BED CRUMBS | shoutout to my saturn return

Life is just a lot. Do you ever just think that to yourself? Life is just a lot of stuff happening all the time and there’s nothing you can really do about it. There’s no pause button on the remote and good luck getting the volume controls to work.

I’m turning 28 on [redacted] and taking my annual completely overwhelming dip into the feelings pool of sadness and panic about my mortality and all the ways I feel time is running out and all the small, scary ways I notice my body getting older and all the meaningless deadlines for accomplishments I’ve put on myself and either failed or am failing to meet. I’m insufferable, I know. I’ll pause for a moment to allow everyone older than me who is reading this right now to roll their eyes.

Good? Okay.

On top of that are the *gestures wildly* massive assaults on women’s rights this week that I can’t even begin to articulate my feelings towards. I’m just angry all the time, and that anger is exhausting, sometimes to the point where I can’t help but shut down, hang my head in defeat and say, “Fuck it. There’s no way for any of this to get better.”

Of course, that’s exactly what they want you to do. They want to tire you out. It’s easier to smother a body once it stops flailing. So, in times like these, I turn to whatever the feel-good comfort food media equivalent is to reset my human batteries. Sure, there are a few things that challenge me and make me think thrown into the mix, but my media diet becomes heavily filled with movies I’ve seen a million times — shoutout to The Parent Trap (1998) — shows that air on Freeform, and syruppy pop music. And I like that.

Sometimes, when it feels like everything is bad, you have to revel for a moment with the things that make you feel good. Maybe it isn’t the most intellectually stimulating. Maybe it isn’t highbrow. Maybe it’s even downright tasteless. But that’s okay. So here’s to a week spent treading water in the shallow end. If we don’t pause every now and then to do that, we’ll simply drown.

thanks sorry love u bye,

ode to lizzo typed frantically out on the notes app in the bathroom of brooklyn steel

Maybe it’s a sign that I’m getting older that tonight I’m not one of the sweaty kids on the floor dancing up on each other whether they really want to or not, packed in so tight it’ll be a miracle if Josh or Sarah or Kat can push through to get another round of beers and make it back, promised shouts of “I’ll save your spot” falling on deaf ears, but instead one who stands on the balcony and nurses one cocktail over the entire evening, watching the action from above. But god, it’s a beautiful sight to see, a thousand different bodies moving in one big mass, backwards and forwards in various degrees of intensity, all rollicking like the sea. You don’t realize that when you’re down there, when you’re one of them. You don’t realize how suddenly your breath catches when you think about how many different kinds of people are here tonight finding joy and love and relief and salvation in the same music. I don’t know if I believe in god but I know when I’m watching this, cliché as it damn well may be, I do believe there’s something out there that’s bigger than us.

And tonight Brooklyn Steel is church and there I go again with the clichés but it’s hard not to when Lizzo is playing the preacher at the pulpit, if preachers wore thong bodysuits and filled their sermons with expletive-peppered self love affirmations. See: “As a human being, you deserve to have good days and bad days. If you feel a tear coming, cry bitch. If you feel a laugh, chuckle ho.”

And of course it makes sense that tonight feels like church; it’s where Lizzo got her start, her gospel influences shining through every song, even the fuckboy diss tracks. And tonight she takes something that so often excludes so many people and turns it into something gloriously inclusive. She shows us that we all have a home in this kind of church, that here we can twerk and kiss and drink and cuss and sing loudly together. We all worship in our own ways.

Dedicated - Carly Rae Jepsen
Thank you, Carly Rae, for coming in strong with the synthpop summer soundtrack we’ve been waiting for in these final days of spring. It’s the time of the year when we can perfectly visualize impending days of lying out in the park, skin simmering, toes that hang off our too-small towels digging into the cool grass, the pages of our books growing damp in the thick air. It’s the time of the year for rolling the windows down in our Ubers as they speed through the city at night, going everywhere and nowhere at the same time, the evening breeze feeling cooler as the car picks up speed.

These days need a carefree and sexy and entirely unserious soundtrack and Carly Rae Jepsen, our lady of ‘80s throwback pop, delivered with Dedicated, a follow up to her critically-lauded, perfect, pure pop gem 2015 album E•MO•TION. Are they the smartest, most thought-provoking songs? Absolutely not. But not every album can be a heavy main course; sometimes we need the empty sugar rush of candy. I’m already filing “Julien” and “Party For One” in tight with my mix of “songs it’s impossible to not sing along or dance or be in a bad mood listening to” (see: “Girls Just Want To Have Fun”, “I Wanna Dance With Somebody”, “Everywhere”, “Into The Groove”, et. al) and feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin. Volume: High. Mood: Even higher.

Our Fury Over Abortion Was Dismissed for Decades As Hysterical - Rebecca Traister
Nothing I can say about my all-consuming rage right now is nearly half as good as what Rebecca Traister has to say. (She literally wrote a book about it — Good and Mad, I highly recommend.) This piece is perfect, the Cut’s political commentary is so underrated, and if you aren’t also fucking furious right now, kindly unsubscribe!!!

The Bold Type
Just like trash music, sometimes we need television that is… not good! But still enjoyable! The Bold Type, as it chronicles the lives of three 20-something staffers at a fictional Glamour or Cosmopolitan-adjacent magazine, has made me shout “that’s not a real thing!” or “who still says ‘the dot-com’!?” or "Jane, you literally write one article a week how are you employed" or “OKAY BUT YOU CAN’T JUST HANG OUT IN THE FASHION CLOSET AND NOT DO WORK!!!” at the television on more than one occasion.

So why do I still watch? Because I’m consistently impressed with, and at times moved by, its snappy dialogue, its cast members’ incredibly perfect chemistry, and its thoughtful tackling of sensitive, timely social-political topics. Because it fills that spot in me itching for the kind of romanticized version of New York and the media world that Sex and the City scratched in my teen years. I have the wherewithal (which I absolutely did not have while watching the latter at 15) to know what’s unrealistic, but the good parts remind me why I’m here and why I got into this industry when becoming jaded feels too easy. And because, sometimes, after a long and often frustrating day at work, it’s nice to come home, pour a glass of rosé, and watch something that isn’t so serious for a change.

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okay that's it that's the end thanks bye