Listening to: “Waiting on You” from Omar Apollo’s new album, Ivory. I love the ‘70s nod on this particular track—an interesting backdrop for his youthful, contemporary voice. I was also happy to hear that striking Spanish wail on “En El Olvido;” Apollo is in a transcendent class of artists who make innovative music but can, in the same breath, master something beautifully traditional (like Rosalía’s flamenco). And the way that song somehow transitions seamlessly into the Spanglish “Tamagotchi,” the sonic lovechild of Playboi Carti, Bad Bunny, and Justin Bieber? Done deal. Great album. Go listen.
Just Watched: Vicky Cristina Barcelona. God, this film is charming. Young, bleach blonde ScarJo trying to find herself abroad with her rigid best friend who resents her free spirit. Penélope Cruz as a batshit ex-wife to a Spanish artist (who happens to be her husband in real life). A blossoming poly relationship that somehow makes sense. Perfection.
Thinking: 1.) The universe is sooooo obsessed with keeping my fixation on marriage alive, despite my best efforts to enjoy this time as “girlfriend.” The other day, my friend sent me a screenshot of an ex-fling's new engagement captioned, “omg congrats Dia!” Of course, I laughed, relieved to dodge a bullet (never succumb to intellectual veneer, even if he’s a doctor who says you’ll look good driving a Range Rover someday… even if a Range Rover is your dream car). But still, I couldn’t divert my eyes from the sparkly promise of “til death do us part” lurking beneath his new girl’s gross manicure (let me be petty). Then, one of my girlfriends sent me pictures of the huge rocks she was trying on with her boyfriend. Incidentally, I was also perusing photos from my favorite illustrator’s wedding over the weekend—her Vera Wang poof under California palms, what a dream. How could this all happen within an afternoon? I don’t need a rock or a poof or a wedding at all, but I can’t seem to shake the idea that institutionalized forever might work like a weighted blanket. I’ll be 31 in less than three months. These arbitrary timelines, they are the knots in my back, the tension in my jaw, the kind of commitment I fear I won’t know until middle age. I don’t want to wait until I’m 45, or even 32, self-serious and pragmatic beyond the buoyant adventures I envision for marriage here and now. And as a Words Person, I can’t deny the allure of being called fiancé. Comunque…
2.) There’s something divine in the sentimentality of souvenirs. Mugs, keychains, bumper stickers—the everyday ways we put our personality and travels on display. SOMEONE WHO LOVES ME WENT TO PHILADELPHIA AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS STUPID TSHIRT. That shit is adorable. I thought about this today when I went to use my *favorite mug* that my roommate who just moved out had kind of inadvertently stolen during his tenure here. It’s from the cafe on the corner and I’d gotten it long before I ever knew I’d be living a few houses down. Sipping from it always feels like some full-circle synchronicity. Today Andrew was also wearing a shirt I bought for him in California this time last year. That was a bad point in our relationship; we broke up a month later. It reminded me how far we’ve come since I begrudgingly purchased a long-sleeved, beige Newport Beach tshirt as a last ditch effort to elicit some affection. Now every day is full of the most freely given affection I’ve ever known.
Just Tried: A gin martini. Specifically Hendrick’s, extra dirty. I’ve been drinking vodka martinis for years and last night, celebrating my friend’s birthday, I was struck with the urge to branch out. I’d like a word with whoever’s been hiding this perfect elixir from me. Gin may be the final boss of my liquor preferences. The one I will fight til the end, one martini at a time.
Just Purchased: The Anton sofa from Article. I don’t even know where to begin describing the sheer chaos behind this purchase. This was my closest brush with insanity. I was mad with couch fever for weeks, bookmarking, YouTubing reviews, developing stress-induced stomach ulcers over this remarkably meaningless piece of furniture. I bought the Anton in a moment of reckless haste, traumatized by the moments I’d close my eyes and see West Elm listings. Our best-selling linen blend fabric in an oil- and water-repellent coating. Durable and family friendly, it has a casual look and cool-to-the-touch feel. Suitable for high-traffic use (tested up to 40,000 rubs) and easy to keep clean. Oh god, I’ve seen too much. I know too much. Something had to be done. And so a white sofa is being delivered to my house… with a dog… tomorrow. Do I have regrets? Not really. I can’t regret something I quit caring about long before the transaction went through in pure defeat. Anyway, now I’m fixated on rugs.
Just Read: Since I’m in decorating mode, I’ve been consuming all things Miles Redd, my favorite interior designer. This “Playing Favorites” Q&A with him is a fav, and might just inspire you to gift someone an orchid in a mossy terracotta pot or paint your kitchen peacock blue.