This morning I found myself locked out of my Twitter account. Twitter claimed that my account was playing shenanigans (inconceivable!) and that to rescue my account, I had to give Twitter my phone number to validate that it’s really me.
Except Twitter never had my phone number before, so giving it to them would validate nothing.
Fountain pens are brutal on paper. Moleskines are among the first to fall, paper failing in some disgusting combination of feathering, shadowing, and bleeding through when subjected to the abuse of a fountain pen. When the William Hannah Limited fan page on Facebook led a status update with the following, I expected them to fail:
Ever since our notebooks came to the attention of the Fountain Pen community, the attractiveness of our incoming mail has increased significantly….
In a recent blog, I shined a little bit of a light on something that I found both curious and validating. No, I’m not mad for wanting to try writing a serious literary work with a fountain pen. Neil Gaiman does it all the time. But that seed took root and bore sweet fruit. (more…)
About four years ago, I went to the local Subaru dealership and purchased a brand new 2012 Subaru Forester. This probably had something to do with Whole Foods opening up near my home. There’s something about that place that makes people walk around in the city like they are preparing to ascend a mountain or go on a canoeing expedition or something, just to get their non-dairy ice cream and baked kelp crisps.
The stereotypes about this car abound. It’s the lesbian answer to the minivan. It’s the car of choice for people who own sporting dogs. It’s the car for people who procrastinated and never got around to buying that diesel Mercedes to run on used kitchen grease.
Well, I’m sorry to disappoint, but unless English bulldogs are considered sporting these days, I might not be the target market for a Forester. Or am I?