Daily Drip

Bret Easton Ellis, Cole Hocker's man bun, purple under eye supremacy

Aug 09, 2024

Quote of the Week: “When you talk to me, you’re really talking to yourself, dude.” - Bret Easton Ellis, The Shards

It’s well-documented that 2024 has marked my Ellis Era. I suspect I’ll keep this train rolling and devour all of his work in the coming months. I’m just annoyingly one of those bumfuck east coasters whose appetite for LA lore is never sated. And though I’m normally more of a 60s-head, Ellis’s pathological reverence for 80s and 90s aesthetics makes me want to put on a pair of wayfarers and a white polo and drive a seafoam green Jaguar down Wilshire with Blondie’s “Call Me” blaring.

This particular quote might seem random out of context. You probably need to read the book and catch its repetition to feel its intensity. But just looking at it now, dangling in the white space of a Google doc, it takes a different shape, stresses different syllables. To punctuate an insult with “dude” is always powerful; it shows you have less emotional stake in the exchange than your opponent—that, to you, it’s not that deep. But to punctuate such an abstract insult with “dude” adds a layer of manipulation us normies and people pleasers can’t grasp… at least I can’t. I don’t know, dude.

Thinking: And while we’re on the subject of Americana, how bout those goddamn Olympics? I’m obsessed with Noah Lyles as America’s sweetheart—his big, lion energy just LEAPING off the screen. I don’t follow short distance, so the 100 isn’t really my jam. But I love greatness that doesn’t pretend to be anything less. Stretch that flag across your back until it rips, kid, you made history.

Speaking of loud-mouthed greatness… the men’s 1500! Where Norwegian Jakob “who gon stop me, huh?” Ingebrigtsen fell to fourth, American Cole Hocker clinching the gold in a shocking, record-breaking performance. I’ve probably watched that race 10 times now. And though I am actually a fan of Ingebrigtsen with all his toxic energy and tattoos, I've been following Hocker for a while, too, and had a feeling he’d pull a rabbit out of a hat. HUGE win for man buns. I’m calling the fall/winter man bun revival on the running scene now.

Watching: Veep. I don’t know why I refused to watch this show forever???? It’s weird considering I’m an easy laugh but I find so much television unfunny. Boy, am I glad I had a change of heart with this one. Madame Louis-Dreyfus has me howling every night until my eyes get heavy.

Reads:

This 1999 New Yorker article “My Misspent Youth” by Meghan Daum. How did it take me so long to come upon this fucking brilliance about going broke—like, gave-me-secondhand-anxiety broke—in pursuit of a literary New York fantasy? I laughed. I shuddered. I thanked my lucky stars for never deluding myself beyond my intellectual and material means. Looks like the author has done great for herself, though, which we love to see.
“Something Borrowed” by Rebecca Goodall of Tits Up. Damn, if I’m not a sucker for a VOICE. Now, make it raspy. Make it a hot blonde bartender recounting her Portland sexcapades from the year she turned 50 and, well, I am, as the kids say, locked in.

Working on:

Today, we move into our *home*. Indeed, we said goodbye to one New Jersey bungalow and came upon another—better and brighter with a larger porch and a huge tree in the yard. Green tile backsplash in the kitchen. Original hardwood. All the good things. So many good things. And because I’m basic and low-brow and sentimental but obviously in a hot, endearing way, I did write a goodbye letter to Philly of sorts, mainly because my favorite restaurant shuttered at the same time as I left the city. Blame the cosmos.
Writing that did feel a little silly, ya know? I’ll still be working in Philly four days a week for the foreseeable future. Most of my friends are there. It is literally 15 minutes away. But leaving city life behind after eight years feels too big not to throw my arms out and bear hug it all. Anyway, I pitched it to a publication and if I don’t hear back, (I never get my hopes up. I don’t know how to pitch and I’m too embarrassed to ask for help.) I’ll publish it here next week. Either way, you’re gettin it.
I’ve been toying with various works of fiction for the last couple years, and this week, I can finally say I’ve got a complete draft. Will it morph into something entirely different in the coming weeks? Probably. But holy shit it feels good to say I finished something. That’s really been a hump I’ve been dying to get over—to say I truly brought ONE MEASLY short story to the finish line. Let’s go let’s go let’s goooooo.

Loving: So we jump-started our suburban life by spending the last two weeks with Andrew’s parents. And as such, I’ve been running loops around the local high school. So. Many. Loops. A mile and a half of bouncy asphalt, the marching band practicing until dusk. It’s a sick reminder that I am a hamster wheel ass person. I started my running journey 14 years ago on a treadmill in college, and I’ve been addicted to monotony ever since.

Listening to: My playlist hmmmmsummrr. It’s an hour of rap and pop and randomness. A good peek into my current headspace. I think I speak on behalf of the American people when I say we’re all just Chappell Roaning through the cultural static.

Something that made me smile: You know when it’s rainy and the sun’s going down and the sky is dark and light at the same time and it’s a little bit apocalyptic? That’s my favorite sky. Oh, hazy orangey purply grayish magma won’t you suck me on up??! When I saw it was precisely that sky the other night, I snuck into the yard and took 200 photos. This one came out especially trippy. Reminder: you are alive at the same time the sky looks like this. There is nothing to do but love with all your heart.

Beauty trick: Like everyone with olive oil blood, I have pretty hollow under eyes. An injector once told me we should “take care of those tear troughs and mid-face.” To spite such degrading suggestions—which do curiously resurface in my mind around the same time every month—I’ve started accentuating my under eyes with this creamy, metallic purple eyeshadow stick, Laura Mercier’s Roseglow Caviar Stick in Rose Thorn. I got this trick from my absolute favorite makeup vlogger, Ryan Bailey Potter. I delete TikTok all the time just because it makes me feel crotchety but whenever I redownload it, I go into a trance for her daily videos. Here’s the look! It’s like heroin chic for people who eat bread.