You may notice comments are turned off for now. This is because if I go into labor, I do not want to return to a bunch of notifications and feel overwhelmed/obligated to respond. Thank you all for the kind words these last nine months. Cannot believe we’ll meet our daughter so soon!
Over the weekend, Andrew and I went to The Cheesecake Factory. Our final hoorah before the baby and I said take me down to the paradise city where the menu has 300 items and I can really queen out in unabashed American indulgence. This marked year three of my annual trip to Cheesecake: a tradition I stumbled into when I took my friend George for his birthday two years ago.
This round was a bit of a disaster. Both of our meals sucked. My chicken was rubber. Andrew found mysterious chunks of plastic in his salad??? And so grows the list of Dinner Dates Gone Wrong where, afterward, we sit in the car and talk about how we never want to dine out again. It was especially sad for me because I still had this fuzzy nostalgia for chain restaurants, and had convinced myself that such bastions of cheap excess would always be aligned with who I am as a person, only to walk away certain of the opposite.
Getting older in these bodies that demand such care, such leafy green attention to what strengthens and what saps… kind of a drag, but worth honoring. I’ve aged out of feeling like shit. You will, too, if you haven’t already.
On another note, I fear this could be the last you hear from me for a minute, save for the obligatory “welcome to the world, baby!” post announcing some undetermined period of silence as I get in the swing of motherhood. This would be fine if I wasn’t working on a million pieces that I’d hoped to release, but such is life. :) They aren’t going anywhere and hopefully, you guys aren’t, either.
Here’s what I’m up to and into this week…
My new favorite ASMR is ballerinas breaking in toe shoes. You know how certain compliments stand out among all the insults you’ve heard in your life? Freshman year of college, this hot Puerto Rican soccer player told me I looked like a BALLERINA. Now, I had never danced in my life and she got busted for selling pills, but the point is, I always dreamt of it. I’d been raised on tough love and raggedy sweatpants, a cheerleader for a decade, decidedly more spice than sugar. But how I longed to be beauty and grace! Tight-bunned in pink chiffon! Now I get my fix from ballet TikTok, watching dancers crack their toe shoes and beat them against the ground to “make the landings quieter.” So satisfying.
The song I have on loop is ”Flooded the Face” by Lil Uzi Vert. Uzi is a creative genius I’ve been thinking/writing about a lot. An icon with Queen JT under their demonic spell, their art is secondary to their energy in terms of what inspires me. This leads me to a statement that may only make sense to me, and I’m ok with that: I am not anti-intellectualism; I am PRO-SWAG. I am for the ecosystem of artists whose music, movies, books, etc. might not drive us forward culturally, but who are COOL FOR THE SAKE OF COOL. That feeds me as a writer, you know? A different kind of language erupts from observing Uzi’s spunky personality and mannerisms and dare I say aura versus their art. Watch this Pitchfork Over/Under from December. Spelunking is crazy but I mean, pull up if you really with it.
If you have been diagnosed with Obsessive Thrifting Disorder, you may be entitled to compensation. And if you’re like me, you’ll cash that check and head straight to Goodwill. Most of my belongings are secondhand. I’ve been an avid thrifter since I was a teen. But because thrifting is like, the only activity that hits for me at ~39 goddamn weeks pregnant, I’ve been overdoing it. I’m talking three weekends in a row plucking the racks of various stores around South Jersey. Altogether, I’ve spent around $200 total and completely overhauled my wardrobe. Is that a little crazy at, I repeat, ~39 goddamn weeks pregnant knowing my body’s about to change again? Probably. But it revived my commitment to not buying any clothes new, and has morphed my closet into a veritable treasure chest. Can’t wait to show you guys some of my scores. Pro tip: Most thrift stores don’t have fitting rooms, so I’ve been wearing this Aritzia jumpsuit (which I also got on Poshmark lol) and trying everything on over top. Huge game changer.
a peek at the Oscar de la Renta cardigan I found for $7. The color… the collar… j’adore fr I finally watched Anora and I loved it so much. So late, I know. I wish we got a bit more depth from Ani’s character, maybe some backstory? But it was a delicious ride all the same. I don’t watch award shows, but I’m glad to hear something fun and accessible like this swept the Oscars. Mikey Madison is so hot. Fucking love that name, too—very girl who smacks her gum at the front desk of her dad’s auto body shop (or like, does porn).
