Counting my blessings

I grew up with a pretty traditional Thanksgiving meal. Turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, the usual stuff. When my family structure imploded, so, too, did many of the routines we shared. Our Thanksgiving dinner this year was especially unorthodox, and we just made whatever we wanted (read: my mom cooked; I vaguely assisted). We even ditched turkey for chicken. A new Thanksgiving side I enjoyed was a carrot tart from an NYT recipe my mom found. Cooked carrots on a ricotta bed with a puff pastry foundation. I love sweet x salty harmony, and the ricotta x cooked carrot combo was everything. I did not expect to like this dish as much as I did, and hope it sparks a new tradition for my fam!

A few weeks ago, I declared my love for Karol G’s song “ME TENGO QUE IR” with Kali Uchis on her new album. As Kali releases singles in preparation for her upcoming album, mis Columbianas favoritas are back with “Labios Mordidos.” I love hearing ten seconds of a song for the first time and my crystal ball immediately showing a long-term obsession. I was hooked on the first Oooooo. The title translates to bitten lips, and, turns out, the song is very gay. Bi legend Kali sings about being the hottest girl around and seducing her girl of the night. Reggaeton? More like re-gay-ton. Sorry. I’m not saying I’m right, but I think Karol’s rendition of the chorus is the sexiest she’s ever sounded. At least you didn’t have to hear me attempting to channel this sensuality while driving my mom’s minivan.

Despite attempts to elevate my humor, nothing will surpass the joy of a potty joke. I am, therefore, obsessed with the poop deli series of TikTok. This creator recently started making videos in his house pretending he’s an Italian American ordering a sandwich at a Tri-State area bodega and adding a poopy component. Bacon, lettuce, tomato…and add a lil’ poop on there. Could you just smear some poop on the top? The skits possess the same absurdity as I Think You Should Leave. I’ve seen videos from random people at their Thanksgiving tables getting their families involved in a fake “pass the poop” type of dialogue. The whole concept entertains me greatly. My mom did not like these videos. Honorable mention this week: the Disneyland’s It’s A Small World streaker.

T.W. disordered eating

Being in Pittsburgh shut my door to HBO but opened the Apple TV window. My mom and I are now seven episodes into Physical. Rose Byrne stars as Sheila Rubin, an 80s San Diego housewife who eventually becomes one of the first videotape aerobics instructors (which is revealed in the first scene). Sheila’s primary struggle drives the fictional drama’s plot: bulimia. The entire first episode is dedicated to showing us how Sheila’s eating disorder affects every aspect of her life. Although the show has a lot of dialogue, the majority of the speech you hear is Sheila’s inner thoughts. And, boy, are they tough to hear! She says horrible things about others and even meaner remarks to herself. It’s extremely jarring as a viewer and makes getting through the first episode difficult. I took a break for a few days and then continued watching. Rose Byrne is such a great actress, able to show so much in just a facial expression and perfectly capturing the seesaw of robot lady and enforcer baddie the character brings. Like any good series, Physical explores themes of gender, class, religion, and politics. Most of the characters are unlikeable, especially the men, but they’re still fun to watch. My favorite scene was this housewife finding out her husband has a fetish for women with shaved heads and subsequently shaving hers and him then being very taken with her. It was such an odd scene, but this show has you rooting for random, weird things like that. If you can get past the first episode, it’s a show worth sticking to. There are three seasons to get through.

Waiting for my flight this evening, I scrolled Twitter long enough to stumble across “Sports Illustrated Published Articles by Fake, AI-Generated Writers.” A Futurism investigation revealed how once-reputable magazine Sports Illustrated publishes AI-written stories under fake authors with AI-generated headshots. The articles are poorly written, and their author bios sound like they could be AI-generated, as well. I wonder if these stories got a lot of page views and how they did compared to their human-written counterparts. SI took down the inhuman articles once the reporter asked them about the stories, which I find hilarious because they know they royally screwed up. This is just another instance of news organizations striking out with AI, using it as a creator rather than an aide. SI is published by The Arena Group, which seems to have made similar mistakes in some of their other publications. All publishers (mags I work for included) are figuring out how to leverage AI for good, and it’s both frustrating and relieving when bad actors like those decision-makers at The Arena Group validate our AI fears. We lose when commitment to profit outweighs commitment to ethics. Shoutout to Futurism and Maggie Harrison for holding publishers accountable.

The street around my mom’s parking lot is usually devoid of people. My mom, brother, dog, and I were walking to the car one afternoon when I turned a corner and saw a girl I knew from high school walking toward me. There was no one else around. I stopped whatever I was talking about, turned towards this girl, smiled big, and said “[name]!” with genuine surprise and joy. We’ve spoken multiple times before and have liked each other’s Instagram posts forever. She stares at me and has zero reaction, not responding whatsoever. Not a smile, not even a frown — nothing! This has never happened to me before. There was enough time of her walking by me that I saw her earbudless ears. After she passed, Ben and my mom turned around at me with looks so quizzical that they became testical (say that one out loud; my fourth-grade self will thank you). I cannot understand why a human being would be completely unfazed by someone saying their name. Even if she forgot who I was, I would expect a modest hello. There’s no way she didn’t hear me, and even if she was having a bad day I cannot imagine a person’s instinct just fully freezing. My mom and I got in the car and were frenzied in our analysis to which Ben said we were overreacting and that this interaction really wasn’t that weird. Am I justified? Am I morphing into a decorum-obsessed suburbanite with no compassion for others?