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I Dressed Up Like Th上海千花坊qianhua.mee Little Mermaid For Money

“I had moved to Spain while the country was in the grip of La Crisis (pronounced CREE-sees)- a financial crisis that saw unemployment rates soar. Roughly 26 percent of the country was without a job, and a sta上海千花坊论坛 官网ggering 55 percent of Spain’s youth were unemployed. Those who had jobs were sometimes no more fortunate, working month after month without pay. I had finally relented to the suggestion a friend had made several months ago. The plan was to dress up as Ariel from The Little Mermaid and sing her hallmark songs down by the Cathedral, where the tourists passed by all day like lemmings.”

The Last J上海居家推油千花坊ourney

“Later that afternoon I sat with Dad and answered work emails as the Golf Channel soothed in the background. He stirred and opened his eyes, looking simultaneously at me and right through me.

Your loved one may talk about taking a journey, the guidebook said. They may express worry or anxiety about being prepared.

‘Are my bags packed?’ my Dad asked, his voice clear.

‘Yes, Daddy,’ I said, my voice trembl上海龙凤论坛419千花坊ing. ‘You’re all packed and ready to go.’

‘I wish I knew where the hell I was going,’ he said.

‘I don’t know, Daddy,’ I said slowly, trying to think of something helpful to say. ‘But I bet it’s really nice there.’”
— You should probably save this piece for when you have a few moments to yourself.

Yuc上海千花坊油压推油k, “Hold Me Closer”


Everything You La千花坊 上海 夏采薇ugh At Is Built On Sadness

“Internet humour is not subtle; it largely relies on a childlike immediacy between image and reaction. An amusing graphic of someone falling over is a loop of an instant. There is no time for its backstory, and we do not seek it out. But when we are shown what made the meme it forces us to stop and consider not just that the funny thing happened but why — and perhaps the feelings of the people involved. Our laughter is suddenly less secure. After the Elsa cake, we are adrift: who could have guessed it would contain so much tragedy? That a wonky eye made of sugar came from sick children and bereavement and led to humiliation? It was impos上海南站419千花坊sible to know. It was just a funny-looking cake.”
— Look, you know what else has tragedy in its backstory? Every single fucking that has ever happened to anyone. The human condition is one long tragedy interspersed with occasional moments of illusory joy designed to keep you from being fully aware of just how awful it all is. If you strip the Internet of its ability to mock things that might be based in bereavement and despair all that will remain is intersectionality, optical illusions and idiot teens tweeting “YASSSS” and “SLAAAAY” every ten minutes. Oh, and also transient manufactured outrage. Always the transient manufactured outrage. That said, making fun of people in wheelchairs is gross. Actually, everything online is gross. You know what? Maybe let’s just get rid of the Internet altogether. I feel like it would make us all so much happier. Let’s burn it the fuck down. Who’s with me?

How Esquire Engineered the M千花坊官网上海龙凤odern Bachelor

by Manisha Aggarwal-Schifellite


In the fall of 1949, the editors of Esquire magazine published Esquire’s Handbook for Hosts, billed as the “all-time, all-knowing, all-inclusive, all-man reference book on ‘Eat, Drink, and Be Merry.’” The Handbook included recipes, drink ideas, games, decorating tips, and general etiquette for “every male, be he the lad in the fifteen-room penthouse, or the guy in the glorified piano crate below street level.” It was released at the outset of the Cold War; the baby boomer period of the late forties and fifties ushered in a new era of suburban development and a return to an idyllic family structure that the government promoted as socially and economically necessary for defeating communism. Women were encouraged to leave the jobs they had held throughout the war, and men were encouraged to take on the breadwinner role and aggressively retain the masculinity of wartime heroism.

One of the central issues of Esquire’s content during and after the war was that masculinity was constantly under threat, mostly from women and the increasingly stratified corporate work system. At the same time as domesticity was supposedly squeezing men into submission, so too was corporate work culture. Books like Philip Wylie’s Generation of Vipers (1942), David Riesman’s The Lonely Crowd (1950), Sloan Wilson’s The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit (1955), and William Whyte’s The Organization Man (1956) lamented the end of traditional masculinity and the feminization of both work and home for the man who used to have total control over his life.

