Humiliating as this is, I fell for it. In the video ad, a woman of my certain age, aglow with enthusiasm, confided that she had discovered her Fashion Archetype. Before I could stop myself, I clicked the quiz link. What might my Archetype be? Bold? Romantic? Early jumble, I suspected.
He seemed almost happy. Maybe because the river, the night, and the freedom felt good to him. He played one of his favorite songs, “My Girl” by the Motown group The Temptations, music from his youth before he went to prison.
Heritage is collective, aesthetic, and performative. It is something you inherit. Whereas history, on the other hand, is authored, linear, personal. It is something you produce. Museums often allow Africans the former but not the latter. Our art is heritage; European art is history. Our works are culture; theirs are achievements.
There is one blissfully egocentric, thrilling moment: I am introduced as “the talent.” Granted, I ruin the moment by snorting and warning the sound studio team that I have never recorded anything before, let alone an entire audiobook. They nod; they are already braced for an amateur. “The talent” is…
Costco is the best place I know where I can enjoy other families and especially their children, now that I do not have a child in my own home who routinely brings other children into my life. At all costs, one must avoid appearing to pay any unwanted attention to any child.
Why would I not desire a good Camembert, or a sweater soft as a lamb?
In a museum, we often try to understand what a painting means and where it is coming from, placing ourselves at the center of the experience. This sculpture removed me completely. I was forced to look outward instead of inward, as if I were seeing a world that existed without me.
Of course knives have utility. It is just that not everything they do is ultimately useful, or always under our control.
I treasure memories of tomahawk-throwing at Fort de Chartres, sitting in a voyageur canoe, and watching costumed troops drill. In some way I am still trying to unpack, it helped set up my young mind to think of this part of the Midwest as perpetually colonial and the West as something for the future.
Not once did its wood frame break down, groan under weight, or so much as emit a creaking whine. Credit must be given to the Danes who designed it and then brought it into existence. But credit must also be given to its generous spirit. My old sofa, dubbed “El Trono,” never gave up. And I never gave up on “El Trono.”