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Table of Contents
Hi friends!
I’M BACK! THANK F*CK!
This will be a behemoth. I’ve missed you so much. About once a year I get into a stretch of nothingburger writing weeks before getting back on the horse, or at least on a horse. Usually the glorified hiatus comes because of some sort of travel that knocks me off my rhythm, mixed with an already present malaise and unwillingness to write. This go-around, I’ve been wanting to write the whole time but travel and subsequent busy-ness avalanched.
March goes in like a lion, out like a lamb, my kindergarten teacher told us over and over as we made paper lions and lambs. I remember getting glue all over my hands as I haphazardly stuck cotton balls on my attempt at a lamb. I could not translate peace onto what was supposed to be a peaceful creature. I don’t think I’ve heard in like a lion, out like a lamb since then, but I think of it every year. The phrase is about March weather, which is supposed to start the month stormy and end it with serenity. In like a lion, out like a lamb feels antiquated and Pittsburgh-y like the Good Ship Lollipop or the phrase spruce up. There’s something sleepy about it that pacifies me, especially now as I enter lamb mode.
This will definitely be an unconventional issue because it’s going to be covering three weeks in one (and yes, that means three parts to each Current Fixation…will try not to make them too big). A lot of these are things I wish I could’ve given you dedicated entries on, but this is where we are. There’s so much I’m missing, so I’ll just hit the highlights. I didn’t write any of this earlier aside from maybe tiny notes on my phone to remind me of stuff. I am mourning all the thoughts I didn’t jot down when I was in the thick of it, but what a gift it is to reflect now.
I might end up changing the cadence or scheduling of this newsletter going forward. Lots of big changes at work means I have less time on Mondays to crank this out, but maybe this is a storm that will pass once I get more settled. I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know.
Shedding skin
This album defined my 2020, and I miss Rina. Each song is a banger, and this is the closer. You could scream, cry, or run to this epic of a song.
Sometimes you’re changing and don’t feel it; sometimes you recognize and feel yourself changing while it happens. I’m in the midst of the latter, hence the skin shedding.
The skin hasn’t fully detached, unless you count what peeled off from my Miami burn. I haven’t done a true trip to the grocery store (as opposed to running over for quick-fix ingredients) in over a month. I’ve barely been in the gym since my ankle sprain, but I think this is the week I return (just like I do every week). Some days I do PT exercises; some days I don’t; some days I just find myself rising to my tiptoes when I have a free moment. I’m slowly catching up on my Interest Logging Apps (Beli for restaurants, Letterboxd for movies). I finished my magazine last night only for a new one to already be on its way over. I have such a desire to shop, yet nothing catches my eye. I’m blonde again. I’m wearing my little hoops around the house even when I know I’m not leaving for the day. I’m reminded twice a day that I need to re-up my skincare products and haven’t made any moves. I’ve relistened to every song I’ve ever heard and then some. Did I lose weight, or do I just see myself differently in the mirror now?
I’m still the same snake underneath it all. I used to think that people don’t really change, probably because I don’t really change. I grow, but I’m still the same girl getting glue on her hands. I tend to categorize growth and change as two different things, growing as running further down a path and changing as pivoting directions. I do think that some people change because I’ve seen it; I just don’t know if I’m one of them. I did say just two paragraphs ago that I feel myself changing, though. Honestly, this stuff doesn’t matter.
I love reading my own writing, and I sometimes go down rabbit holes of my old entries. I don’t always have compassion for myself, but that is rarely the case with my writing. When I was redesigning my website and reformatting old entries at the start of the year, I read through hours of writing from the past two-and-a-half years. I had so much fun seeing strokes of genius and whatever the opposite of those are (pauses of stupidity?). I remember writing about shedding skin and just now searched for when that happened.
Last May, I wrote If you call yourself old, I think less of you. Half of the entry is defending this thesis (that I still defend), and the other half was a story about a reminder that I was getting older. My roommate from the first place I lived in in New York was finally moving out of that apartment, and I attended the housecooling with our other roommate who also crossed over to Brooklyn. After the party, us Brooklyn girls walked uphill to the Central Park reservoir like we used to when we lived together. We are feelsy, reflective girls that were doing a lot of feeling and reflecting.