Wylie claimed that overprotective mothers made their sons soft (he called it “momism”), a problem that would ultimately result in a communist takeover of the United States. In The Lonely Crowd, Riesman said that work culture was transforming men from “inner-directed” people who were self-sufficient and of good moral character to “outer-directed” people who were obsessed with their appearance and a desire to fit in. The protagonist of Wilson’s novel, Tom Rath, returns from war and loses his sense of self in a monotonous job that pays for his wife’s dream home in the suburbs. Whyte claimed that bureaucracy had ruined the entrepreneurial spirit of American men. Ultimately, these cultural critics decided that if men couldn’t control their work or their home lives, they would become emasculated sissies and the nation would fall apart.

It was this loss of control that was so nerve-wracking for white men during the Cold War, and it was Esquire’s — and, starting in 1953, Playboy’s — job to help guide readers through the uncharted territory of second-wave feminism, civil rights, and communism. To do this, Esquire turned to a character that, historically, had total control over his own life: the bachelor. The magazine’s November 1949 editorial claimed that the book’s readers would become less dependent on “the little woman” (presumably Mrs. Esquire) who had been responsible for the household until this point. In this period of perceived crisis, how did Esquire convince their readers that it was acceptable (and necessary) for men to be bachelors, and for those bachelors to care about their appearance, their home décor, and their cooking skills?

The social connotations of being a single man in America have changed a lot over the past three centuries. According to John Gilbert McCurdy in Citizen Bachelors: Manhood and the Creation of the United States, the word “bachelor” was first enshrined into American law in 1703, as part of a New York City ordinance taxing unmarried men at the same rate as married men for a new city project. This ordinance was one in a series of laws that determined that single men were capable of financial contribution to the state, even if they did not own property. After the Revolutionary War, American leaders were intent on differentiating the new nation from their former British masters, and redefining manhood became part of that change. John Adams saw British bachelors as “effeminate,” yet touted American bachelors as virtuous and able to resist temptations of vice. McCurdy writes that once bachelors were seen as equal to married men under the law (a common regulation by 1800), the image of the bachelor became associated with masculine independence and autonomy, even as he remained a subject of suspicion when it came to morality; the common sentiment at the time, according to McCurdy, was that “a bachelor may make all the wrong decisions and devote himself to a life of luxury, but this was the bachelor’s prerogative, which few Americans felt any compunction to hinder.”

The bachelor remained a fixture of public life and popular culture throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. One of the most important developments in bachelor culture was the emergence of sporting-male societies in the early eighteen hundreds, which celebrated male friendship, exclusive clubs, and vigorous exercise. In American sporting-male culture, middle- and working-class men spent time together in gambling houses, brothels, and billiard clubs; their independence and autonomy were held up as markers of masculinity among their peers — having a wife and children was a trap to be avoided for any man who valued his freedom. Some sporting-male bachelors had left t上海千花坊网址heir families in other countries or in other parts of the country, resulting in less surveillance from relatives and communities. And even though many bachelors held down steady white-collar jobs and lived with family members, many who had blue-collar jobs lived alone in boarding or rooming houses (some of these houses were exclusively held for bachelors, and became clubhouses as well as lodging). One example of this celebration of homosocial (and sometimes homosexual) bachelor subculture is the -essay collection by writer Donald Mitchell, called Reveries of a Bachelor, published in 1850:

Can a man stake his bachelor respectability, his independence, and comfort, upon the die of absorbing, unchanging, relentless marriage, without trembling at the venture? Shall a man who has been free to chase his fancies over the wide-world, without let or hindrance, shut himself up to marriage-ship, within four walls called Home, that are to claim him, his time, his trouble, and his tears, thenceforward forever more, without doubts thick, and thick-coming as Smoke?

By 1900, the image of the bachelor had become firmly intertwined with the image of the rugged American man — a Marlboro Man-type who embodied a frontier spirit of self-reliance and separation from workplace hierarchies, salaried jobs, and the demands of marriage and family life. Around this time, a growing parenting movement encouraged middle-class men to be more involved in their children’s lives, to a point; it was thought that fathers could provide necessary moral and career knowledge to their sons. So while more middle-class men engaged in childrearing activities that kept them closer to home, popular literature, film, and advertising celebrated the lone wolf persona of the bachelor in his many forms: hardboiled detective, rugged adventurer, artist, or writer. In all of these situations, it was the detachment of the man from his environment, along with his rejection of class structure that made him an appealing character to readers and viewers.

