Where Are They Now?

It's very hard to be all detachment and all materialistic simultaneously, but could someone tell me what the hell I was thinking when I left my amazing Philip Treacy hat in New York because I couldn't figure out how to transport it? Or what crack rock I was smoking when I left behind those navy blue vintage platform sandals with the perforated leather straps? (Hello, those were the only vintage shoes in an 11 I'll ever find, I just know it.) What about the Aden/Magnetic Fields poster I made Jeremy give me?

And so we turn to the yogis.

My Legs Are So Tired

From climbing up and down off of my high horse, of course. Ryan reminded me yesterday that I'd made some vow to post weekly ("It's Bravermundo! Tuesday," he said) and I promptly forgot about it.

But then, this morning, eating my yogurt and granola with Harry at my feet, I got the itch. I was reading the fat nonfiction anthology, Scoot Over, Skinny, and I read recovering anorexic Lori Gottlieb's piece about her torrid relationship with a fat man, a man by whom she's so embarrassed she can't bring herself to introduce him to her friends, and I just had this moment of "Ugh!" What happened to beauty only being skin deep?