On Saturday night, I checked my Facebook feed and I found out my friend Darrell Wright had passed away; his father had posted on his now-gone son’s wall. He was 55 years old. We met when I was a student at Queens College, another silo of my life. I’d become enamored with BITNET, an online server (slash community) where I would “chat” with would-be friends, an international set, some of whom I still know. I later, and over time, would organize national Bitcons, where those of us who were part of this community could gather at ramshackle hostels and hotels in New York and Boston to hang out. We were all so young, the age my daughter and her friends are, are about to be. Darrell was part of this crew. A southern boy. Shy. A traveller. Kind eyes. We became friends. Lost touch as I did with so many people until Facebook re-connected us all. The adult Darrell was still so kind, and still such the traveller. His livelihood took him all over the world. He’d made a living doing the thing he loved, noodling in a digital realm and combined it with his other great love, traveling. I last saw him in March, he was in the Tri-State area on a business trip, during one of those weeks where snowed brought the city to its knees. We had to keep rescheduling, due to the weather. I’m glad we were persistent in doing so, that we didn’t go the easy way out, see you next time, blah blah blah. He came to a reading The Teenager was doing. He met us at the bar, where the three of us had a chance to talk, before she had to go. (She’d met him too, in her young life; he’d come to a We Hope You Have Fun show some years prior, and we’d all gone to Veselka afterwards.) After the event, I walked with him to a taxi. He was on his way to meet up with another friend. And so we said goodnight, the cold winter air enveloping us. I had no idea that would be the last time we saw each other.
RIP old friend.
The shooting on Friday at the Santa Fe High School. Another one. Another one. Another child, motivated by what, I don’t know, can’t understand, took the lives of others. It’s devastating. Simply, devastating.
RIP, students of Santa Fe High School.
Noma Dumezweni : “That weight of expectation, I’ve never felt it as a burden. The only burden that I put on myself is: Am I good enough in each day? What can I find? What can I do? If I don’t believe I’m doing the work well enough, that’s what hurts me more than anything, and that’s what keeps you reaching, reaching and reaching.”
Jessica Valenti: “Before Walmart sold “feminist” T-shirts and celebrities embraced the cause, we worked to make feminism more accessible.”
Asia Argento: “You know who you are. But most importantly, we know who you are. And we’re not going to allow you to get away with it any longer.”
Retta: “I don’t want to get into it. I didn’t like it. Because I’m the first person to be like, ‘Fuck that mother fucker. He’s an asshole. He’s a fucking asshole.’ And I didn’t think he was an asshole and I didn’t appreciate it.”
Joyce Chang: “As an editor in chief, you are supposed to have this bulletproof persona, or at least, that was the school of thought I was raised in, but the truth is, I’m not perfect. And I’m not a motivational speaker. But I have experience, and I know that getting back to feeling good is the kicker.”
Whatever you’re doing, stop it right now and start watching Wild Wild Country.
What has changed since Sandy Hook?
Oh, no you don‘t go write a marketing plan while you’re in your interview.
Being a witch.
You can eat romanne-based Caesar Salad again.
And now have a laugh with Amber Ruffin.