A short newsletter with tiny animals, art, and Bruce Springsteen
He really does look good in coveralls
Hey, guess what! Chicken butt. Yes. Of course. But furthermore: please remember that our show exists because of listener donations. If you’ve donated, THANK YOU. If not, it’s easy: go here, pick a level that works for you, then select DEPRESH MODE from the list of shows.
Okay, clearly we need to get some t-shirts made
There’s a new show on the Max Fun network called Just the Zoo of Us and it’s all about animals. They picked out some animal pals for each Max Fun show and I am so thrilled with who we got. The o’opu nopili! The waterfall-climbing goby! Look at that rascal go!
Maybe we should get someone to draw a cartoon mascot for us but maybe I should do it myself.
They call me/them/it Bruce.
Some really good mental health writing going up in the NYT lately, including this piece from Lily Burana.
I was not only “mentally ill,” nor was I merely “neurodivergent.” “Serotonin-deprived with executive dysfunction rising,” while a clever description, was more likely to be taken for an odd diagnosis than for the joke that it was. For expediency’s sake, I gave the whole bundle a nickname: “Bruce,” in homage to Springsteen, who has been open about his own struggles with mental health. The nickname allows me to efficiently keep people apprised of my status, as in: “Bruce has really been bringing me down this week.” The nickname helps me lighten up about my own darkness.
And we all know where that darkness lives. That’s right:
On the edge of town!
Here are two videos I like:
Bruce doing I think the only acting I’ve seen him do in the video for “I’m on Fire”. I like to think that the “hoo-HOO-hoo” parts are him being literally on fire.
And here’s a Rick Springfield song about being mistaken for Bruce:
Come on, Rick. Don’t have done this.
On anxiety, partnership, and parenting
I missed this Modern Love entry from August. It’s worth a read for an account of anxiety and OCD compounding.
It wasn’t just the stove. Mike became terrified of anything he thought might harm us. When summer came, he forbade us from eating blueberries from the bushes on our deck because the wood in the planters might have been treated with arsenic that could have leached into the soil. Concerns of food poisoning and botulism meant we had to throw out perishable food anywhere near its expiration date. Whenever we left for a trip, he always had to drive back home at least once to check the oven and doors. He spotted poisonous plants around our neighborhood and made us steer clear.
Keeping it short today
My thoughts are with my friends Frances and John Smersh of Seattle. Frances passed away from early onset Alzheimer’s and her official memorial is this weekend. She was a brilliant artist and a vast cargo ship of love. It’s a comfort that when I think of her, she’s always laughing.
As her disease progressed, she kept painting.
Make stuff, friends. Make. Stuff. It’s the best way in this world we got.