Emchap's Shit from the Internet 8/9/17 đ
This week at lunch, two of my coworkers got in a conversation about hammersâspecifically, the kinds of hammers they both own. The conversation essentially consisted of listing kinds of hammers (framing, big, small, electricâstill not sure if that one was a jokeâetc) at each other.
It was very sweet.
The night of HammerChat, the older of the two of them (who owns fewer hammers, it turns out) sent me a screenshot of an Amazon receipt for a tinyâand somewhat bafflingly namedâ"cremation hammer." It had a necklace. Any questions were met with non-answers.
Today, the cremation hammer arrived. It was a tiny hammer pendant with room to unscrew it and place cremains/cocaine. There's a little scoop funnel and a very tiny screwdriver. It came with an appropriately sober in memoriam box.
I watched the older developer assemble the hammer, bring it to the younger one, andâin a truly fascinating display of deep nerd affectionâdrop it on his desk and pat the younger one on the head.
It was very sweet, but hella weird.
Next time anyone thinks I'm making up any anecdote I tell about my colleagues, I'm pointing them to this.
Shit to read
This article on hiding pregnancy from one's internet life is of particular interest to me, a consummate oversharer (who is, to be very clear, sans enfant currently and for the foreseeable. Do not @ me).
I am obsessed with the Toynbee tiles and you should be too.
CROW VENDING MACHINE. My favorite favorite favorite animal behavior study I read in school was about how how folks at a study site learned that crows can tell individual humans apart. They learned this because two grad students had spent the previous research season fucking with the crows for science, and when they came back to do research the next year the crows remembered and fucking hated them. They had to wear masks so the crows would leave them alone.
I have no real feelings about Rupi Kaur but I enjoyed this article on the problematic aspects of her work.
Catapult continues to be so, so good and this article on funerals and being a responsible girl and cycles of abuse is no exception.
Shit to eat
Accept a calendar invite for a team dinner event at which your soon-to-leave colleague's partner will be guest-chefing, on the assumption that it will be good to socialize with your colleagues and also probably free.
Realize it's a BBQ dinner and you do not eat meat regularly and also live in New York, where the BBQ is a source of profound ongoing sadness.
Attend nonetheless.
Eat mac and cheese. Eat collards that don't seem to have pork. Eat spoonbread with jam. Eat two deviled eggs because your coworkers know that you don't eat meat and are being nice.
Drink a Cheerwine and a Sweetwater while a boy taunts you about Waffle House.
With 10 minutes left in the meal and everyone mostly distracted, cut off a small sliver of pork belly and eat it.
Remember why pork was the meat you were sad about missing for the first five years you didn't eat it.
Send the rest of it away.
Shit to listen to
I am extremely back on my bullshit and cannot stop listening to "Boys". I am constantly horned up and love music that sounds like someone punching a Gameboy after dropping molly in 2003 so it is obviously my absolute shit.
Shit to buy
I very much love this Chubby and Harder to Kidnap shirt (#thickthighssavelives etc.).
This weekend I sewed the Caftan from Everyday Style and it was a quick project that looks pretty cute and I recommend it.
I'm very excited to go to the Flying Biscuit when I go home next week, and am debating purchasing their cookbook in the meantime. Love me some grits.