The Secrets That Split My Family in Half |
America was a year into its deepest economic fallout since the Great Depression. As most of my classmates watched their futures collapse, I had accepted an offer from a prestigious management-consulting firm. I worked as a business technology analyst, specializing in information management. I couldn't explain to Mummy, Papa, or my brother Yush what this title meant or what my job entailed, though, because I myself had little idea. Six months earlier, to celebrate that new job at the consulting firm, I planned a ten-day vacation to Prague, which I paid for with my signing bonus. A few weeks before the trip, I called to review my schedule with Papa over the phone. Instead, we fought. Then I did something I'd never done before: I hung up on him. It felt forbidden and scary. Good Indian Girls did not hang up on their fathers. Mummy called the next morning to say that Papa was up all night, really hurting, and said that I didn't respect him and that if he couldn't be a father to me then he would have to cut me out of his life. I didn't understand where any of this was coming from. |
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| Yes, I Blame the Climate Crisis for the Horrors on Maui |
Being our semi-regular weekly survey of what's goin' down in the several states where, as we know, the real work of governmentin' gets done, and where it's a wicked life, but what the hell, everybody's got to eat. We begin in Hawaii, where those clever Chinese hoaxsters are putting on one hellacious pyrotechnical display. From the Honolulu Star Advertiser: President Joe Biden today approved a presidential disaster declaration for Hawaii that will bring "significant relief" to communities on Maui and the Big Island affected by this week's wildfires. "Recovering from these devastating fires will take significant time and resources, and we need all the federal support we can get," U.S. Sen. Brian Schatz said in a statement announcing the declaration. "I thank the Biden administration for moving fast to approve this disaster declaration. It will unlock federal resources and help our state and county governments respond to and recover from these fires and help the people of Maui and Hawaii island." The fires were viscerally terrifying. |
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The Divine Comedy of Dating in Middle Age |
I was a beautiful man once. You wouldn't know it to look at me now. But once upon a time, all of this was tight. I woke up, ate two or three Pop-Tarts, and hit the streets giving everyone within viewing distance the thrill of their lives. There are nude photos of me from that time somewhere on the Internet, and I don't care if you see them. Oh, yes. I was a beautiful man once. It's a good thing, too, because gay men don't care for non-beautiful men. Our world is built brick by brick on appearances. When I came out, I remember being astounded by how specific and precise the nitpicking could get. The categories of gay men are endless. Bears, Cubs, Chubs, Gym Rats, Otters, Pups, Spunk Monkeys, Twinks, Wolves, Daddies. Everyone reduced to appearance. I was technically a Twink: college age, smooth, fit. But was there such a thing as a Black Twink? Maybe I was a Blink. Or a Twack. In the late 1990s, there was a bar my friends and I frequented early on Friday evenings, before we went out for real. As soon as we hit the door, the hunt for old men began. Men with desperation in their eyes. They sat in a row looking into their drinks, never at one another. They played old music on the jukebox and wore out-of-date clothes. Some were stumbling drunk by 7:00 p.m., and we made sure to note how pathetic that was, because it was the '90s and we were freer than they could have ever hoped to be when they were our age. |
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Beware the Wrath of the Butter Cow |
In 1911, a guy named J. K. Daniels sculpted a cow out of butter and sent it along to the annual Iowa State Fair. To this day, about 600 pounds of butter is spread upon a wood-and-metal frame in a refrigeration unit kept at a steady 40 degrees. After the fair, they turn up the heat, and when the butter is soft enough to be removed, they collect it in five-gallon buckets and use it again the following year. The butter cow is eternal. Over time, the cow was joined by a cast of supporting butter sculptures. Down through the years, these have included a Butter American Gothic, a Butter Abraham Lincoln, and a Butter Starship Enterprise. In 1999, the fair featured a Butter Last Supper. But it is the Butter Cow that has the dark powers. Everybody agrees. In their hubris, the Democrats risk the eternal wrath of the Butter Cow. |
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The 5 Best New Hotels in Paris |
There's a lot to say about hotels in Paris these days. The city of lights, love, and luxury has a lot of newness, on top of its already bustling hotel population. And, sure, this is the type of city where you spend your days perusing museums, designer shops, and restaurants—but where will you stay while doing so? While you might not be spending 24/7 in your room, would it even feel like Paris if there wasn't just a little bit of charm where you sleep? Up until recently, your internet search might have found you over-the-top, opulent stays at places ranging from iconic classics like Le Meurice and The Ritz to old hostels on the outskirts of the city—but now that's all changed. Paris has opened its doors to a handful of new hotels in the last few years, and while a lot of them are still over-the-top, there are some in-between options worth bookmarking. |
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7-Eleven Has Entered the Golfcore Chat. Can We Stop Here? |
When a new golf-themed capsule drops, and the collective curators begin to boost marketing material by flooding the feeds, I tend to first go to the Instagram story of photographer Christian Hafer. Hafer, a multi-faceted creative, marketer, and staff photographer for The Golfer's Journal (the golf world's soul publication), has been on a mission to call bullshit on interlopers in Golf's New Wave ever since what feels like every brand director in the country burst into a boardroom and shouted "GOLF!" at their creative teams. The latter offense showed up in the campaign for 7-Eleven's new 29-piece golf capsule called the "Convenience Tour." (Clever!) The collection—which includes completely unoffensive and perhaps even well-designed graphic tees, '70s-inspired tipped and rugby-striped polos, hats, stickers, patches, and even golf tees—launched under the premise that it was (and tell me if you've heard this one in the past 18 months), "For brand fans who want to look good and feel good when hitting the range." |
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