Awww...wow---this is sweet: successful childblogger Tavi has heeded our advice (w/out having to actually heed our advice). She had a good time dancing at her eighth grade school dance, and, in turn, has decided to give peace a chance/get down with her agemates/critique the systems of self-conscious hipster-ism that divide and non-conquer.

What a big deal these middle school dances were!---a revolution in public sexiness and the possible bounds of shame---at the end of los 90s/dawn of the Aughts, we found for the first time (our* first time, not a generalized first time) that we knew exactly how to drop our azzes to the floor (and with no formal training!). In one of those years (7th or 8th) I can't remember which I took my dress off in the bathroom and just wore my sheer slip, but then when this tall boy with nice hair told my friends he thought I was hot and he wanted to meet me I hid in the science lab.....so began a decade (!) of earnestly trying to figure out what being/guessing/seeming a slut was all about...geez.

*the collective here is me and my fellow small, parochial girls-schoolers

I don't care what they say

A Song For You

Libby Holman's most proper rendition of Cole Porter's "Love For Sale" (1930)--a bit doleful, but isn't that what December is all about?

Song for Tuesday