I am in yet another period of cracking myself open and seeing whats inside, remembering and relearning who I am. My cynicism and definitive thinking have been helpful in the past, but I’m now figuring out which parts of that still serve me. I’m trying to surrender more. I’ve been feeling like I’m not bringing anything meaningful into the world, whatever that means. It’s time to try on new parts of myself to see where I can find that purpose, or at least to be less critical of myself if I don’t — or, even better, to find something in the middle. I need to be truly vulnerable to get myself there, or at least to really give people the opportunity to connect with me. I am trying to be less judgmental because I’m finding that the judging I like to do of others (read the email headline) affects how I see myself, too. I’m shedding skin, and it’s scary but great. These are the times I’ll look back on fondly when I’m old even if they feel strange now.
Most of this musing is still applicable (and probably will be for the rest of my 20s), but I think it would have been even more accurate a month or so ago. This dramatic declaration is for someone running up to the cliff that they’re going to jump off. What a volatile place to be, and I’m even looking back on this not-even-a-year-ago version of myself fondly. I was in a similar place again recently, but I’m already past that. I jumped off the cliff and dove into the water. I stuck the landing, but now I’m swimming up for air. I’m close to the surface but not there yet. I look to the sun.
Mog-ami
Nat’s speakers were bumping all sorts of music for baddies, but no one encapsulated the trip better than JT. The better half of City Girls, JT has been activating all sorts of agents inside me since “Act Up,” and “Ran Out” is an unmatched morning-after motivator. I like the new direction she’s taking in her latest song “Girls Gone Wild,” which has the same baddie anthem qualities in a slightly more complex package, production-wise. No one else is better suited to “rhyme” the word okay four times with four different meanings. Just know…JT comin’!
There’s nothing better than spending time with the girls and going Guys, I really needed this. I really needed to get out of my dysregulation in snowy New York and have the sun remind me who I am. This would be my fourth time in Miami, one of my favorite places to visit. Almost all of these trips have been connected to Nat, my friend from college that also lived in New York for part of my tenure. She moved back home with her family a year and a half ago, but she just switched jobs and got her own apartment.
Meera, Anaïs, and I had to see her new digs. She moved to Wynwood, which seems to be Miami’s equivalent to Bushwick: a formerly rough neighborhood gets famous for its street art, attracting tourists and swanky locales that price out the people of color originally living there. It’s young and fun and happening — great coffee and dinner and bars right outside the door of your massive, new apartment building (and definitely outside of Nat’s).
I spend the flight talking to an Irishman my age who told me that the interjection that was popular when I was in college — sheeeeeesh — has only recently made it to the U.K. and Ireland. Sheesh, indeed! After Meera pitched the topic Why don’t airports have gyms?, we got to Nat’s around 2 a.m. and fell asleep as soon as our butts hit the air mattress. We picked Anaïs up from the airport the following afternoon, blasting El Alfa loud enough for her to know we arrived.
We spent the following four days on the roof of Nat’s building, tanning on daybeds and lounging in the pool. Sometimes, we would leave the building for shareable food on a nearby block. We’re in the sun no matter what. Miami Beach one day, Key Biscayne another. Venezuelan and Cuban food to refuel. We’d often watch something at night (speaking of, what an odd movie Spring Breakers is), sometimes paying for a movie to stream — why does that feel like such a splurge? Nat had a party at her place on the daylight savings night. I got to reunite with the Miami delegation of our lesbian group and meet Nat’s new friends, too. We had a late night at the gay club that ended with Meera and I eating burgers on the carpet outside of the elevator on Nat’s floor so as to not wake our sleeping friends.
Nat made a friend last year named Bella that we met at Pride. I liked her before meeting her because she’s a true Florida girl: she flew into New York already in a party outfit because she’s going out straight from the airport, and she fit the rest of her stuff for the weekend in a big purse. They met before coincidentally moving to the same building, so Bella would just pop by and join us for the day like we were in the same dorm.
Bella was fixated on a new banana-based ice cream shop in the neighborhood called Banana Daddy. We finally went after days of her talking about it, and we met the owner, an extremely beautiful woman I spoke to with chocolate ice cream all over my teeth. She said she was thinking of doing a customer of the month-type promotion, and I’ve never seen Bella so excited at the prospect of something.