In the twenties and thirties, the bachelor rose to prominence in pop culture as a symbol of a hedonistic life that some men were leading, and others wished they could. Unmarried or married, George Chauncey writes in “Trade, Wolves, and the Boundaries of Normal Manhood,” the bachelor subcultures of nineteen-twenties New York, particularly for working-class immigrants, were home to men who “forged an alternative definition of manliness that was predicated on a rejection of family obligations.” This rejection was often based on immigration or migration circumstances, but in other cases, it was a choice to be a bachelor, or at least to pretend to be one to avoid responsibility or to meet other men.

This wishful thinking fuelled Esquire’s approach to the bachelor lifestyle. Esquire’s reign as the king of American men’s magazines began in 1933, when its founder and first editor, Arnold Gingrich, envisioned a magazine made for men who enjoyed luxury in all its forms. Before Esquire, magazines were either general interest publications like the Saturday Evening Post, which assumed a mostly male readership, or were aimed at women, like The Ladies’ Home Journal. According to Leslie Newton’s article, “Picturing Smartness: Cartoons in the New Yorker, Vanity Fair and Esquire in the Age of Cultural Celebrities,” Gingrich’s first editorial declared that Esquire was the magazine designed for “the cream of that great middle class between nobility and the peasantry. In a market sense . . . Esquire means simply Mister — the man of the middle class.” This ideal reader was sophisticated, rich, and interested in the finer things in life. He also did what he wanted — freedom from obligation was crucial to the Esquire brand, and that obligation extended to freedom from women. Instead of highlighting the realities of single life, Esquire‘s portrayal of bachelorhood was based on looking and acting the part of the swinging ladies’ man, even though most of the magazine’s readers were married. Esquire’s idealized postwar bachelor had no obligations outside of his own desire for women and luxury products (often considered one in the same). He bought his own clothes, drove his own car, and took solo vacations to exotic places. The bachelor became a symbol of postwar consumerism and hedonism, and as a result, became a symbol of freedom for white American men looking for a way to feel important again. Because Esquire relied on corporate advertising to continue existing, overthrowing corporate hierarchy and stratification didn’t factor into their discussions of masculine rejuvenation. In the Handbook, women were presented as an obstacle to men’s success at entertaining, which reinforced the theory that women were ultimately responsible for men’s inability to control their lives.

The ideal life of the bachelor may have been one of absolute freedom, but the instructional elements of the Handbook made it clear that there was a right way to live a bachelor life, and it involved buying the right clothes, décor, food, and drinks. By lumping bachelors and married men together, the book’s editors implied that one could be a bachelor in every way but semantics, if he could follow the rules. Esquire encouraged both groups to consider themselves part of a new revolution in bachelorhood that didn’t actually require a man to be single, but to act like he was one by purchasing the luxury clothes, food, and other items necessary to convey a hedonistic lifestyle. In the “Be Merry” section of the Handbook, the editors allude to this shift, writing: “All of the delicious shudders and social taboos have been eliminated from the once daring adventure of ‘visiting a bachelor in his rooms,’ at least so far as adults are concerned.”

In Playboys in Paradise: Masculinity, Youth, and Leisure-style in Modern America, Bill Osgerby highlights the importance of the home in asserting new bachelorhood, even if the men who participated were actually married. The “bachelor pad” was a touchstone of fifties and sixties popular culture, from blueprint designs of “Playboy’s Penthouse” to the lavish bachelor pads in movies like Some Like it Hot and Pillow Talk. (Osgerby points out that Rock Hudson was held up as a symbol of sixties male hedonism in part due to his film roles as a “swinging” bachelor.) The Handbook hints at this development a decade earlier with a note for bachelors hoping to entertain:

Granting that you are a bachelor and not a hermit, that you are going to entertain pretty regularly in the apartment and not spend all of their time prowling after a pair of nylon legs, here are a few simple suggestions on what to wear when the friends come around for a few drinks.


The most important theme in the book is the emphasis on men’s choices: Choosing to entertain was a way to retain control over an area of life that was dominated by women. In its opening section, “Eat,” the Handbook editors laid out rules for making meals that were complex and exotic, as a way to show off skills in the kitchen rather than to feed a family. This approach helped to distinguish between what women did in the kitchen and what men could do (if they followed Esquire’s guidelines).

