My life has been boring in a good way, so here are some hot takes from the past week in pop culture, entertainment, politics, whatever pops into my head:
- Taylor Swift and Travis "dumber than a box of hair" Kelce got engaged. If Zack Van Gerbig's parents dropped him on his head as a baby a few more times, he'd be at Kelce's level... that's the brainpower he's working with. Leanne Morgan, a "comedian" I had never heard of and wish I still did not know about, attributes this blessed union to Swift's aching uterus. As Paris Geller once said, "Build an ark, 'cause it is seriously time for a flood."
- Rudy Ghouliani was injured in a New Hampshire car crash. Yay, but next time can it please be something more along the lines of the "Final Destination: 2" log truck scene? The statement his crackerjack team released is giving "New York's least favorite hobgoblin was totally not getting blown by a sex worker while drunk off his ass at the wheel." Can some of the US's most hated politicians please start dying already? For fuck's sake.
- A teaser trailer just dropped for Emerald Fennell's "Wuthering Heights." You already know how I feel about her whole schtick, so let me just say that I fear the "And Just Like That"-ification of this movie. So many people are going to hate-watch it for the sake of internet memes that it's going to lead to more funding for yet another shitty movie. Is it better than AI slop? My hot take is that it's actually worse because it's more offensive knowing that something so blatantly soulless/derivative came from a human brain. I'd love to be wrong on this, it just seems unlikely based on prior offenses.
- Things I will never care about despite the media's nonstop barrage: Sabrina Carpenter, Sydney Sweeney, Trump's 10,000 pathetic Epstein deflections (and whatever scheme MTG is cooking up), transphobe queen JK Rowling's "Harry Potter" series and all the other upcoming sequels/reboots/half-assed adaptations that look atrocious, the idea that AI has any utility whatsoever and won't lead to humanity's demise.
Sadly, the dog walking book reader is still MIA. When I have an update, you'll be the first to know. Ciao ciao.
The older I get, the more disgusted I am with the type of person who refuses to acknowledge emotional complexity. When you talk to them, everything is wonderful because they're "practicing gratitude" and doing other cringe shit that makes me assume they're either an idiot or a master compartmentalizer who is one day going to have a breakdown that results in murder-suicide. What I love most about Catalan writer Eva Baltasar is her refusal to let any of her characters dwell in simpleton bliss. In her books, a protagonist might desperately want something, get it, and then question everything she thought she knew because life is meaningless and people are unknowable. If this sounds depressing to you, I mean... yeah, duh.
"Mammoth" is her third novella in a loose triptych âwhich aims to explore the universes of three different [queer] women in the first person.â You donât have to read the books in order as they all tell different, self-contained stories. The first, "Permafrost" (2018), is still sitting on my bookshelf, waiting to be read. I wrote a little bit about the second book, "Boulder," in Sophie's newsletter last year. Here's what I said:
Horny, nihilistic, individualistic, pessimistic, and darkly funny. "Boulder" is the story of what happens when a loner/punk/rebel-type tries her hand at domesticity. Written in the first person and told solely from the protagonist's perspective (not much dialogue), this slim novel perfectly encapsulates the feeling of being trapped in a situation that slowly erodes all sense of self. Give away freedom and then suddenly, you're in a celibate relationship with a person you no longer recognize who you're now inextricably linked to forever. Hooray!
"Mammoth," which I read this morning in about two hours, had me initially worried because it starts like this:
On the day I planned to get pregnant, I turned twenty-four and threw a birthday party that was actually a fertilization party in disguise.
Thankfully, I knew I was in good hands with Baltasar and trusted she wouldn't turn the whole thing into some twee, procreation is a gift-style narrative. As with "Boulder," motherhood, sexuality, solitude, and gender expectations are all themes, but they connect to even bigger, more universal existential quandaries. As always, Baltasar's prose (translated by frequent collaborator, Julia Sanches), fills me with envy:
Cleaning blood is a bit like washing a paintbrush. Like you've spent all afternoon shut in your studio with an easel and a still life of a lobster. A pinkish watercolor fills the sink, and it delights you to watch it flow toward the drain, getting paler and paler until finally the water runs clear again.
