I Really Like Doing These!

it's been fun, more fun than before I knew what I wanted to DO with my newsletter

Which is…a bit of everything? Please do always tell me what you would like more of (and do not bother telling me what to do LESS of, bc this is MY newsletter, no, that’s fine too.) At the bottom of today’s edition, I am sharing a portion of Danny’s newsletter because it’s about ME and the podcast we just did, of which there is a handy transcript (ya gotta scroll down a little), which is always much appreciated.

---

Like Liz Lemon, who Jack Donaghy successfully pegged as someone who takes up knitting every two years “for…two weeks,” I am not great at stick-to-it-iveness, which is why I take so much pride and joy in my 103 day streak learning French on Duolingo, which is free and hella awesome. I think it’s perfect for CLASSIC elder Millennials like myself who require a little owl to constantly praise me for every little achievement, and I also have a bit of a competitive drive, so here’s my Duolingo info in case you want to friend me (I will friend you back):

If, like me, you use the app exclusively and never the desktop version, YOU GOTTA, because the stories feature is an amazing way to earn XP while also feeling like you’re flexing some new skills, and it’s not on the app! Think about it.

---

Someone, possibly on Twitter, recommended this book to me, and I’m about halfway through it and it’s fascinating and moving, especially to someone who knows so, so many men like this (mountain-struck, essentially):

Destined to become a classic of adventure literature, The Last Season examines the extraordinary life of legendary backcountry ranger Randy Morgenson and his mysterious disappearance in California's unforgiving Sierra Nevada—mountains as perilous as they are beautiful. Eric Blehm's masterful work is a gripping detective story interwoven with the riveting biography of a complicated, original, and wholly fascinating man.

Bruce Cockburn is a Canadian music legend, and his acoustic performances are truly beautiful, please listen:

If you would like a peppier studio one, this song has some of my fav lyrics of all time:

---

Paying subscribers got a fun “Things I Can’t Live Without” installment yesterday, and I just had to share ONE of them with you, as y’all start figuring out which weddings you have to fly to this summer:

This One Travel Agent Named Erica Good:

The travel agent game has changed a LOT. A lot. First of all, travel agents don’t make their money off YOU anymore, they make their money on the hotel/resort end. Which is great!

I discovered my HEART’S CORE, Erica, as a result of her cold @’ing me and bravely saying “I work for a travel agency and you tweet a LOT about staying at the Carlyle when you’re in NYC, and I have a very very level of confidence that I can get you very fancy free upgrades and just extra…stuff, if you let me.”

“Go forth!” I said, and since then, my life has been…wonderful. Hotels remember me, they put extra stuff in the room, they give me $100 spa credits, they upgrade me on check-in basically everytime, bc Erica uses her special secret Virtuoso codes (and my middling influencer status) to make that happen. I am treated like a VIP. She got me an EYE-POPPING upgrade to like an $8k room at the Mandarin Oriental when the Carlyle was under construction, and when they pulled up my name at check-in the guest room manager took me to my room and asked if I would like any refreshment, to which I said “Earl Grey tea, with milk, like a monster.” Guys, I came back a month later, and within five minutes of putting down my suitcase, someone had brought me Earl Grey tea, with milk.

So, if you want to see if Erica can help you out for maybe your once yearly or CERTAINLY your once every-five-years vacation, email her: ericagood@anthonytravel.com OR call her if you can still do that emotionally: 512-617-2407 OR tweet at her! @everywhereerica

---

My friend Libby sent me this infuriating AITA (Am I The Asshole) post which has me so mad I could spit:

AITA for missing my daughters birthday weekend?

Some background: I have 2 daughters from my previous marriage, they are 8 and 11. I love them but I would say my relationship with them is kind of rocky. I try my best to visit or make phone calls but it hardly ever happens due to busy schedules. Naturally, I have a better relationship/connection with my son (3) in my current marriage - I obviously would never tell them that.

My son and daughter have birthdays that happen to be 2 days apart. The plan was to celebrate my sons birthday and then spend the weekend with my daughters. It was exciting for all of us because I haven’t seen them since last summer

The weekend comes around but I realized I couldn’t make it. We had just thrown a big party for my son and I was extremely exhausted.

