Just wrote a really mean review of Alison Bechdel’s latest book on Goodreads. I feel kind of bad. I’m sharing it here anyway.

Are You My Mother?Are You My Mother? by Alison Bechdel

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

Very sad to give two stars to Alison Bechdel’s anything, but this book was tedium incarnate. Things to keep: Alison’s deeply sad, fascinating mother. Things to toss: literally everything else, especially the pseudo-scholarship integrated throughout. Two stars go to the drawings.

As a big fan of hybrid genre (theory + nonfiction + comix), I was stoked at the potential of a book like this. However, Bechdel’s very poor choice and inclusion of critical texts really ruined any cool effect that a meta-memoir could have made.

Great for other fans of white male psychobabble about mommy issues and white female therapy transcripts, but insufferable for anyone looking for more.


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My dear friend Brook has lived in Chicago for 5 years and I have never visited. Until now. She lives in an area called Pilsen, which just reminds me of pilsner, the light beer which was so prevalent in Prague that I will forever associate the two.

Anyway, it’s incredibly cold here. I like cold but I am running low on long-sleeved shirts kind of cold. Like 12 degrees wind chill at 1 degree kind of cold. It’s invigorating, excuses excessive wine consumption, and encourages all-day (and indoor) scarf wearing. In short, fabulous. 

Adventured in the Art Institute today. Chett wrote a thorough blog post about that. Took a bunch of photos of abstract expressionist paintings for future poem composition. Ate some delicious vegan food and recalibrated with some awesome comics courtesy of Chett’s best friend.  

Now making curry and sporting some adorable slippers that used to belong to my dad. Because I’m secretly a 60 year old man.