If you are someone who knows me, odds are this is something you should do. Save yourself from your search history forever.
On March 1st, Google will implement its new, unified privacy policy, which will affect data Google has collected on you prior to March 1st as well as data it collects on you in the future.
Until now, your Google Web History (your Google searches and sites visited) was cordoned off from Google’s…
Woman in Comedy: A really scary thing happened to me last night at a comedy show.
Part of me thinks it’s too soon to be writing about this because I don’t think I’ve completely processed how I feel, but I also think maybe this has happened to other women and I should talk about it in as raw a way as possible. I’m still really embarrassed and ashamed and garbled up inside, but maybe this can start a helpful discussion in terms of women and comedy.
Last night, I was on a stand up show in the East Village. The show started out with a small crowd and the host did an amazing job interacting with them and riling them up. By the time I got on stage, there were about 20 or so more people in the audience and the place had really filled up. The show was still kind of loose because of the back and forth between the host and the audience, so when I got on stage, I riffed a bit about the stuff that had happened before and then talked to one guy on the side of the audience who the host had dubbed “Banana Republic.” All joke-y. All in good fun.
Then, I start my actual set and do my first two jokes, which go pretty okay. I start another joke that is vaguely sexual - not crude, not crass - mainly silly and that goes well too. The next joke I do is about my boyfriend.
At a comedy show, when you’re on stage, usually you can’t see the audience because of the bright lights. So I’m looking into pitch darkness. As I start the joke, someone yells, “Does your boyfriend know?” referring to the sexuality joke I’d just told. I stop, laugh and say that he does because I think it’s just more of the loose environment that’s been going on at this show. I attribute it to an audience member just having fun.
I start to tell the joke about my boyfriend again, and at the midway point, the same voice yells something else derogatory about my boyfriend, homophobic and misogynistic towards me. I stop, confused. I can’t see who is talking to me so I make a HUGE mistake and say, “Sir, if you’re gonna talk to me, you need to come to the front because I can’t see you.” I think calling him out like this will shut him up.
How to make yourself cry at work.
Read these two essays about breast cancer (a diagnosis, and a prophylactic double mastectomy). I did it at lunch, sitting in a dark cubicle, staring at my screen, hoping no one noticed me sticking Kleenex into the corners of my eyes. I couldn’t move and I couldn’t stop reading. It’s not because they’re sad. It’s because they’re stark and honest. About illness and bodies and loneliness and recovery and how you have to deal with it by yourself but how you reach out to people who love you. (both via The Hairpin)
I’m not familiar with all the rules and regulations regarding return your policy - that’s why I wrote a civil note requesting a refund. The tone of your letter is that of someone who thinks I’m “unreasonable” to think I deserve it. You obsess over the 1,600 days I had [the product] - but consider that you have had my $39.99 for the same period of time.
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