A bride takes up cooking because she must, whether she’s an eat-to-live gal or just medium-bored with the whole idea. But a man takes to the stove because he is interested in cooking, therefore he has long been interested in eating and therefore he starts six lengths in front of the average female.

The section notes the presence of women in the kitchen, which made the content accessible to married readers who made up the majority of Esquire’s readership, while also making it clear that they should aspire to be more like the bachelor who could cook both gourmet meals and food from a can with the same sense of ease and sense of adventure.

After suffering steam-table tastelessness or misplaced housewifely economy, any palate will perk up at the taste of fresh fish, properly prepared — by a man. (Women don’t seem to understand fish — and, we suppose, vice versa.)

In the Handbook, home décor is also essential to the reader’s self-presentation:

Modern design — modern china and linens were made for men: simple and striking, they are utterly devoid of pink rosebuds and fancy volutes. Your tablecloth or runners will probably be in sold colour linen — wine, gray, bright blue or rust being the most popular… Your china will be plain white or gray, with block initials or a modern striped border, and your silverware will be decidedly streamlined.

The Handbook shows over and over again that women have no choice but to cook bland food and throw boring parties, but a man can choose to do those things better than women, which allows him some semblance of control over his life. It also reinforced the Esquire man’s superiority over women, precisely because he could choose to take over her domain, and with the right training, he could do it in a way that would garner respect from both women and men in his life.

As Playboy overtook Esquire at the top of the men’s magazine market in the nineteen sixties, the importance of consumerism had fully replaced the importance of moral character and societal contributions in forming a true masculine identity. Playboy was more overt in its appeal to single men, who were often younger than Esquire’s target demographic, and who were more comfortable with conspicuous consumption of food, clothes, and home décor. But as second-wave feminism pushed back against the sexism of magazines like Esquire and Playboy in the late sixties and early seventies, and as new models of male parenting and partnership emphasized sensitivity and affection instead of disciplinarian behaviour, hedonism became less fashionable for middle-class men. The rich sixties also gave way to the recession-era seventies, and it was harder to afford (and to justify) the luxury products that came with the swinging bachelor lifestyle. The wealthy bachelor began to look antiquated and passé, as the womanizing behaviour of Esquire men was associated more and more with the newer and brasher magazines like Penthouse and Hustler, which pushed the envelope even further when it came to sexual content.


By the nineties, Esquire had rebranded as a classy fashion magazine as newer publications like GQ and Details gained in popularity among readers. In 1995, Advertising Age reported on an Esquire reader survey that highlighted the profile of the typical reader in the nineties:

The typical Esquire reader, as defined by the six types of men defined in the survey, is an ‘ambitious contender’ or ‘comfortable leader,’ according to [Esquire publisher] Mr. Burstein. An ambitious contender represents 14% of the U.S. population, is 31, educated (84% college graduates), and affluent ($58,000 average household income). Almost half, or 49%, are married and 43% have children. An ambitious contender also prioritizes marriage but is not focused on child-rearing, has positive views on women’s roles, is among the most technology-savvy of his peers, banks his cash, and is confident.

Even though almost half of the readers surveyed were married, the bachelor was still present in the magazine’s content and in pop culture more widely. The June 1993 Esquire cover featured Mark Wahlberg tied to a tree, alongside a quote from Lynn Darling’s short story “Sex and the Single Guy”: It’s not easy being the scion of a dying Wasp culture when women have more confidence, gay men have more style, and everyone seems to have the right to be angry with you.” Darling’s protagonist, John Talbot, is a New York City editor who is stuck between old and new expectations of manhood:

Talbot’s generation is defined by the expectations of women, some of them angry, some understanding, all of them players in an edgy, anxious game. He is too young to be the old traditional male, confident, cosmopolitan, able to wield a martini glass and a fly-casting rod with equal precision. And he’s seen what has happened to the New Male, sensitive, caring, and so tedious that women turn from him like revolted gourmets from a tofuburger.

