Discover more from Martini with a Twist
One thing leads to another
Thanks to my choice to get both the Covid booster and a flu shot at the same time on Wednesday, I had an unexpected day off of work1 today because I can stay awake for maybe two hours at a time.2 So I can finally wrap this post up and send it to y’all before my next nap. Thanks for subscribing.
Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browser
I don’t have TikTok3 and my kids assure me this is a big-ish deal. One of them came up with the phrase in the family text thread I’ll put on my business cards from now on: our niche internet micro-celebrity mother.4
One piece of shameless self-promotion: I wrote about a lesson I can’t seem to learn about running for Another Mother Runner.
And now, some links:
Sam Bee has a newsletter and I feel such glee. The money quote from her last one: “This is your periodic reminder that we should all please stop acting like very rich or influential people automatically possess additional intelligence or wisdom.” Perfection.
This twitter thread about a rice truck has been saved from the implosion over there and we are better for it.
This place is a collision of so many of my weird interests. I want to go there.
Time capsules as acts of faith.
Patti Davis’ op-ed about Diane Feinstein is a punch in the gut.
“I see myself as a storyteller of history.” Same, my dude. SAME.
This post about the difference between a maker’s schedule and a manager’s schedule blew my mind — and helped me figure out why I’ve always struggled in more traditional office settings.5
Colleen Mondor’s most recently newsletter talks about her journey with one story that she’s been trying to sell and it gives you a great glimpse into what it’s like to come to an acceptance that the book business is a fickle one where you have to take the joys when you find them:
And, finally: if you aren’t watching Reservation Dogs, you’re missing out on some great TV.
at the museum, where I’d need to be upright and moving around for seven whole hours but still have the energy to type at a computer with the occasional nap break.
a minor inconvenience but still better than either of these two illnesses.
It’s not a principled stance or anything. I just know myself and would either never look at it or never be able to not look at it. There is no in-between.
And because they are my children, they have promised to put beloved wife, mother, and niche internet micro-celebrity on my headstone.
I mean… I can do it. I just don’t like it.
or, more accurately, also people who have been anxious and/or depressed or may become so at some point. Not as jazzy a log-line, granted.