Eating: I’m about to get into some salted caramel dark chocolate and a red Bordeaux.
Listening To: The sounds of the washer and dryer. Rachel recently told me she loves the sound of the dishwasher running and it’s sharpened my ear to the hypnotic hum of major appliances. I wonder if it’s the actual noise that relaxes us or the calming association with checking something off the to-do list. Let’s go with both.
Just Read: Home by Toni Morrison. Review to come on my Instagram.
Feeling: A huge sense of relief. Today I had a writing crisis that stemmed from… Twitter, of all places. I’ve joined and deactivated Twitter a total of four times because of all the platforms, it is easily my greatest vice. Andrew encouraged me to get back on since I launched my newsletter because it’s the best way to spread the word of new media. You’d be hard-pressed to find a writer of my “genre” who’s not on Twitter. Though I’ve yet to tweet, I was perusing. I found my jaw clenched scrolling the feeds of writers I like, reading threads about their recent work and its responses, etc. It made me really fucking anxious about the kind of writing I want to do, like my work is meaningless if it’s not some sophisticated cultural criticism. When I stepped back and made a giant pan of fried rice for lunch, I realized how boring and sad it would be to let these thoughts dictate even a fragment of my creative direction. I reflected on reading all of Junot Diaz’s work during quarantine—how those three books spoke to me about the simplicity of the craft; the power of “writing for readers” versus “writing for other writers,” as he himself put it.
Wanting: These donut pans. Since moving to Fairmount, I’ve become addicted to these simple cinnamon sugar donuts from Tela’s and I’m determined to make them myself.
Loving: This 2014 piece from The New Yorker written by Roger Angell (who just turned *100*) on life at 93. Probably ignorant, but I had no idea one’s faculties could remain this intact to write with such unfailing wit and devastation into their TENTH decade on earth. It’s a longer read, but so worth it. Side note: is it just me, or do sports writers and music writers know something we don’t about the magic of everyday life? Maybe it’s because their art is dedicated to two of the most celebrated comforts of existence that they’re inherently spellbinding. Cheers to Roger Angell.
Still reading the free version of my newsletter? Upgrade today for tales of insecurity and romance and obscure internet trends and drugs and Philadelphia and everything in between. Love you.