We would just all run around and make noises, drinking and singing and building off of more and more absurd jokes. Anaïs and Nat got so worried about burning while they tan, which was honestly offensive for Latinas with gorgeous skin to be doing while I got splotchy red burns throughout my body despite reapplying sunscreen. At least my burn turned into a tan by the time I returned to New York, but my nose is still somewhat giving Rudolph.
People that don’t like Miami just don’t have a friend that lives there. Nat and I have such a unique relationship that has taught me so much, and I am truly ride or die for her. Just being next to her is restorative and made more so by singing in the car and laughing while we get ready for the night. I don’t think I could live in Miami long-term, but every time I’m there I want more time to soak it all up.
We mumble Bad Bunny out of the elevator, and someone joins in to sing with us. Why is there a coffee chain called Pasión del Cielo Coffee? What’s next, Hand of God Smoothies? Having so much sun in what really is The Great Latin American Melting Pot makes me want to live forever. And I don’t have to wear as many layers (shedding skin?). Hot weather seems like it kills my futchiness; I either want to look super feminine in short clothes or super masc in utilitarian garments that make me comfortable.
Nat’s rarely sure if the people at her pool actually live in the building. Our first day, two girls around our age were standing around the pool blasting house music, vaping, and lightly chatting. Most of the time, they were just mogging in the pool. I liked their simplicity. It makes you be less of this:
TikToker Sabrina Brier
I was having a great time. I woke up on Monday ready for a light day of remote work by the pool, until I got a call telling me that my boss just got laid off.
Time to strategize
Meera just showed me this song by Isabella Lovestory, an artist I already love. It’s moody!
It wasn’t a major surprise, as he had been expecting it for a bit. I still never really wanted to believe him, though. My team for pretty much all three years of this gig have been a two-person squad of Matt and I. We didn’t have an office when I first started, so Matt would pick different WeWorks throughout the city where we would find out which ones had the biggest drink selections before he would take me to lunch somewhere nearby he liked. We mostly went to Asian restaurants, and I was terrible at picking up chopsticks. We would walk back to the WeWork while he would regale me with tales of the media world in the dot-com era, weird things about an older age of the internet, or what used to be at a building we would walk past.
Matt hired me because I was a former journalist (of two years) and he was a former journalist (of, like, more than that). I was intimidated at my career change to digital strategy and felt a lot of imposter syndrome suddenly making a lot more than what I made as an entry-level TV newser. It was a lot of new stuff to learn at once, and I wanted to look like a cool NYC media girl instead of how I really felt, which was not that. I really wanted to impress Matt and not make him regret hiring me over someone else.
We made a great team trying to nag the whole world into doing what we wanted or being the only people ever able to have fun at a post-panel happy hour. I’ve been to at least one pig roast in his Brooklyn backyard each summer. We show each other YouTube videos and weird music. He helps me learn from my mistakes and listens to me rant. This sounds like a very glowing review of my boss because it is one. I’ve been really lucky. I’d say this even if he didn’t occasionally read the newsletter, telling me to narrow my focus more in each entry. This entry is definitely not achieving that, so hopefully he didn’t get deep enough into this one.
I almost took a day off on the Monday he got laid off. Instead, I sat on Nat’s roof on calls all day while my friends would take pictures of me looking stressed from a distance and calling me Kendall Roy.
Succession still, posted by Artforum
It was the day after the Ides of March. Et tu, corporate America? He seemed to be taking it well, which was something. It’s that weird thing when someone close to you gets laid off; you’re relieved that you’re staying but feel survivor’s guilt even if none of this was your fault. Plus, this was my dude! What was I going to do now? They aren’t going to make me a VP like he was, but what am I supposed to do now that I’m alone?
It’s a bittersweet thing because, as of last week, I can tell you that I got promoted. It’s a dialectic: I can be sad that my boss got canned and be excited that I’m moving into a new phase of my career. I hadn’t received a promotion throughout my years here and didn’t expect one because there wasn’t a place above me in my path unless I would suddenly become a team of one. I have to flex: they made me a director! I jumped from associate to director. Imposter syndrome is back again, but everyone has been super encouraging and supportive.
