of the co-founders of Twitter and bills itself as "a better place to read and write." Better than what nobody's saying, but if you take 3 minutes out of your day and tool around in there, I think you'll find they're lying: it's a lot of 22-year-old tech heads launching into personal anecdotes in medias res,like they're wizened old servants rambling through a Chekhov play. But good stuff occasionally bubbles to the top and I did enjoy this piece on Kinfolk. I like to think it taught me a valuable life lesson. About values and life. (p.s. For more consistent high-quality writing and reading, try The Pastry Box Project and Stellar.)

6. From the best thing that I, Kari, read on the Internet this week: 

If you are starting a sentence with “I’m not saying she deserved to be raped,” the only safe way to get out of that sentence is to stick a period right there, put down the microphone and walk away. Keep walking. Walk until you reach the ocean. Stare into the waves. Think deeply about your life. Feel remorse. Feel something. Turn around. If you still don’t realize how wrong this is, ask a stranger for her shoes and walk a mile in them. Walk two miles. Do whatever you need to do to realize that news stories contain real people.

7. And the runner up (which is a refreshing antidote to the views espoused here): 

When skeptics and naysayers want to trivialize the way people share their experiences of everyday life online, a favorite example involves eating. "I don't need to know what you had for lunch." Well, I am often happy to know, especially if you made it yourself or ate it someplace cool. And I have long considered this kind of common-sense TMI reaction to carry a strong dose of gendered distinction between what matters and what is deemed to be beneath the speaker. Food and its preparation, particularly in the more ordinary day-by-day experiences of eating, is trivial because it's associated with women and domestic labor. Many things that matter less than eating (after all, you need to eat and probably take pleasure from it regularly) are given greater cultural legitimacy if they are the interests of straight adult males, e.g., sports. Which isn't to knock sports - I like sports too, as both a participant and spectator. But let's recognize the patriarchal privilege that makes sports talk seem legitimate and food talk -- "what you had for lunch" talk -- not merely uninteresting but the epitome of uninterestingness.

8. Also Worth It were the profile of Elizabeth Smart in the latest New Yorker and the profile of yet another co-founder of Twitter. The finding of Twitter involves a lot of benign internecine warfare, very post hoc ergo propter hoc with velvet gloves on, and I always enjoy a good startup fight over creation myths. It's like a souped-up version of the Puppy Bowl, only nobody naps and everybody walks away with a billion dollars worth of mobile-optimized chew toys.

9. Somewhere along the way I seem to have fallen out of love with all my old passions: fiction, theater, opera, even—yes—Sondheim. I can't figure out what happened or why, or how to get back into the groove or if I even care about the groove anymore, or if I need to go with the flow and find some other kind of groove (maybe mason jars). But of course I bought two tickets to see this in March, so maybe my groove is just squirreling away nuts for the winter.

10. CV is coming to visit next weekend! CV! To see me!

11. You've been good, here's another (+ go read):