As the story continues, Talbot meets a cool girl named Johanna, who doesn’t want kids and understands that Talbot needs space and time to be himself. Talbot lies in bed at the end of the story, thinking: “To be in bed with your girlfriend, actually sleeping with your girlfriend, that was the most fun. Not having to prove yourself, just regular naked sex.” This combination of sixties womanizing and nineties New Male sensitivity is paralleled in other pop culture products from the era. From the sensitive yet cutthroat venture capitalist Richard Gere in Pretty Woman to Steve Gutenberg’s millionaire with a heart of gold in It Takes Two, the combination of sensitivity and power was an important part of how Esquire treated its readers (and their readers’ wives and girlfriends) into the twenty-first century as the swinging bachelor fell out of fashion entirely.

For the most part, the single man is still presented in Esquire as the one who has the most control over his life, and as a result, is the most masculine one can aspire to be. The magazine’s “Sexiest Woman Alive” is still a yearly event, and Esquire’s April 2015 print issue is devoted to “Women & Men: An Issue On Our Current Difficulties,” as if to suggest that there might be a power struggle at play. Like the “Sex and the Single Guy” feature of 1993, “Current Difficulties” focuses on how men’s lives have changed since women have gained more power at home and at work, implying that men may have made compromises that have negatively affected their freedom. And as in the sixties swinging bachelor era, corporate work culture is still not to blame (neither is patriarchy).

Today’s Esquire appears to be more casual in their approach to “doing” masculinity. There are no sexist cartoons or “scientific” articles about the ineptitudes of women. The magazine started 2015 by inviting the editors of ELLE to critique the issue, as well as removing the “Eat Like a Man” tag from their food section in the March 2015 issue. The new iteration of the Esquire bachelor doesn’t exclusively socialize with men like in sporting culture, nor does he explicitly co-opt women’s roles at home like in the Handbook.

But even as he makes himself comfortable in domestic and public settings, there is still a narrative of conquest and control that has carried through since the Handbook was released: Take the section “Man at His Best,” which features articles on cooking, cleaning, home furnishing, and technology. In August 2013’s tech piece, “Man at His Best” (now shortened to MAHB) explains how to do laundry without using the word “housework.” In a December 2013 article on how to build your own fire pit, the writer claims that the pit will show off building skills and make your backyard look more impressive. There are also numerous fashion spreads and instructional pieces on how to dress your way to success in business and in social life. Maybe most telling of Esquire’s connection to its past is the release of the 2014 book How to be a Man: A Handbook of Advice, Inspiration, and Occasional Drinking, by the editors of the Esquire. Much like the original Handbook, How to be a Man covers a range of essential knowledge for the modern Esquire reader, including “kitchen tools” (pots and pans) and how to carve a turkey as if it were surgery. As with the Handbook, entertaining is not something a man has to do, but is something he wants to do — a way to exercise his freedom in a seemingly constricted world.

Even though the word has been mostly replaced by other descriptors of unmarried men in the city, the symbol of the bachelor is still crucial to Esquire’s sense of itself and its readership. Men are still being introduced to activities like consumerism and duties like housekeeping in a way that emphasizes their freedom to choose these tasks and to conquer them as they might have conquered the frontier two hundred years ago. Magazines like Esquire are vehicles to help guide this thinking, and to assure readers that they’re doing the right thing for themselves and for society as a whole. That assurance relies on traditional figures like a lone wolf bachelor who never compromises for a woman, even if he’s compromised a lot more to fit in with other men. For every crisis of masculinity, there is a bachelor ready to face the threat of a woman by beating her at her own game: domesticity.

Top photo by thatjcrewginghamshirt; scan of the Handbook by Mixed Up Monster Club

Corrections: This piece originally incorrectly dated Donald Mitchell’s book — and he was American, not British. Sorry for the errors!!!

A Poem by 上海千花坊半套Noah Falck

by Mark Bibbins, Editor

Poem Excluding Babysitter

As we drive past the cemetery we hold

our breath for several minutes. Our

faces grow obscene floral patterns. In

our breathlessness, our skulls empty

themselves. Trees in winter. Our

children in the backseat became the

moral of the story — startling us with

propaganda, with sudden musicality,


with their small, loose teeth.

Noah Falck is the author of Snowmen Losing Weight, and several chapbooks including Celebrity Dream Poems and Life as a Crossword Puzzle. He works as education director at Just Buffalo Literary Center and co-curates the Silo City Reading Series in an abandoned grain silo along the Buffalo River.

You will find more poems here. You may contact the editor at poems@theawl.com.

