1. we went to tiffany’s this weekend to pick up our wedding bands. the salesperson carefully wrapped them in the iconic blue boxes and white ribbons, then marc took the boxes to the car, tore them open, came back to retrieve me, and slipped mine into my hand. his was already on. we went to the tom ford counter at bergdorf and bought a lipstick and eyeliner called “bruise”—tom ford knows how to give my eyes that thrilling post-restylane feeling all the time—and then we went to dinner at our favorite restaurant. everyone at restaurants and hotels always thinks we’re married anyway.

    "no more diamonds," marc kept telling me the day we went to buy the bands. "i’ve bought you enough diamonds. you don’t get any more diamonds until a major anniversary." i didn’t care. before i got my engagement ring i had looked at rings exactly twice, online, during epic gchats with my also-engaged former teen vogue assistant. i had stronger feelings about wedding bands, which i thought—sorry, brooklyn—should be gold, and simple, like the ones my parents had. marc agreed. but there was rose gold. there was yellow gold. there were different widths. i kept taking them on and off, on and off, trying to see which looked best with my engagement ring, which i know some people don’t wear once they get married, which in my case would be lunatic, for many reasons, including that it is the fanciest object i’ve ever owned.  

    finally, our salesperson robert—who sent marc an email the day he knew we were supposed to get engaged congratulating him, and has sent us many emails, written notes, and invitations since—said he had an idea. we knew what it was. he brought over two slim gold bands set with diamonds, and i slipped one on my finger, followed by my engagement ring, and marc’s entire face lit up. i love how easily we both practically upsell ourselves.

    the rings are temporarily back in their boxes.


  2. shelly and i faced each other at a shared desk at nylon, but instead of talking, we communicated all day long via email. i once saw her interview missy elliott, hang up the phone, and write a 2,000 word story that we shipped that night. every time we go out for drinks we still talk about the glory days, when there was no social media and nothing got decided by clicks: we featured whatever we wanted and thought it was our job to convince readers to get with our program. and our program was really, really good. early nylon is just so good. 

    i once asked her husband to tell me what he thought of marc, because he and shelly are among my oldest and closest friends. “you light up around him,” jonathan said. and, admiringly: “i keep trying to be offensive, and he just keeps one-upping me.”


    1. kj: i decided to email barbara and let her know i've been a little checked out, but that checking back in is imminent. her main concern was that we aren't going on a long enough honeymoon.
    2. m: once barbara understands the 33 hotels we've already stayed in, she'll get it.

    1. kj: i was just thinking about you and feeling woefully out of touch, so wanted to send you a quick email. i don't know if you heard that my brother died, but between that and my wedding in less than a month, i would be lying if i said i had been hard at work dissertating. the good news is that i do have a bunch of things i'd love to discuss with you (i want to make some changes in what i'm working on, but i definitely need your guidance) and that i should really be back on track towards the end of next month (we are taking only the briefest of honeymoons).
    2. bb: why curtail the honeymoon?
  3. i’m sad about summer ending. these are pictures from the beginning, when we got engaged: the day after, at the pool at the grand hotel excelsior vittoria in sorrento; capri, under photos of the owner of the restaurant owner with all of the celebrities who had visited (you can see jay-z, beyoncé, and valentino); our last few moments at le sireneuse (named after the sirens) in positano; and the garden at the hotel de russie, in rome. marc speaks italian—he lived in italy in college, and again while working at a law firm after—but i don’t, so i sadly couldn’t partake of my usual eavesdropping. still, it was one of the most beautiful people-watching spots i’ve ever had the pleasure of drinking rose champagne in while watching expertly made-up women with that recent plastic surgery sheen wearing turbans and supersize jewelry. i love rome: everyone is wearing heels.

    we also went to atlantic city, bermuda, hawaii, the hamptons, and various parts of california: san diego, LA, temecula. marc’s phone contains a list of 33 hotels we’ve stayed at in the last two years, some more than once. but except for a wedding upstate, a wedding in SF, our wedding night, our honeymoon, a conference in LA, and thanksgiving in dallas—it sounded like a lot less in my head—the idea is that we are taking a break from extreme vacationing. (the idea, refuted by so many doctors back when i was a health editor, is that i will easily get pregnant. and hence not want to fly.)

    it is the best summer i can remember, which i wish i could say differently, given my brother’s death. maybe that is why i fear the fall. even with a wedding to look forward to, it’s more painful to grieve when it’s gray outside, and when the person you were grieving was supposed to be at the wedding. well, he was never supposed to be at the ceremony itself, just the weekend for the two families a few days later. so at least i will have one day in which his absence feels less conspicuous.  

    but no one loves labor day. except for marc: back-to-school doesn’t really mean anything to him and he prefers cold weather. 

  4. —tillie olsen, silences

    purging my phone. 

  5. nora ephron, wallflower at the orgy 

    Tagged #dreamers
  6. cussingskull:

    Goddamn. Lisa Robertson.


  7. "trans-digitality is a sense that form and content are not what they could be. and it’s a commitment to a (nonlinear) transition process with the dream of aligning form and content. of bringing together the virtual and the real, the material and the metaphor. it’s the cyborg’s broken heart."


    this is what i do want to read. 


  8. Anonymous said: that post is how i started reading your blog. still so good.

    i’m so glad! if only someone could tell me how to convince my department that tumblr posts like this are better than my dissertation could ever be. that would really fuck with the institution in just the way my new media panel hero seems to think it needs to be. me too.