All you need to know about the plot is that the aforementioned 24-year-old queer woman who is desperate for a child moves from Barcelona to the country and becomes rapidly disenchanted with life. Don Draper would love Eva Baltasar. A warning: there's a disturbing cat murder scene, lambs are slaughtered, etc. If that kind of thing bothers you, avoid this one.
Read if you like: "Cassandra at the Wedding," Maggie Nelson, Katherine Mansfield, Lisa Taddeo, cranky loners, sex that's more disturbing than sexy.
I'm too fried to watch a new show right now so instead of finally starting "The Gilded Age," I'm rewatching "Mad Men" for the umpteenth time. This go-around, I keep thinking about Jon Hamm's fraternity hazing incident, which The Guardian wrote about over a decade ago, much to the chagrin of readers.
Headline: Mad Men star Jon Hamm was charged with hazing in college days
Lede: Future actor received probation after University of Texas incident in which Sigma Nu fraternity inductee said he was beaten and set on fire
Top comment: Ffs, this is news? How about leaving this shit to the tabloids?
This is a good niche example of how liberal buzzkills annoyed the average American (and Brit) into fascism a la "Marc Maron: Panicked." For once, some of the media was attempting to make dirtbag men take accountability for their actions. A bunch of weenies couldn't handle it, so they exchanged their civil liberties for the ability to set someone on fire and be forgiven (assuming they're a handsome/famous white man). On one hand, I understand that top commenter: At the end of the day sometimes you just want to watch good TV without worrying about the ethical dubiousness of supporting a rapist, abuser, pedophile, [insert horrible noun here]. On the other hand, we should all be critically engaging with media instead of mindlessly consuming it, so if Hamm has a sketchy past involving a morally bankrupt crime, I want to know about it. It certainly explains why he's able to flawlessly play Don Draper, a character who assumed the identity of his commanding officer in Korea after accidentally killing him in a piss-related incident. That adds a layer of insight for me!
As far as accountability goes, I'm not saying Hamm never deserves to work again or should receive constant public scorn for his past, just that every once in a while, someone should remind the public that he sucks to offset all the positive "dancing to Bad Bunny" press. You want to do fucked up shit while enjoying a career in the public eye? Sometimes you'll be reminded of that fucked up shit and if you want to truly move forward, you'll have to acknowledge it. In the episode I watched last night, Don tells a postpartum Peggy, "This never happened. It will shock you
how much it never happened." By the end of the series, we'll see how wrong this is. You can't just compartmentalize shit forever; consequences will arise either internally or externally until you're willing to face the truth.
Although I find the above review of Anna KamiĆska's "Simona" (2015) biography weirdly written, I'm grateful to it for introducing me to Simona Kossak, a Polish ecologist who grew up feeling like an outsider amongst a family full of artists. Her father, Jerzy Kossak, was a painter who came from a long line of painters, all important enough to have Wikipedia pages. His sister, father, grandfather, and other daughter (Gloria), were all painters. Two of his nieces were famous writers, including Maria Pawlikowska-Jasnorzewska AKA the "Polish Sappho." Unlike the rest of the family, Simona was a scientist who preferred animals to humans and moved from a manor in KrakĂłw to a remote wooden hut in the BiaĆowieĆŒa Forest for 30 years. Here's a picture of her and Korasek, a raven who
terrorised half of the BiaĆowieĆŒa area. He stole cigarette cases, hair brushes, scissors, cutters, mouse traps and notepads. He attacked people. [âŠ] He tore up bicycle seats. He stole documents, he stole lumberjacksâ sausages in the woods, and made holes in grocery bags. He clung at menâs pant legs, pulled at womenâs skirts, and pricked their legs. People thought that Korasek â because thatâs what he was called â was some kind of a punishment for their sins.
