When the temperature is only one syllable, I am unhappy
Good morning, RVA! It’s 12 °F. Today’s the day when all of your friends from the Northeast and Midwest talk about how much they love winter and show off by wearing a long-sleeve T-shirt and a windbreaker. I’m proud of you ironhided transplants, really I am, but I have no desire to be this cold ever in my life. Oh, there’s also an active wind chill advisory until 9:00 AM, which brings the Feels Like Temperature down to zero. “Highs” today–standing directly in the sun at 3:00 PM–will be around 25 °F.
As of right now, all area schools are opening on time.
By now, you’ve heard about the attack on the offices of French satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo, which left 12 dead. Here’s Vox on what we know and what we don’t know. Reported.ly has translated some of the cartoons drawn in solidarity for the artists killed. Here’s an emotional picture from Paris. And, finally, you should read The Onion’s response.
I am 100% unsurprised by who’s behind HB1414, the so-called Conscience Bill. Get ready, folks! It’s General Assembly season! The time when normal dudes and ladies impact our lives in weird and practical ways.
I meant to link to this yesterday, but here’s the PDF of Superintendent Bedden’s proposed Richmond Public Schools Academic Improvement Plan. Read the thing in full and be informed!
- #20 Rams topped Davidson 71-65 last night and moved to 2-0 in the Atlantic 10.
- #3 Wahoos survived the Wolfpack, 61-51.
- Caps crushed the Maple Leafs, 6-2.
- Spiders host the George Mason Patriots tonight at 7:00 PM.
This morning’s longread
You simply must read this. It’s just so, so good.
I think about Sylvia Plath a lot during yoga. I think about her during cat-cow stretches, which you do on hands and knees, arching and then rounding your back, cow to cat and back again, because of the line from “Morning Song”: “One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral.” I think about her when it’s crowded and I have dickish thoughts about where other people put their mats. (Imagined journal entry: “His feet were too close. Broad, encroaching, pale peach.”) And I think about her sometimes during shavasana, or corpse pose, when I’m lying under my blanket, eyes closed, trying to touch nothingness. A long time ago I was a turbulent young woman, and, like so many other turbulent young women, the way I learned to express that–the violent unhappiness, the desire to throttle forward toward some Big Nothing–was through Plath. So it’s funny sometimes to be forty-three and lying in yoga class, under a nap-time blanket, in a roomful of people under their nap-time blankets, everyone snug as mice and thinking about being corpses.
This morning’s Instagram
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