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“Oh my god! I love Josh!” —Clueless
He is a little hostile, but also patient, like a German schoolteacher. And eventually it gets done.
And while she’s definitely better than Rich, who graduated from Harvard but still can’t spell Wednesday, it’s not clear that she’s better than Josh, who can do a discounted cash flow with his eyes.
“White people with penises.”
‘Mathematics is the music of reason,’ ”
lately that kind of explicitly break down race and gender as being highly predictive of economic outcomes even when controlling for things like parental
income and education. It’s… compelling.”
“the Jess problem would be complex. Profound. Deterministic. Meaning the solution would be specific. Singular. Nongeneralizable. Just a beautiful, intractable problem, for which there exists no suitable generalization”—he is making intense eye contact—“yet.”
“Your heart rate is elevated”—he peers into her eyes—“and your pupils are dilated. And right now, look, you’re mirroring my body language almost perfectly. It’s just… completely obvious.”
baby socks dot the sidewalks, like Easter eggs, delicate and forgotten and pastel-colored.
hat. It makes Jess think of racism and hatred and systemic inequality, and the Ku Klux Klan, and plantation-wedding Pinterest boards, and lynchings, and George Zimmerman, and the Central Park Five, and redlining, and gerrymandering and the Southern strategy, and decades of propaganda and Fox News and conservative radio, and rabid evangelicals, and rape and pillage and plunder and plutocracy and money in politics and the dumbing down of civil discourse and domestic terrorism and white nationalists and
school shootings and the growing fear of a nonwhite, non-English-speaking majority and the slow death of the social safety net and conspiracy theory culture and the white working class and social atomism and reality television and fake news and the prison-industrial complex and celebrity culture and the girl in fourth grade who told Jess that since she—Jess—was “naturally unclean” she couldn’t come over for birthday cake, and executive compensation, and mediocre white men, and the guy in college who sent around an article about how people who listen to Radiohead are smarter than people who
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and of bigotry and small pox blankets and gross guys grabbing your butt on the subway, and slave auctions and Confederate monuments and Jim Crow and fire hoses and separate but equal and racist jokes that aren’t funny and internet trolls and incels and golf courses that ban women and voter suppression and police brutality and crony capitalism and corporate corruption and innocent children, so many innocent children, and the Tea Party and Sarah Palin and birthers and flat-earthers and states’ rights and disgu...
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it was her thirteenth birthday, and Josh—now it makes ...
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Love conquers all, except geography, and history, and contemporary sociopolitical reality.
“Jess, I called because I can’t live without you in my
“It’s a baby cat,” Jess explains. “A kitten,” Josh clarifies.
There is no judgment in love.