However, now I have to care about my job in a new way. I could always have someone else to fall back on if I didn’t know how to do something, but now the buck stops with me. Playtime’s over, and I have to make the decisions now. I’m trying not to look at myself as a team of one. I literally have so much stuff to do, but I am also kind of excited to get it done. I’d been looking for a new challenge in my career and had been feeling like I was starting to plateau. Work-wise, I felt like I was waiting for something to happen to me, and that feeling bled into other aspects of my life. I guess I waited long enough, and it is go-time. The thing I always love about my job is helping people, and now I get to do even more of that.
My biggest worry is that I now have to learn how to use AI. I’ve avoided it long enough, and my new gig requires me to use it. It’s been a good run without it, but I have to stay employable. It feels daunting right now. Please teach me the things that you know.
Talk about feeling underwater. How do you offboard the person that’s the super-admin of most of the systems anyway? My tasks right now feel like a mix of transferring ownership to myself, finishing things Matt was doing before, and finishing things I was doing before. The to-do list grows.
It doesn’t help that I had a massive project due last week that I procrastinated on because I assumed I’d have a lot of time to do it when I got back from Miami. I ended up working deep into the night Monday and Tuesday last week like a double-monitor monster. I didn’t know that my workload was about to expand, but I don’t like delegating to people when I procrastinate; I should be the one that shoulders the burden. I am the queen of work-life balance, but last week was an anomaly. Sometimes I feel extra alive when I work crazy like this, something I do once or twice a year in this job. I knew I could get it all done, but I just had to grind.
I think after this week I’ll feel like I’m above water, but I said that last week. I just have to grind it out and see. I want to rise to the challenge. It feels good to try hard.
With so much turbulence, my mom coming for the weekend could not have come at a better time. Shedding skin feels both easier and harder when your mom’s in town.
Mom highlights
Shaneeda Bump lip-synced to this song as part of drag roulette after Club Cumming’s Drag Race viewing party. Drag roulette involves the audience pitching songs for the queens to perform and the DJ improving a mashup of a bunch of them for the queens to perform parts of, whether they know the songs or not. My mom was very tickled that someone wanted to channel King Julien and request this song, and she mentioned it throughout the weekend.
Mom highlights: This is the first time in history both of us have blonde highlights at the same time.
Eating good highlights: Ramen at Ichiran, chicken shawarma at Hen House, mezze at ilili, khao soi at Soothr, and finishing it off like we always do with pizza at Roberta’s (alongside what looked like other suburban parents visiting their transplant children).
Celebrity highlights: Saturday might have been my best celeb-spotting day in the city — Aubrey Plaza walked past me from the bathroom at Death of a Salesman, and Manon (formerly?) from KATSEYE sat down the row from us at FKA Twigs. I obviously tried to make myself invisible while fangirling. Both are just as beautiful in person.
Death of a Salesman: We love this play and talk about it constantly because of how it represents the American family and certainly a portion of our American family. It was so cool to see it on Broadway with Nathan Lane, Laurie Metcalf, Charlie from Girls, and that one servant that got rich on The Gilded Age. My thoughts on Death of a Salesman have changed since I first read and watched it in high school.
At a coffeeshop: At Dayglow, my favorite $10 coffee spot in the neighborhood, two middle-aged dudes were sitting a few seats down from us at the bar. One of them looked to the mild-mannered male barista and said I feel like you’ve been ignoring me and giving me attitude ever since I got here. What? Middle-aged people really do start feeling invisible and get crazy.
At an Italian dessert shop: At Minuto Bauli, an Italian chain that serves brioche with sweet fillings and toppings, a mother-daughter shopper duo was walking past us as we stared at boxes of panettone. The mom stopped us to talk for five minutes about how nostalgic the taste and smell is, especially with the lemon flavor. She kept saying how Giacomo (random cashier) would hook us up with samples. We did get free panettone samples from Giacomo, and they slapped. She just did not stop talking, and her daughter that seemed to be my age seemed unfazed. They were very nice, but it was just so random. Middle-aged people really do start feeling invisible and get crazy.
At a dive bar: My mom was figuring out what to get and said Oooh, I think I’ll get a negroni. It was too funny that I couldn’t laugh. She instead got a Truly, which came on tap, so it was clear bubbly liquid in a glass. Naked and strange.
Bad walkers: My mom constantly had to tell me to slow down to walk with her. I didn’t even know I was doing it. This was also my first big walking weekend since my sprain, which feels like it was decades ago. By Sunday, I was walking slower naturally as the sprain decided to reminded me it’s still there.