… and Adolescence. My response to this series has been much more visceral than cerebral; I am chilled beyond analysis. You have your takes. I have my nightmares.
… and two documentaries:
CHAOS: The Manson Murders. My knowledge of the Manson murders was pretty limited, i.e., I’d read “The White Album” a few times. So *I* enjoyed this account. My husband, however, had read both Helter Skelter and CHAOS and is absolutely on a watch list for his extensive reading of all things CIA, so he found it “watered down” and contradictory.
Don’t Die: The Man Who Wants to Live Forever. I know Bryan Johnson is everywhere when my friends are sending clips of him on recent episodes of Kardashians in the group chat. Let me obliterate any affection you may feel toward me: I LOVE THIS FREAK. [When they’re not making the world a worse place on a mass scale] I love a good Silicon Valley bazillionaire libertarian self-optimized technoloser who does DMT at Burning Man and decides their life, henceforth, will be a bizarre and unreachable spectacle. Taking 150 supplements a day? Using your son as a BLOOD BOY? Traveling to Honduras to guinea pig for experimental gene therapy? What a rush! Give me more!
My fragrance of the day is Kuumba Made fragrance oil in Vanilla Bean. I’m no holier than thou type, but I do get the same peaceful feeling that I get thrifting when I buy cheap fragrance oils from the health food store versus expensive perfumes. Something about old, used stuff and healthy, small batch stuff makes sense together. Aligns with my aspirations of being a chic and sexy gardener one day. Kuumba Made is slept on (s/o my friend Katie for introducing me). Persian Garden smells EXACTLY like DedCool Xtra Milk. Snag some at Whole Foods for $10 and thank me later.
I started cutting my greeting cards into bookmarks, which feels like a cute way to keep them alive. Indeed, some real goo goo ga ga baby shower shit is marking my Bukowski right now. Sorry, Hank.
My current favorite Trader Joe’s treats are the mini almond biscotti and the sesame honey cashews. The biscotti are the perfect size, so you won’t forfeit your morning to a frenzied nervous system having one with coffee. I toss the cashews in a bowl of dates and evoke vague memories of sweets I enjoyed in the Middle East a couple years ago. Sometimes a snack rec can make you grieve the world.
SUBSTACK ROUNDUP! Some pieces I loved this week…
“lecture halls done right” by Tia of cultwoo. I’ve been loving Tia’s roundups. They’re succinct and gorgeously curated, and always put me on to something new.
“I want to do everything, be everything” by Sherry Ning. Man, if hate is the currency of the internet, Sherry’s love-soaked pen is driving down its value. It’s magical, reading someone’s most poetic, meandering aspirations for this big life. I mean…
“I want to learn how to butcher fish in a Tokyo sushi bar at 11 p.m. and pour champagne in a silk dress at midnight in Paris, I want to know what it feels like to win a chess match in a smoke-filled room full of old men in Buenos Aires and to lose one spectacularly on a park bench in Berlin.”
“i love you, stranger” by ayan artan. Music writing accounts for some of my favorite work on the planet. I love how this exudes reverence for South Korean rapper, RM while still being deeply personal. The inclusion of the flirty barista story—the way it expresses a certain romance in surprising yourself, in letting yourself be many different people at once—and connecting it back to RM’s chaotic layers as an artist and person… stun.
"The Year of the Gay Guy" by Christian of Transtrender. I have no authority to call a writer “one to watch” but if I did, Christian is it. This piece was hilarious and really spoke to my soul as someone whose tastes and ideologies generally mesh best with gay men.
"If you've never been fat, you just don't get it" by Mikala Jamison. There isn’t a single soul on the planet who wouldn’t benefit from subscribing to Mikala’s newsletter, Body Type. Now, I don’t personally have intellectual access to what it takes to be a critic of critics, but Mikala does. So I propose we sit back and listen.
I’m also loving bright red, this picture of Irina Shayk, this bedroom (is this AI? I have no radar for that), and craving tortellini in brodo
all via Pinterest