Happy Crying 千花网上海千花坊Day

My longstanding dream has been to open a series of Crying Spaces, where people can come during the day to sit in a small room and weep privately. I think that these would do especially well in urban areas like New York, where the population density and cost of living usually forces you to share space with other people. Rather than wait until your roommate or significant other is out of the apartment, rather than hope that none of your coworkers will hear you stifling sobs in the stall, you could come to the Crying Space and just let it all out secure in the knowledge that the only one who’s ever going to know about the tears you shed is the guy at the front who hands you the box of Kleenex and the Terms of Endearment DVD. While I believe in my heart that this could be an immensely profitable business, I have yet to secure its funding, so it will for the moment remain just a glimmer in my damp eyes. But in this spirit I am naming today National Go Have Yourself A Sob Day. (It is important that w千花坊021上海e do this today rather than tomorrow because I do not want anyone to confuse your sadness with something related to Valentine’s Day, which is no less ludicrous a holiday than the one I am proposing.) Here’s the deal: Head somewhere you feel comfortable crying, think about all the bad decisions you’ve made or the unfortunate luck you’ve had or the departed friends and family you miss so desperately or basically just the crushing burden of existence, and let her rip. The rest of us promise to completely ignore you. It’s no less than we all deserve.

Photo by Ed Yourdon, from Flickr.

Public Wa上海千花坊足浴发廊terworks



As with so many other things in life, Kim Kardashian is the gold standard against which we measure the ugliness of our crying faces. Among Kim’s endless portfolio of magazine covers, red carpet looks and high-fashion shoots is a collection of equally popular photos of the celebrity in hysterics — mouth agape, makeup still intact (thank God). The most iconic image of the crying Kardashian comes from an episode of “Kourtney and Kim Take New York” when she laments her failed marriage to Kris Humphries. This screencap is now purchasable in nearly every form, with Kim’s floating head appearing on t-shirts, earrings, phone cases, pillows and clothing.

Of course, Kim had no choice in the matter; she hasn’t known a private moment since Keeping Up with the Kardashians started airing in 2007. Yet many of us choose to forego our own privacy and take photos of ourselves crying, catapulting them onto our Instagram, Tumblr, or Facebook accounts. On the night before our college graduation, my friend Ben, with tears streaming down his face, asked, “Can we take more crying selfies?” Millennial vanity would be a trite explanation for this phenomenon; by making our grief public, we let ourselves and others know grief is not felt in isolation.

Crying in public becom夜上海千花坊es less acceptable as you grow older. This is one of the things I envy babies for most: It’s permissible for them to wear pajamas in public, to fall asleep anywhere, and to cry at any moment. But big girls don’t cry — except at the grocery store, at the bank, or on the subway. Since most of city-dwellers’ lives are spent in public, and there’s only so long you can hold it in, whatever it is, cities are breeding grounds for public displays of emotion. A hotel in Tokyo has found a way to capitalize on this problem, offering crying rooms stocked with sad-girl necessities: tissues, eye masks, make-up remover and an array of melancholy movies.

Still, New York City distinguishes itself as the capital for crying in public. The New York Times, Gothamist, and New York magazine have published ruminative Op-eds and comprehensive crying guides complete with gloomy playlists on the subject, providing tips for repeated offenders (always carry sunglasses) and suggesting places that might offer temporary respite for the tearful (parks, department stores). A Tumblr account called Crying New York has dedicated an entire website to the cause. Stare at yourself dramatically in a city puddle, the blog’s founder, Kerry O’Brien, suggests, while the daring may opt for weeping atop a double-decker tour bus in the rain. Cry on the S Train; it only has two stops. The world is your fainting couch, that free tabloid, your handkerchief. One day New York might catch up with Tokyo.

When a woman is seen crying in public, a few things might happen to her. If she’s lucky, she’ll be ignored. Though we often lament the stone-faced New Yorker, intent on getting to their destination with minimal human interaction, here is where they shine: They leave the crying person alone. In a moment where stress, frustration, sadness — or, in many cases, all three — reach a pressure point, the last thing we want is to have to assure a crowd of strangers, we’re okay, we’re okay, we’re okay. (For better or for worse, men who cry in public are nearly invisible, since society doesn’t know what to do with crying men anyway.)