Is in-person shopping dead? My mom wanted to get me something nice to celebrate my promotion, and we thought it would be fun to go to a department store. The two of us know how to f*ck up a department store. Neither of us had been to the New York institution that is Bloomingdale’s before, so we thought we would try it. So expansive and expensive, yet so boring. Everyone looked exhausted. I was exhausted. I had a few possible journeys in mind — loafers, a new wallet, a cool girl bag — and found everything either underwhelming or not worth the price. I ended up getting two very utilitarian bras. Are clothes all just crappier now, or is all the cool stuff saved for the web? I think everything just sucks more. One of the sales associates we talked to introduced himself as Mo or Mohammad, whichever one you prefer. The kinds of in-person shoppers he deals with are why he asks this question. Maybe we should never buy anything again.
Doing poppers with mommy: Someone in the row in front of us at the FKA Twigs concert must have spilled their thing of poppers because I could have gotten a secondhand high from what felt like minutes of such a strong smell. Meera, Noor, and I could not stop laughing at the premise. We wondered if my mom was feeling anything at all, so I asked her if she could smell anything. Just patchouli.
This week’s photo is from a live reaction to receiving a 19-minute voice memo.
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Current fixations I want to mention
Food & Drink
Much of Miami’s new developments, in all senses, are imported from other places. Sushi and izakaya joint Double Knot recently opened in Wynwood but is from Philly and apparently also has a New York location. There are plenty of swanky sushi spots in the world, but the customizable tasting menu (called the Chef’s Select Menu) makes for such a special experience. For under $70, you get to pick one dish from each section of the menu (and two from the robatayaki), rounding out to 10 dishes and soft-serve ice cream. It’s not even like you’re picking from one or two things — each section has at least five items to pick from. Your whole group has to agree on the 10, but it’s such a fun challenge. We split white wine and the following: octopus carpaccio, wagyu soup dumplings, maitake mushroom, pork belly, fried tofu, beef tenderloin, Japanese scallop, black cod fried rice, toro soy wasabi sushi, and eel avocado handrolls. Everything was delicious, but the tofu was my favorite and tasted like candy. The four of us had a bunch of leftovers by the end.
Return to the mind of your 13-year-old self: how did you imagine what clubbing would be like? A specific blend of lights, sounds, and colors. Sweat and the opposite sex. Your crew, people your adolescent self probably hasn’t even met yet! A sophistication and a sleaziness. My friend Shannon declared that Gabriela in Williamsburg is that club, and we all agreed. I don’t think that, to fit this profile, a club has to be the best, wildest experience. It does have to be stellar, but it should still be somewhat safe. It’s not the massive venues in European cities and islands teeming with billions of people; it’s a place in your city that you know you can let go at. You’re there to transcend a bit but still be comfortable, to experience new things along with what’s familiar. I hate to pay a $20 cover, but we really made the most of it, dancing and laughing and consuming. Everyone was in the moment and having a great time. I can’t really articulate what makes this club stand out, but it’s just the right mix of the right things.
Why do I want cake right now? my mom asked as we got up to leave the FKA Twigs concert. Madison Square Garden is right near a Paris Baguette, which despite its name is a Korean bakery-cafe chain that is probably in your city (even Pittsburgh recently got two). I don’t go often, but it hits the spot when I do. It was around 11 p.m., and we got a table in a corner covered in crumbs that we cleaned off only to make crumbier. Chain implies sterile and boring, but their treats somehow feel special, especially late at night when you want a treat the most. Meera and I shared a savory ham and cheese croissant and some sort of coffee-flavored cronut. Noor got some small cream puff. My mom enjoyed her slice of blueberry cake.
Music
Noor and I made a last-minute decision to see Amber Mark at Brooklyn Steel. I’ve been listening to her since Ryan put me on in high school and am still waiting for her to get huge. She and Olivia Dean were Sabrina Carptenter’s tour openers, two Amazonian women with cascading hair and perfect bone structure, but only one is getting their big break now. We were up in the rafters but still enjoyed her silky smooth voice singing hours of her own songs and a few covers (Madonna’s “Vogue,” Kylie’s “Can’t Get You out of My Head”). I don’t know a lot of her discography but can tell that her setlist was comprehensive, pandering to old and new fans alike. She had a tiny band and just walked across the stage, but it’s not like most of her songs would require a lot of choreo anyway. My favorites were probably “Let Me Love You” and “Love Me Right.” Even from far away, she was so beautiful and seemed really happy to be performing.
