Sara Ryan

I’m not tagging anyone, but here’s that Things thing, Facebook pals and others. 1. It is very easy to make me feel guilty about almost anything. 2. I am also a champion worrier. 3. I started listening to audiobooks as a way to shut off the hamster wheel in my head and get to sleep [...]

Or rather, Empress is. On audible.com, read by Lauren Davis. Cool!

I’m reading danah boyd’s dissertation, absorbing the news about Sam Adams, and — as I’m about to leave for the American Library Association Midwinter Meeting, where I’ll see a lot of teen advocates — thinking about the dangers that come from living in a culture that enforces age segregation. Just the other day, I was [...]

…if you are my Facebook friend, but I have succumbed to Yet Another Social Network. I’m ryansara on Twitter. So far I am pretty quiet. Also I am not following people I do not know at least kind of in real life. And even if I do know you I might not follow you. Please [...]

As I listened to our new president’s speech this morning, getting choked up at intervals, I thought about my father, who stood on the Mall forty-eight years ago today to hear President Kennedy. I’ve already posted what he wrote, last year on Father’s Day, but I’m going to link it again. Here it is: “let [...]

Steve commented, “I guess the other 97 must be elsewhere…”

So I was at Powell’s Hawthorne to finally get a copy of Pretty Monsters, and spotted this lovely shelftalker: Best part: Dot, who made it, was there, and I got to burble thanks at her and sign the stack of books. She said Rules is in their Valentine’s display, too — and I thought, Oh [...]

I saw these two objects on the sidewalk, along with many other abandoned possessions, some in boxes: My new glasses, which are also my great-grandmother’s old glasses: You should read: Mike Martin’s thematic analysis of Sara Zarr’s Story of a Girl Vice Magazine’s interview of Ursula LeGuin And you should watch the fabulous Canadian series [...]

This morning on the treadmill I listened to one song, over and over: “Unless It’s Kicks” by Okkervil River. What gives this mess some grace unless it’s kicks, man/Unless it’s fiction It took me back in time. Not because it was around when I was a teenager, but because it made me feel like one. [...]

Scene: Safeway. Steve and I are contemplating the vanilla selection. Steve: Which one? Me: I don’t know, the organic is probably better, but it’s also sixteen dollars. Mustachioed Clerk (sotto voce): Have you considered Aisle Twelve? Me (blinking): No…what’s on Aisle Twelve? M. C. (with evident satisfaction): Mexican vanilla.