My wife said it was an asshole move. My ex wife is mad and told me the girls are upset and disappointed. I’m the only one who thinks it was a valid excuse.

Blessed are the Flat Earthers, for they are hilarious (please, oh, Lord, do not let Karen homeschool):

A choosing beggar being a bitch to a service provider, why, never!:

I would literally die for this lil queer Spanish ghost:

This Ask a Manager post literally left me dropping my jaw (you KNOW I love gross stuff, but in the WORKPLACE, and without ASKING??!!!!):

I work as a banquet server at a large hotel and convention center. Yesterday, my manager, Fergus, approached me while I was setting up for an event and said. “Come look at this video, this wife cheated on her husband!” and proceeded to show me a real-life video on his phone of a man being brutally murdered with a machete while the wife looked on and tried to stop the attack (her husband attacking her lover). Disgusted, I said “What the f***!” and walked away. I later saw him proceed to show the video to nearly every other server working. I did hear him preface the video before showing it to other people by asking, “Are you okay with gory things?” after he showed it to me. My issue isn’t really with the gore, though that’s not really appropriate either, it’s with the violence. Lots of people are not squeamish and would probably say “yes” to that question because they don’t mind watching gory things in the context of a scene from a horror movie (which is fake) or a medical/surgery video (where someone is most likely being helped, not hurt), but wouldn’t want to watch a real person getting murdered.

How should I address it now, after the fact? Should I bring it up with him, his boss, or HR? I think what he did was really inappropriate, but I don’t want to get too involved or be the reason he loses his job.

I like to make sure that there is a chonky animal in every single newsletter, please meet Patrick:

I want desperately for this man to find true happiness with his sewing, and I am so glad his wife is a source of support and am praying for him:

Almost my entire life I (38/m) have hated shopping for clothes. I don't like thinking about it and I find men's clothes really boring.
A couple of years ago, I discovered that I love the look of women's clothes. Specifically the 40s~50s era dresses with an emphasis on contrasting patterns, and accents with pleats and ruffles.

My wife doesn't care. She pointed out that it's just clothing.

I slowly started exploring what all this means. It wasn't a sexual thing, just a style I enjoyed. Case in point, my wife has a white dress with a yellow floral pattern that looks beautiful and sexy on her, but not something I would ever want to wear myself. Whereas I love, for example, the outfit "Janet" wears in "The Good place"

It's almost impossible to buy the clothes I really want to wear (In both men and women's fashions) and so I started sewing my own clothes, having my mom teach me how to do it (She's a really talented seamstress that has been making clothes and costumes for decades). I made two button down shirts with club collars that I really like how they look. I think they look good on me and they are super comfortable.

Then I asked my mom to help me sew a dress that would actually fit (Being tall, having broad shoulders, and no hips makes it almost impossible to find anything in my size). She thought about it for a bit, and came back a few days later saying she couldn't.

She told me, "I am glad to teach you how to sew, but I can't in good conscience contribute to the assault on your masculinity. Far too long your masculinity has been torn down (referring to the abuse I suffered as a child by various men in my life) and it would be a sin for me to help you tear it down further." Apparently she talked it over with her priest and they (he) decided it would be wrong for her to help me.

All right, so here's my main sticking points. It hit me really hard hearing my mom think what I like is sinful. I knew she might find it uncomfortable, but I didn't think she'd find it morally wrong. It's making me question everything.

I'm not religious so I don't care if someone thinks it's a sin, but... it's my own mother saying what I'm doing is wrong... now I wonder if I'm just a freak. I've never been a terribly masculine guy, but I'm still comfortable with being a guy and don't consider myself transgender.

Does it make it wrong that when I see women's dresses it feels me with this warm fuzzy feeling of happiness? I don't need it, but I draw a lot of comfort from it and it brings me joy. Women don't feel that way (I posted a question on the askwomen subreddit) so does that make my reaction too strong?

I don't know. I just know that I got bullied a lot as a kid and had to shut down to fit in both in the neighborhood and with my dad. This is dredging a lot of old emotions.