I was lukewarm on “No One Dies From Love” when Tove Lo came out with it in 2022 as a single before Dirt Femme, an album I was also lukewarm on when it came out. However, I’ve warmed up to a bunch of the songs since then, and this is one is no different. We watched the video in Miami during Gay Guy Music Video Night. The sad, sexy love story between Tove and a robot brought the song back into my consciousness and has been powering the past few weeks. The breakup song can make me feel whichever emotion I want to tap into: content, grateful, excited, distant, anxious, or upset. It’s groovy when you don’t listen to the words, reflective when you do.
I feel almost guilty to have seen FKA Twigs at MSG because it was probably one of the best concerts I’ve ever seen, and I don’t know most of her music. She is such an excellent performer, so tapped into her body and emotions. She’s experimental, authentic, and expressive. Twigs’ discography oscillates from devastating to dancey, and her show reflected that. Everything felt intentional and very sensual. She and her dancers were giving all of themselves into the show. The choreography was hypnotic, and Twigs was hitting all her marks while supporting her almost operatic voice so well. We got pole dancing, red hair, and a whole ballroom interlude that had the crowd hollering. Plus, Tokischa, one of my favorite artists, opened. She was chaotic and weird like I thought she would be. She shaved her head onstage. She twerked and screamed. I couldn’t ask for anything better. I also want to mention that the crowd was especially diverse and beautiful, both in look (body) and look (clothes).
Internet & Pop Culture
I don’t really watch Instagram Reels, but I am transfixed by Slovakian influencer Kristína Nociarová, a girl who makes videos of her outfits. They’re mostly transition videos in which she wears something normal and then is suddenly in streetwear. She dances and poses throughout. She also can channel old money vibes. Something about her vibe is absurd and makes me laugh.
These two comedians improv as a rock-n-roll couple and are just so good at embodying a toxic couple in a 70s band. They just keep going.
Did Taylor Frankie Paul singlehandedly kill reality TV? A clickbait-y headline I just made up and should probably use for another entry.
Television & Maybe Movies
You might be a few years late to the comedic masterpiece of Barb and Star Go to Vista Del Mar, but it is always ready to welcome you. I’ve seen a bunch of movies with Anaïs and have never seen her as delighted as she was while watching this Kristen Wiig x Annie Mumolo buddy comedy of two Midwestern women going on a Floridian vacation and getting into hijinks along the way. It was my second time watching, and I would see it again. I don’t think any words I can say can overstate how great of a movie this is.
We can thank him for Glee and American Horror Story, but Ryan Murphy is a terror on our screens. I appreciate that he (as I saw in a Tweet I can’t find) provides actresses like Sara Paulson and Niecy Nash MCU-like endless gigs, but he has done so much worse (giving Kim Kardashian an acting career, having no interest in meeting Menendez brothers while making a show about them, exploiting the Ed Gein story). I originally had no interest in the assumably exploitative Love Story: John F. Kennedy, Jr. & Carolyn Bessette about two people whose relationship was exacerbated by media not unlike this show. Plus, the family didn’t want it, and Murphy continues to be callous. However, Murphy didn’t doesn’t seem to be super involved with the show, which is why Twitter people are calling it a banger. After reading random Tweets praising the show, I watched the first few episodes out on Hulu and agreed with them. I’ve watched every week since aside from this most recent episode. From a surface level, this show is beautiful. I love how JFK, Jr. and Carolyn are styled, and the Calvin Klein of it all makes it that much more fun. I’ve loved Sarah Pidgeon since The Wilds (which has of the best gay enemies-to-lovers plotlines on screen) and enjoyed her in Stereophonic, but I didn’t realize how hot she is. She really does look like Caroline (as does Paul Anthony Kelly for John John), put-together and so effortless. She also is an absolute master at biting her lip, which she seems to do a million times. Maybe that makes it ripe for parody, but I could watch her do it a million more. I think everyone’s acting is pretty good, but maybe I’m just too stunned by their beauty. Carolyn and John are also just so sexy together. It’s so New York-y and fun to just watch John John play football in Central Park or Carolyn get dressed in her East Village apartment. I like how much we’re seeing of Jackie O (Naomi Watts) and Caroline (Meryl Streep daughter), learning how the American royal family conducted themselves publicly and privately. The actress that plays Daryl Hanna has such a perfectly annoying voice. The show is definitely a critique of the media and illustrates how the Kennedys are barred from living normal lives, which screws them up. It takes a few episodes to start seeing Carolyn and John’s relationship really unfold, and I think the show does a great job of making both of them look sympathetic even when they screw up. Their motivations are explained and understandable. I hope this continues as the episodes keep releasing. Redditors and JFK-Carolyn superfans have gripes with the series and its accuracies, but I don’t know any better because I’m not one of them. No matter what, I linger on the same question that I have for most things: What does Carole Radziwill think?
