Slothing about

Today looks like this:


My car is ready to be picked up and then I’m picking up Regan to finally go see Magic Mike! but I can’t move yet. Too busy drinking coffee, googling baby sloths (“Baby sloth text”, which I thought might turn up some LOLSloths instead yields a surprisingly high amount of Veronica Mars pictures and references. And while I’m on that topic, my summer vacation is being seriously disturbed by the lack of working videos on They all stop early in the episodes and skip to the next. It’s tragic! So tragic that I’m actually going to buy it on itunes) and reading.

Today’s reading, interesting enough to put off the reunion with my beloved car:

(I’m very slowly working my way through a backlog of articles on Nabokov and exile, and looking for more.)

Worth quoting:

“According to SlutWalk’s website, the event is slated to be reproduced in Argentina sometime this year. It’s the country I was born and raised in, among Spanish, Guaraní and Portuguese speakers – and I can assure you that the word “slut” is not used by anyone there. This is not what we need. I do not want white English-speaking Global North women telling Spanish-speaking Global South women to “reclaim” a word that is foreign to our own vocabulary. To do so would be hegemonic, and would illustrate the ways in which Global North “feminists” have become a tool of cultural imperialism. I will be going back home in about a month, and want to do so without feeling the power of white women bearing down on me from 6,000 miles away. We’ve got our own issues to deal with in South America; we do not need to become poster children to try to make you feel better about yours.”

And this:

“There’s more than escapism going on here. Why do we seek out these hard places for our fantasy vacations? Because on some level, we recognize and claim those disasters as our own. We seek out hard places precisely because our lives are hard. When you read genre fiction, you leave behind the problems of reality — but only to re-encounter those problems in transfigured form, in an unfamiliar guise, one that helps you understand them more completely, and feel them more deeply. Genre fiction isn’t just generic pap. You don’t read it to escape your problems, you read it to find a new way to come to terms with them.”

Fuck, I love Lev Grossman. So much. This much:



Next tattoo,  Abigail the sloth?


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