Emily Gould’s book Friendship comes out today; I reviewed it for the Globe and Mail; I included a line to the effect of “Emily Gould is the girl-king of my secret Twitter ‘Musts’ lists” and either cut it, or it got cut, I don’t remember.
In other news I celebrated Canada Day by watching Wet Hot American Summer and eating a single bite of someone else’s strawberry-rhubarb pie.
Walked outside, into wet grass and under wet leaves, carrying loudest Lana del Rey on my iPhone and very not-Lana-del-ishly wearing my summer evening uniform (virginal; cotton) and fireworks popped just up and over. Sky is still slate blue at 10pm in Ontario so it was more like fireworks en pastel in effect, very del-Rey-ishly.
Drink a vanilla milkshake and look out the window at the trees thrashing in the rain like they’re boy pre-teens at an outdoor all-ages show
Scream-run to your laptop to make sure it’s plugged into the heavy-duty shock-absorbent power bar, or whatever that thing happens to be called, instead of the wall
Drink some more of that vanilla milkshake, just little sip-sips to make it last all the way through until bedtime
Read half a fairytale
Not having a shiny paper lyric booklet to consult, open and fold and open and fold and open and fold until it takes some real doing to get it back in the jewel case, to spin blue and pink cotton-candy-fantasy out of, is a tragedy for the first time in my whole internet-life with Ultraviolence.
Anywhere-places – hotels; airports; way-over-air-conditioned conference rooms; parking lots; the suburbs; any coalescence of those – feel realer (for real-er) than most of the places I more sincerely and regularly occupy. Like, I’ve never fallen in love with my apartment and having things just-just-just so, the way a lot of my closies seem to. (I’ve also moved approximately thirty times more than them.) I love cities – I really love cities, and the hysterical crush of art and commerce – with their personalities and particularities, but the expansive vacancy of every kind of “space,” especially big ones, feels like something I can breathe into better.
And obviously, doy, this is because I’m a genuine-article suburban brat who grew up on the mega-lawned edges of a not-great city, and so the sum of my teenage nostalgica is largely mall-oriented, mall-parking-lot-oriented, driving-to-and-around-the-mall-parking-lot-oriented. I have a theory that when you come from and then reject the suburbs, it’s impossible to be neutral, and holiday visits home are either an excruciating day or two of the tedium that you spent high school planning to get away from, or (or!) a cool shot of catharsis, where the place (or placelessness) is both encouraging and reminiscent of the kind of blank space that you got/get to occupy, project onto, create.
I’m the second kind, obviously, and in the summer, between vacay-proper (important note: it’s never “vaca”; it’s always “vacay”), and the heat’s general loosening of the shoulders and the hair-care rituals and the mind that leads to rando afternoons off, and, I dunno, the collection of music and movies that I still consider summer-essential and originally encountered in… guess, the suburban mall experience in particular is what I want to be having.
I mean, summer in a city is great. I’ll see you there. But my iPhone earbuds have nothing on a car stereo with the windows down, wheeling into your spot for a movie or to pick up some gummy candy or, preferably, a vanilla-chocolate twist cone, which might be the primary leitmotif of my life (and blonde-to-brown-to-blonde-to-brown hair color). The tight exhaustion of so much of adult life – even a lucky, happy life – is just put down for a second when the best parts of the easier, earlier summers are picked up.
The week I had this blue-blue-blue Ford Focus Titanium 5-Door hatchback (you guys, it’s called “Blue Candy,” and like, have we met? That’s my cartoon-superhero name in any seriously considered narrative universe) and used it to melt into sun and summertime and, most importantly, mall excursions (and what’s more suburbsy than a pre-mall Starbucks-specific run, right? Luv u, drive-thru), where I picked up this perf card for my perf pal Anna at perf card-emporium Target, just for like a “You are my sunshine” kind of thing, and some other stuff. Note the 5-door hatchback aspect, which is important for mall-ing even when you’re only shopping for items on the small-‘n’-cute spectrum; note also the cool-as-f dashboard feature where my distance-until-E is represented, all the better for summer-time day-tripping (to the other mall across town).
Car loaned by Ford
Weekly Top Fivey Food Edition:
5. Recent fruit-move: cut deep into the in-play pineapple in the fridge with a steak knife, pull out a long spear of it, chop off the hard inside part, chop up the good part, eat with the tip of the knife. DON’T DO THIS.
4. Had to watch some Scandal for fashion-story research (love u, work) so obviously I bought a bag of popcorn. Accidentally chose white cheddar instead of regular so I wasn’t reeeeeally Olivia Pope-ing it, howeversies.
3. I read somewhere that peanuts are good for your hair so I have invented a new (um, quite high-calorie) snack: 1/4 a cup of peanuts (I like the Whole Foods “Li’l Salty” kind!) and a cup of 2% milk. It’s the wholesomest.
2. New thing now that I have hot wheels is going to McDonald’s at five a.m. for a coffee and no food. (Aside from fries and ice cream, I don’t like McDonald’s, but I love McDonald’s coffee.) Recommended.
1. I found a cheese called Brebis Rousse which means, I think, “RED SHEEP” (??) and tastes like if you shook the packet of Kraft Dinner cheese powder into a thing of that almost tasteless mushroomy brie and mushed it up. 10/10. (Really.)