TL;DR; I'm a guy and content being one. But when I see a 1940s/50s style dress it fills me with warm, happy, fuzzy feelings. Does that make me a freak and is it wrong for me to learn to sew those type of clothes for myself? Is it wrong for a male to want to have some feminine clothes?

I think this is a really gorgeous tattoo:

This is literally just that gif of the Queen getting super excited about cows.

Anti-vaxxers and sovereign citizens, a match made in Hell:

Okay, two more adorable animals:

---

And now, as promised, some of The Shatner Chatner for you, written by Daniel Ortberg):

At this point, it’s pretty second-nature to think of and refer to myself as Danny or Daniel; I rarely have to remind myself that it’s my name or experience much in the way of disorientation. But there’s still an interrupted flow, for me at least, when I try to write Nicole and Danny. I’m not even sure I prefer it to Nicole and Daniel, or Danny and Nicole. I have to work hard not to write Nicole and Mallory, a combination that is always followed by an infinite number of possible combinations, like a series of Berenstain Bears titles: Nicole and Mallory Start A Business, Nicole and Mallory Learn About The Importance of Female Friendship, Nicole and Mallory Join A Band, Nicole and Mallory Have An Adventure, Nicole and Mallory Make A Mistake, Nicole and Mallory Are Not Afraid, Nicole and Mallory Find A Clue, Nicole and Mallory Share A Secret, Nicole and Mallory Pull Up A Chair, Nicole and Mallory Pull Up Short, Nicole And Mallory Find A Locked Door, Nicole and Mallory Escape To Total Friendship Island.

There are a number of challenges to maintaining a long-distance friendship, especially when there are children and partners and dogs and sex changes and religious conversions involved; part of the great game of our friendship is identifying Who am I to you? after a previous (or at least previous possible) category has been abandoned or pulled away; if not a business partner, if not a sister, if not a romantic prospect, if not a gal pal, solve for Nicole.

It was lovely, and very like us, to use a sort-of-professional excuse to get together and talk about our relationship. We have often used work, or the appearance of work, to justify navel-gazing and mutual admiration. We have also often arrived at serious, meaningful realizations about what we mean to one another, what we can give to one another that no one else can, during conversations at least ostensibly ordered around business. (For a while I thought that was what feminism was! Luckily, I was misinformed.)

Here’s Nicole on our first weekend spent in one another’s IRL company:

NICOLE: …the rest of the weekend we just spoke as Joan Fontaine in Rebecca to each other.

DANNY: It was just so immediately clear that we did love doing that kind of play together, like finding the right note for Joan Fontaine, which would always be like tremulous, anxious, and desperate, which is to say ourselves dating men at 21.

NICOLE: "Oh, I'm so terribly happy, Maxim. Are you happy? Maxim."

DANNY: And then with... Oh my God, why can't I remember the name of the most famous actor of all time. Nicole, help me out here. Who's the man in Rebecca?

NICOLE: Laurence Olivier.

DANNY: Thank you. Laurence Olivier. And he would be just like lazily crushing your dreams in every response so like, "I've never been happy. How dare you. How dare you accuse me of happiness."

NICOLE: In my life!

DANNY: Yeah, yeah.

NICOLE: —We were each constantly gauging to see if the other person was still having fun with this—

DANNY: Mm-hmm.

NICOLE: ...or if one of us had crossed the line into becoming tedious or too needy and that never happened. 

And of course a real friendship, a lifelong friendship, involves moments where one or the both of us cross that line. As naturally in-tune with one another as we often are, and as conflict-avoidant as we both can be, this relationship is not one that’s solely dependent on consistency, uniformity, singleness of purpose. But there have been moments where we both feared that it might! The deeper reality, the profounder play, runs underneath that fear; that old-time patter, that call-and-response, that moment where one acknowledges that one has failed to remember or identify something important, but rests absolutely secure in the perfect assurance that their counterpart holds the key:

Nicole, help me out here. Who’s the man from Rebecca. You know. That sandwich I like. What’s the name of that ice cream I like, with the thing on the top. Oh, I can’t remember her name, but you know the girl I mean. My memory fails me and the waters here run deep – help me, or I sink.

---

Love you!!!! N