What is a day in the life on the beach like? Here we go.I’ve been here 3 mornings, or as my Aussie friends says, 3 sleeps. I wake up before Rocky, at 6:25. I’m sleeping really well here at the beach, deeply and soundly. That my internal clock is ready to be up and at them at such an early hour is an indication. I am awake, and not-tired. I feel refreshed. I am so happy to be here. I check my phone, Rocky stirs. We go downstairs to the kitchen. I prepare his food. I check to see what podcasts have downloaded. I check in with Andy, see if he’s up, wants to go for a beach walk. As Rocky finishes his food, Andy texts back. I put Rocky’s harness on him. Time to walk. This beach community is a no-car zone; everything is just steps away, including Andy’s house. I meet him in moments. We walk to the beach, our feet fluffing the sand as we take one step after another. It’s only 7:30 and the sun is out for prisoners. New York has been enduring a heat wave, and we feel it here, at the beach as well. Rocky is laboring, his steps are not coming as fluidly as in days past. Josh told me to keep his feet wet while walking on the beach, so we’re walking on the shoreline. Still, the ocean intimidates my dog. He’ll reluctantly walk in the wet sand, but will jump back as the water rolls towards him. The fastest I’ll see him move, I suspect. We walk, to a few towns over. There’s a shack there, where we can get iced coffee, a bowl of water, chapstick. I pick up a bagel for The Teenager, still soundly asleep, I’m sure, as she was when I poked my head into her room this morning, before I left. After a little bit, our breath gathered, we walk back towards our beach town. We rendezvous with Sam The Boyfriend. There’s a difference, however, in Rocky’s gait. In that, he’s not interesting in walking. We each take turns carrying him. And when our middle aged backs cry “Uncle,” we let Rocky down, to walk frazzled steps in the sand. I get it. Even this early—it’s 8:30 now—the sun is too hot for him. This beach walk, too strenuous. I’ll need a new plan. The three of us plus Rocky get to my house. The World Cup is happening, on FOX. I take my shower. Wait for The Teenager to rise. Do a few bits of busy-work: light sweeping, hire-me work emails, like that. By 11, the World Cup is off, The Teenager awake. A few more teens emerge, as if they heard the Rising Call of my Teenager. Everyone is in swimsuits, towels in hand, and with a Thank-You-For-The-Bagel, she’s gone. I do my much anticipated interview in my bedroom with Caroline Kepnes (If you haven’t read YOU, go to your bookstore or library and get it now), whose new book Providence is as compelling as YOU is. I’m so elated post-interview, I take Rocky for a short walk to town, to get myself an ice cream or something celebratory. I text The Teenager, who is otherwise occupied with her friends at the beach. I head back to my house. Sam the Boyfriend makes us lunch, a piece of salmon and broccoli. I feel ever so healthy. My friend and her son stop by. We sit in my air conditioned home-for-now, catching up. They’re walking back to their car, so I walk along the beach with them for a while, until I realize, I need to walk back. I’m doing a fair bit of walking today, I realize, almost triumphant. I take a late afternoon shower. There’s a flurry of activity in the house as talk turns to dinner. I am almost disappointed that time has come, that 6pm hour, where my day ends and my evening has to begin, but there we are. Debating dinner. And that’s where I’ll leave you, for now.
Angelica Ross: “Typically when there’s a trans storyline, they have a man playing the trans woman, so the question of passing isn’t there because she doesn’t. When they cast a man in these roles, the people telling the story are trying to communicate something very toxic to audiences: that underneath it all, this is a man. They think audiences will get confused or whatever if they see a woman. I hope that when people see Candy having trouble feeling like she doesn’t pass, they’ll see something that cis and trans women are all dealing with, especially now, today, when you have cis women who are pumping their bodies.”
I love that pro-choice batwings think that a coat hanger is an effective form of bullying. It’s not bitches. We’re on to you.
The ACLU is a superhero.
So are women.
And these candidates.
I like this woman.
30 percent of teenage girls have practiced self-harm.
Some—FIFTY—great things that have happened so far this year.
And now have a laugh with Hannah Gadsby.