I’m sorry for my absence last weekend! I know I say this all the time, but my laptop completely KOed and wouldn’t even turn on, dying with it my amassed 6 years of bookmarks. So sad. So I eventually got out my hammer and smashed open the piggybank and now I am typing so hard I might break my MacBook Air. Oh well, never say I didn’t give it my all. Here are your week’s reads.
There is no ‘From the archives’ today, because I’ve lost mine! I had over 100 favourite longreads tucked away in a bookmarks folder and categorized by genre and they’re all gone. So I have a favour - if you have a favourite essay or article or slideshow bookmarked, would you share it with me please? You can leave it in my Ask box (anonymously if you fancy) or tweet it at me. And hopefully I can start building up another folder of gems to share in next week’s links. Thank you!
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Last weekend I went to Monaco to witness the best tennis player in the world doing his thing in honour of a charity run by one of the best supermodels of her generation. Monaco is a strange, beautiful place, filled with yachts and palm trees and the sound of burning rubber and lilting unplaceable accents. It was, as you might guess, a career highlight. The report is here.
Thank you! I haven’t seen Greenberg. I love love Gerwig but Baumbach strikes me as the most arrogant guy in your critical theory course who manages to mention three times in one class that his ex-girlfriend was a bitch. But I do want to see Greenberg, hopefully when I feel less strongly about male jerks,
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11:57 am 6 notes
Last week I went to the V&A, one of my favourite places to get lost in this city, to talk to the beautifully-named Sonnet Stanfill about Italian glam for Style.com.
Imagine me actually committing to something for 22 weeks. Almost unfathomable, but that’s how many Sundays I’ve given chunks of to corralling these internet links into an easily-digested round-up for general consumption. Here are your week’s reads, sorry for the weighty quoting but there are a lot of good sentences out there.
“The sheets were always damp. There was Christmas in the echoes, and eternal walks. We cried when we saw the Pope. There were the luminous shadows of the Pinco and the officer’s shining boots. We went to Frascati and Tivoli. There was the jail, and Hal Rhodes at the Hotel de Russie and my not wanting to go to the moving-picture ball at the Excelsior and asking Hungary Cox to take me home. Then I was horribly sick, from trying to have a baby and you didn’t care much and when I was well we came back to Paris. We sat to-gether in Marseilles and thought how good France was.”
Lindsay Lohan moves through the Chateau Marmont as if she owns the place, but in a debtor-prison kind of way. She’ll soon owe the hotel $46,000. Heads turn subtly as she slinks toward a table to meet a young producer and an old director. The actress’s mother, Dina Lohan, sits at the next table. Mom sweeps blond hair behind her ear and tries to eavesdrop. A few tables away, a distinguished-looking middle-aged man patiently waits for the actress. He has a stack of presents for her.
7:48 am 4 notes
I’m going to California in September on what increasingly feels like a cultural pilgrimage, so I’m trying to make a definite list of LA films and books to soak up in these next 5 months. Suggestions welcome?
I didn’t forget! OK, I almost forgot. Blame the time-shift, Swedish grammar and Margate sands for the delay, but here are your week’s reads.
From the archives: Dear Sugar #48, Write Like A Motherfucker. I don’t know who first sent this to me - it may have been my pal Annelise - but now I reread it on the regular, whenever I need a kick up the arse in the right direction.
Do you know what that is, sweet pea? To be humble? The word comes from the Latin words humilis and humus. To be down low. To be of the earth. To be on the ground. That’s where I went when I wrote the last word of my first book. Straight onto the cool tile floor to weep. I sobbed and I wailed and I laughed through my tears. I didn’t get up for half an hour. I was too happy and grateful to stand. I had turned 35 a few weeks before. I was two months pregnant with my first child. I didn’t know if people would think my book was good or bad or horrible or beautiful and I didn’t care. I only knew I no longer had two hearts beating in my chest. I’d pulled one out with my own bare hands. I’d suffered. I’d given it everything I had.
Enjoy your week.
7:36 am 82,261 notes