“It’s okay that Anne Shirley never became a writer,” offers Anya Jaremko-Greenwold in a recent Los Angeles Review of Books article cropping up on my Facebook feed. Women who loved Anne of Green Gables weighed in: “it’ll never be okay” (me), in defense of the wife/motherhood Anne chose (others), “I sort of get it” (my friend).
For those of us who hold this book as tightly as Anne Shirley holds everything, Anne will always be a mirror. Continue reading
Bic’s girlie-pens have transported Amazon reviewers to a glittering apex of sarcasm, much to the gratitude of bored office workers and bloggers everywhere. (And imagine, dear reader, your indebtedness if you happen to be both, like I am.) But it seems the only discernible sin Bic committed was committing itself–by explicitly labeling the pens “For Her.” If it weren’t for that artless caveat, these pastel pens would have gone ignored just like pink razors, chartreuse hammers, puce penknives and whatever else people like me slap some lazy branding on to sell to…well, other people like me. Continue reading