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Quote by Francesca Zappia

“I was diagnosed a thirteen. Paranoid got tacked on about a year later, after I verbally attacked a librarian for trying to hand me propaganda pamphlets for an underground communist force operating out of the basement of the public library. (She'd always been a very suspect type of librarian--I refuse to believe donning rubber gloves to handle books is a normal and accepted practice, and I don't care what anyone says.)”

Quote by Francesca Zappia

Book:Made You Up
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Made You Up

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Francesca Zappia

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“Let it be emphasized once more, and especially to anyone inclined to a personally rewarding skepticism in these matters: for practical purposes, the financial memory should be assumed to last, at a maximum, no more than 20 years. This is normally the time it takes for the recollection of one disaster to be erased and for some variant on previous dementia to come forward to capture the financial mind. It is also the time generally required for a new generation to enter the scene, impressed, as had been its predecessors, with its own innovative genius.”

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“The way it’s going… (166 words) A foul-mouthed Pee-wee Herman runs for president. People finally realize what a racist, xenophobic, misogynistic, and homophobic bigot he is. He’s clearly not a politician. Rather, he’s someone who speaks his mind, and that makes him relatable. Herman runs against a faceless, forgettable career backbencher who’s been wrong on every issue for half a century, has become a multimillionaire without a legal avenue to attaining his fortune, and who you’re told you have to vote for because he’s experienced. Last year, we were told that the politician had a lobotomy, but the alternative is even worse. The voters will be hit with a tsunami of stomach-turning, deceptive ads and told that they have to vote for one of the two, or else they’ll be throwing away their democracy. In four years, they’ll run Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s coat for president. No one will notice. His coat will have more integrity than all of the idiots in recent years they’ve presented to us so we can confirm them.”

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“Otis, on the other hand, didn't miss home a bit. He had always hated the stairs in our house in Massachusetts. He was now five years old and very large for a golden retriever. I thought he was fat, but Bruce insisted he was just "big-boned". Either way, climbing the steep stairs at home was a challenge. Whenever Bruce and I went upstairs, Otis would sit near the bottom step, carefully calculating whether we would be on the second floor long enough to make it worthwhile to heave himself up the stairs. And on the way down the stairs, Otis was like a fully loaded eighteen-wheeler barreling down a steep hill. We just got out of his way. But in the new Washington apartment building, Otis had an elevator. As far as he was concerned, life was sweet.”

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