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Oh my god the weather is SPECTACULAR. It's May 3, we've been well into summer for over a week, and it's currently 54 F with a strong breeze and not a cloud in the sky. I keep running out on the deck to twirl like a Disney princess. This will be gone tomorrow, and then it'll really be summer and stay summer until I leave (and then it will continue to be summer in New York, but ahahaha like I'm afraid of THAT) (I mean I've been in NYC in July, it sucked, but it didn't make me feel like the sky was actively trying to kill me) (plus I gather that on Atlantic beaches the ocean doesn't turn into a heated pool by late June and stay that way until fall) (right?) (seriously, fuck the Gulf). But today is gloooooooorious.

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conversation with ang in which I end up being a cranky old person and declaring my eternal allegiance to the middle-grade and young adult literature of the seventies and eighties (which is ridiculous because I wasn’t even old enough to read those books until the nineties), leading to the line, “Also I bet not a single one of these hip new literary genre-bending YA authors has a scene where characters set an egg timer to determine how long they’re allowed to make out.”

I mean if I’m wrong about that, I would definitely like to know! But I feel it’s a strong argument.

(obligatory disclaimer: I love contemporary YA, I think it’s glorious, I hope to write some, etc. etc. But no one will ever replace Paula Danziger and Lois Lowry in my heart.)

(also this originally came up because I suddenly realized that I’ve been unconsciously associating the climactic rope-climbing/poetry-reciting scene of “Anastasia Has the Answers” with Jean Prouvaire for like three months now. Because he would.)