If, like me, the crying woman is unlucky, she’ll be swarmed by kindhearted strangers. These are the same people who say “sorry” when they bump into you on the sidewalk or hold the doors open as you run toward the subway train about to pull away. But here, their kindness is misplaced. Usually, there’s nothing you can do to help the situation; better to let the weepy have a private moment. Consider public crying the equivalent of a “do not disturb sign,” a shade drawn over a window.

Evolutionarily speaking, the reasons why anyone cries are pretty paper thin. It was long thought that crying had no evolutionary purpose at all. Sure, we need tears to clean and protect our eyes, but why should they have any emotional meaning? Randy Cornelius, a professor of psychology at Vassar College, told NPR that there are a few theories. “Crying may have evolved as a kind of signal,” he said, “a signal that was valuable because it could only be picked up by those closest to us who could actually see our tears. Tears let our intimates in — people within a couple feet of us, who would be more likely to help.”

But if this is true, crying in public is certainly useless. Instead of opening ourselves up to family or friends who understand our sadness or can at least provide words of comfort, crying in public is to offer ourselves up to unsuspecting strangers. Most of them are uninterested in our tears, and that’s fine. Let the tears come; New York is hot, the G train will be down, and the line for cold-brew iced coffee too long.

Are上海千花坊2005 You a Hotel?

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Airbnb works at nothing so hard as arguing that it is good for the local economies — bringing new, spendy people to town while it helps regular folks pay their rent — and not a twenty-four-billion-dollar company that is siphoning off an already highly constrained supply of apartments in cities like New York. Except, perhaps, putting forward the idea that it is most definitely not a hotel operator. This is largely for regulatory, rather than rhetorical, reasons — allowing Airbnb and its hosts to duck taxes, rules, and other annoying government things that would get in the way of smooth, efficient distribution of space for optimal revenue generation.

And yet! It turns out that when one company manages an enormous inventory of temporary lodgings, the gravity of efficiency tends to pull it and its agents toward acting, in many ways, just like a hotel operator. As Airbnb has passed forty million users, the gravity toward that model has become so strong now that, as the New York Times shows, a secondary industry has emerged to sell the services and accommodations that Airbnb has so far willfully declined to provide in order to continue to semi-credibly claim that it is not a hotel operator, like professionalized cleaning services (which Airbnb is now testing, haha):

“We make it completely seamless and hassle-free for the owner and the guest as well,” said Evan Frank, a founder of onefinestay, a five-year-old company offering end-to-end rental management for upscale homes in New York, Los Angeles, Paris and London.

To ensure you don’t have to lift a finger, onefinestay first photographs and then stores your personal possessions, including the soap in your shower. It replaces your toiletries with its own toiletries. Beds are made with hotel-quality linens and refrigerators are stocked. Before you return, everything is cleaned and put back the way it was, right down to that bar of soap.

Onefinestay won’t take on just any old place. You must apply to be accepted on its roster. If your abode is deemed worthy, the company will list it on its site, as well as on HomeAway, VRBO and other rental sites, handling reservations, collecting and remitting occupancy taxes and meeting guests for check-in. For such high-touch service, onefinestay takes anywhere from 20 percent to 50 percent of the proceeds, depending on how often and for how long you plan to rent out the space.

By focusing on details that rental hosts may not hav上海千花坊qianhua.she the time or disposition for, the start-ups aim to bring hotel standards to the online vacation rental market. Onefinestay requires each property in its portfolio to adhere to strict standards outlined in what Mr. Frank describes as an “inch-thick” manual, from the number of wine glasses available for guests to the thickness of the mattress (at least five inches).

It almost sounds… like a hotel? Pop quiz: Who is the hotel operator here: the host, onefinestay, or Airbnb?

上海居家推油千花坊What’s in a Weird Name

by Chris Wiewiora


After I graduated from college, I received a message from the e-mail handle “we.wore.a,” which belonged to a Brett Wiewiora. He said that he Googled his last name every once in awhile hoping that his brother Eric had been knocked out of “first place.” He also sometimes looked for other Wiewioras — his family had emigrated from somewhere in Poland to Pennsylvania at the turn of the twentieth century, and he wanted to compare notes about being a Wiewiora.


My mother loves to explain to people that “‘Wiewiora’ is Polish for ‘squirrel,’” before mentioning, “My maiden name is Almond.” Then she adds, “Like the nut.”


