An open response to Taylor Swift’s rant against Apple

Not worth it!

Junction10 Photography

* Updated : Following a statement released by Taylor Swift’s UK agent, I have responded here*

Dear Taylor Swift,

I have read your open letter to Apple where you give your reasons for refusing to allow your album ‘1989′ to be included on their forthcoming Apple Music streaming service.  

(For reference: http://taylorswift.tumblr.com/post/122071902085/to-apple-love-taylor)

I applaud it. It’s great to have someone with a huge following standing up for the rights of creative people and making a stand against the corporate behemoths who have so much power they can make or break someone’s career. 

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The Baguette That Got Away

Crohn's & the Real Girl

I have a complicated relationship with baguettes.

When I was 16, I won this scholarship to study in Paris for a month. Naturally, my diet for the entirety of my stay largely consisted of whole baguettes eaten in one sitting and what can only be described as jugs of Orangina.

Get in me, you sweet crunchy pieces of heaven. (Photo credit: Julie Kertesz http://ow.ly/OfS6X) Get in me, you sweet crunchy pieces of heaven. (Photo credit: Julie Kertesz http://ow.ly/OfS6X)

It was a magical time. I gained two pants sizes. I finally got boobs. Life was good.

When I came home, my almost-daily baguette consumption continued. Crunchy, soft, warm, and sweet. I couldn’t get enough. My interest in other kinds of bread had been left behind in Paris with my too-small pants and my training bra.

Now, let’s jump ahead a few years on the Real Girl Timeline to 2012. I was in Los Angeles for my first ever Bruce Springsteen concert. Another magical time. (Except…

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Tomorrow She is Never Again Four Years Old (Not Even One Dot)

jen groeber: mama art

I look at the clock and it’s 11:34 pm. I picture my newly minted five-year-old, asleep in her bed, covered with the Hello Kitty blanket I stayed up until past midnight last night to make, her hands curled under her ear, like the fiddlehead ferns she begged me to buy in the grocery store last week. I wonder, does she know that she has twenty-six minutes (now twenty) left of being in the in-between?

Because on her birthday this morning, she began as a four-year-old. And four-year-olds are young. They’re like babies. They go to pre-school. They say things like, “I liked it, but only one dot,” and everyone nods in wonderment. They are allowed to lisp. They always get right of way, whether on a bike or in a pool or playing Skipbo. Because they’re just four. And everyone else, at least everyone else in my house…

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