One of the most Pittsburgh movies I’ve ever seen — and I’ve finally seen it — is Flashdance. This movie is more of a vibe than a story, which allegedly follows an 18-year-old (wish they made her at least 22!) girl who is a welder by day and a dancer by night. She’s not a stripper; the dancing that goes on at Mawby’s Bar is sexy but very artistic and interpretive. However, she dreams of legitimizing her dancing at this reputable Pittsburgh ballet. Jennifer Beals (yes, Bette from The L Word) stars, and the movie just feels like an excuse to show her doe eyes and tight bod at various angles. The plot is supposed to be about striving for greatness and being creative, but it’s a bunch of strange scenes strung together without much motivation. Michael Noury plays her sexy but too-old love interest, and you might now know him as the old guy that flirts with McKay in the first few episodes of The Pitt this season. I think this movie would be fun to watch high, taking in the iconic soundtrack, movement, and Pittsburghitude. Part of what makes it so Pittsburghy is that it exemplifies the 80s, the decade Pittsburgh cannot seem to truly escape.
Journalism & Literature
Code Switch made an episode just for me called “How the internet got gentrified” about how the net has become more surveilled and less of a free, innovative place and full of surveillance.
New York Magazine has another bleak AI story for you. “The Laid-off Scientists and Lawyers Training AI to Steal Their Careers” examines in Sinclarian fashion how AI-training companies exploit gig workers.
I like reading my friends’ newsletters, but I really want to shout out my fellow strategist named Sydney, who launched a Substack under the enviable name New York Sydi. Miss Small has planned on writing 13 entries before turning 30, and I deeply enjoyed her latest: “How to get over The Break Up.” It’s hard to set yourself apart as a New York-transplant yuppie girl that works in marketing but also wants to write about their feelings — trust me, I know! What I tell myself, and what Syd proves, is that being authentic can make even the most oversaturated type of content resonate with you. She presents a tough breakup she had in a list format that seems like it will sound universal, like rules she is trying to impart to you, but it is really a way to punchily share a personal story. I empathized with parts, laughed at some, and felt like I knew a deeper layer than I did before reading. Some people write like they’re trying too hard (my nightmare — tell me if that is ever me), but Sydney communicates her reflections in such an approachable way that invites you into her world.
Something I Saw in the Wild
At the pool on the roof of Nat’s building, a woman was posing in her bikini all sexy on the pool railing for the camera, which was held by her daughter.
Near the end of a Saturday night, I’m shocked to learn on the train platform that my friend Lila hasn’t heard monoculture masterpiece “We Are the World 25 for Haiti.” I start singing it, changing my voice between Justin Bieber and Jennifer Hudson. The second verse starts with Josh Groban, and a man a few feet away from us starts singing it with me. We kept singing and giggling together until the train came. When he left for his stop, I thanked him for his participation to which he said Pay it forward. Thank you.
I’m in Manhattan on a weekday when I randomly run into someone I haven’t seen in years that went to school and camp with. I am shook and so excited to see her, hugging and asking about her life. I feel my face visibly change to excitement when I first see her, and her face doesn’t change at all. We have a short, cordial conversation about where we live in the city before she cuts short because she is late for work. I get being stressed and late for work, but I am baffled by her complete lack of reaction by the surprise. We were friends for a time, but even if we weren’t I would have still been just as excited to see someone I didn’t expect out in the wild. She treated the whole interaction like how you might if you’re walking out the door as the same time as your neighbor.