How hard would it have been to say some kinder words instead

Your muse must enjoy you

Photographer Edouard Boubat: “Let us recall the painter who shares the secrets of his art with his students: ‘All of the advice that I can give you will be of little use if no angel is holding your hand.’ An angel is a fire within you – your soul’s way of being.”

Artists must give their muses a place to visit, keeping it congenial for them. Don’t taint this place, not even once.

“Me, to my second grader: yes don’t condescend to the adults in your life, as a rule”

God bless Linda Tirado. This thread made my day.

Y’all. My child. Has just told me. She can’t write an apology because she doesn’t know “what to write besides fuck you” I have never been prouder and I can’t laugh because this is Very Serious Imagine in ten years when she’s protesting tho …

Kwantlen beer

My university’s Brewing and Brewery Operations program, which offers “the only brewing diploma of its kind in BC and [is] the first brewing program in Canada to be recognized by the Master Brewers Association,” seems to have a masterful PR operation going on. I get more news alerts about Kwantlen beer than I do about any other part of Kwantlen Polytechnic University (our horticulture initiatives are right up there, though). Anyways, here’s our new brew (4.2% abv):

Class Act uses boysenberry purée, a new version of Amarillo hop called Lemon Candy, and a brand new hop blend, HS-1228, to create a dry-hopped kettle sour that is loaded with flavour. The massive HS-1228 and Amarillo dry hop additions provide deep pineapple, mango and lemon aromas, while the boysenberry adds a bright red hue and juicy fruit flavour.

The end in the beginning

A girlfriend once told me that I wrapped presents so poorly that no gift inside could overcome the offence I’d given by the mayhem of paper and tape on the outside. That was almost forty years ago. The sight of wrapping paper to this day makes me want to smoke crack.

A few Christmas seasons ago, I was in Buffalo with my partner staying with her family. The night before Christmas she took all of the gifts she’d sent to Buffalo in advance out of the boxes, so that she could wrap them here in our small bedroom. The room seemed an unshakeable chaos. There were sixty-two presents. I started to cry on the inside.

My beloved was in her element and conducted before me a symphony of wrapping. She saw no chaos. She saw the end in the beginning, perfectly appointed presents with delightful cards, never disorder, no antagonism between love and skill. Sixty-two marvellous gifts, given in love (successfully).

Genius sees no complexity. It sees the end in the beginning. We don’t. I don’t. We see a mess.