I love stories about people who break the family mold to follow their passion despite outward pressure to conform. I'm eager to learn more about Simona, but unfortunately, KamiĆska's biography is currently only available in Polish. For the time being, we'll have to settle for strangely written and/or translated internet writing, along with a 2024 documentary on Netflix that looks meh at best.
I blame "Track Star" for the influx of street interview videos clogging up my YouTube feed. I am now bombarded with "Body By Mark," "Gaydar," "Salary Transparent Street," "Takashi From Japan," etc. This is not exactly a criticism because many of them are fun/entertaining, but I use YouTube primarily for the smoothest of smooth brain content. I want to see someone pressure wash a rug, groom a dog, restore a painting; I don't want to hear words. I am there on weed because I want to be lulled into a deep slumber full of weird dreams about rock climbing Pomeranians. If, for some reason, I must listen to someone speak, let it be a soothing witch baking tarantula cookies.
If, like me, you loved the short-lived Netflix series, "The Curious Creations of Christine McConnell," you'll be delighted to know that she also has a similar Youtube channel that releases new videos every few months. For those unfamiliar, McConnell is a soft-spoken goth who has been described by The New Yorker as "Martha Stewart meets Tim Burton." Imagine a sophisticated, adult Lydia Deetz who can not only bake an elaborate, gorgeously decorated cake, but can also strip a house down to the studs and skillfully renovate it. At all times, her aesthetic is "wife who murdered her husband, buried him in the backyard, and had exceptionally hearty rose bushes for the rest of her life." I love her. If she dragged a sorority pledge around by her genitals, I don't want to know about it (kidding).
As soon as there's a chill in the air, I'll be falling asleep to this on loop through Halloween, hopefully dreaming about little vest-wearing rats riding pigeons like horses into the starless black expanse.
Here's what usually happens when I buy a cookbook: I make a few things from it and then it sits on my shelf, taunting me. Not so with "Big Vegan Flavor." I've been following Nisha Vora's blog, Rainbow Plant Life, for a few years and have made enough recipes from it to feel confident that she'll never lead me astray. I've been making her Tomato-Fennel Braised Chickpeas every week for almost the entire year and I'm still not sick of them. Her chili crisp goes on everything: eggs, cottage cheese, these noodles my husband loves that smell like feet, beans. I made her Roasted Carrots and Dates with Pistachio Pesto for Thanksgiving last year and will make them again this year because everyone loved them.
She taught me to grate tofu and even convinced me to become the kind of bitch who toasts her spices. I think I've made nearly everything from her book at least once and thus far, there have been zero skips. These are my favorites, in no particular order:
- Crispy Indian-ish Lentils with Rice & Yogurt
- Spicy, Crunchy Kale Salad with Preserved Lemon Vinaigrette
- Buttery Charred Cabbage in Spiced Tomatoes with Tahini
- "Cream"-Braised Leeks with Crispy Bits
- Ethiopian Red Lentil Stew with Spiced Butter
I'm not vegan or even vegetarian because if someone else cooks something delicious and I'm hungry, I'm too lazy not to eat it; however, when I cook for myself, it is usually vegan. Is there an obnoxious name for this that I can co-opt and turn into my entire personality?
I leave you with this '70s, Nathan Fielder-esque heartthrob from r/OldSchoolCool:
At the very least, they are brothers.
I also want everyone to know that my husband bought lavalier mics for our cats so he can record their best meows and turn them into text message alerts. How do people with no kids spend their time? Probably doing dumb shit like this. I thought he was joking when he mentioned the idea, but the mics showed up today, so I guess he was serious. He said, "You're going to want these meows when they're dead" and as (almost) always, he's right.
Forward this email to ten friends or I will send a cat meow virus to your computer. To stop the meows, you'll need to throw your phone/computer into a river.