This year, at Grandma’s house, I found a set of photos from September, 1984. On the back of one, blue ink and Dad’s cursive print reads: Rich Wiewióra with his cousin, Witold Wiewióra, in the cousin’s home on ul. Swierczewskiego, house number 21, in Gorlice, Poland.

I e-mailed Brett what I knew about my Wiewiora family: Dad’s mother met Dad’s father in England after she survived the Nazi work camps and after he de-mobilized from the Allies’ branch of the Polish army. They got married and then Dad was born in England; they immigrated to Chicago. Grandma had been from Southeastern Poland in a village without a name anymore because it is now in Ukraine, but I didn’t know where Dad’s father was from. I included a side note about the difference we had in pronouncing our last name.


Mom’s maiden name can be traced all the way to the Almond River in Scotland.


When Dad was twenty years old his father died without having returned to Poland or contacting his family.

The first text link on Google for “Wiewiora” goes to the University of California — San Diego’s website for PhD alumnus Eric Wiewiora.


When my parents married, Mom nicknamed Dad “Viv.”


I called Dad to ask about the photos and he told me that in Warsaw he met this woman with the same last name as him — she said she was from Gorlice, where other Wiewioras lived. Dad knew his father was born close by, in Nowy Sącz. The woman got in touch with the other Wiewioras; they were his family. The son of the ghost of the long lost son was returning home.

Eric Wiewiora’s online CV lists his research interests such as Reinforcement Learning Theory with a sub-focus in Exploration vs. Exploitation as well as Unsupervised Learning and the sub-focus of Clustering.


In public school other students called me, “Weewee.”


Dad took a passenger train from Warsaw to Krakow — the new capitol to the old capitol — and then a wooden train from Nowy Sącz to Gorlice to meet his cousin Witold, who then took him back to a church off the town square in Nowy Sącz, where dad got an official copy of his father’s baptismal records in Latin. He found out that his father’s father had worked on the railroad at the turn of the century; the church had a stain glass window of a locomotive pulling its cargo out of a tunnel.

I Googled Brett Wiewiora. (He doesn’t even show up on the first page when you Google “Wiewiora.”) A video of him in a cap and gown appeared. During his commencement day, he stared into a camera and introduced himself the same way his e-mail was spelled. Instead of X-ing out of the clip, I continued to watch as he reached into a container on a chair to pull out a slip of paper.


I tell people to pronounce Wiewiora with the Ws as Vs.


Dad visited the grave of his father’s brother, Blazej. Dad told me the name translates into English as Blaze. For some reason he added, “Blaze is the Saint of Throats.”

Eric’s research is similar to essaying: reflection, speculation, self-interrogation, digression, and projection.


In high school, I read an article in the Orlando Sentinel about another Wiewiora family who also lived in Central Florida who was getting their pool refurbished on the Home & Garden channel. On YouTube, I searched and found what I now think of as the “Unspoken Wiewiora” episode. The host never even attempted to say their last name.


Dad said that it would have been dangerous for his father, a former freedom fighter in America, to reconnect with his family in Soviet-controlled Poland.

Toward the end of college, I got my first and last name as my Gmail account. Also, I bought my name as a domain using 指压推油 上海千花坊my Gmail as my account contact info.


At my high school commencement an administrator said, “Christopher We-wore-a.” I shook my head as I took my diploma. Grandma, who had flown down from Chicago to Orlando, fumed the entire weekend as if our last name was common.


“Why did your husband never get in touch with other Wiewioras?” I asked.

“They just would have wanted money,” Grandma said.

In his commencement day video, Brett reads from the slip of paper a question: What is one virtue you wish for all humankind to possess? Brett says that it’s not exactly a virtue, but it’s one of his favorite sayings: “Check yourself before you wreck yourself.” He holds back a chuckle and goes on to explain, “Your opinion may not jive with someone else’s opinion, but it’s based on your experiences, you know, you should be aware of that.”


At one job in college, I was called, “Veev!” I didn’t mind that too much.


Dad served as a missionary — undercover, first as Russian major student and then as a furniture businessman — in Soviet Poland.

I thought it was rude that Brett never e-mailed me again.


I did not walk when I earned my bachelor’s or master’s degrees.


Dad said he brought home a souvenir from his trip to his cousin’s, a wooden coat hanger made in Gorlice. He doesn’t know where it is now.

Photo by likeaduck

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