Suiting Up For the Apocalypse ✨💀✨
Hello my favorite people.
Hi.
I’m under the covers as I draft this, hiding from it all.
Yesterday I spent way too much time on the internet—like, the whole day? Did I spend the whole day reading shitty news?? No, I managed to get dressed by three o’clock, go to the farmer’s market and to Trader Joe’s, buy Not Enough Groceries and Nothing I Felt Like Cooking. Then slink home and watch The Bachelor conference-call-style with my friend S while eating crackers and cheese in bed. The Donald has driven me to watch The Bachelor is how bad this is.
The Donald's regime is getting me down personally, which I realize is a selfish tack to take. And also unproductive. Which gets me down even further. But how do I write a newsletter? Or, say, finish this latest draft of the (un)romantic comedy I’m writing, when it feels like the world is falling apart?
How Do You Make Art When the World Is Falling Apart? —I tweeted and immediately reached to delete because what a whiner.
Sometimes With a Laptop But Mostly With a Pen —my friend L replied.
YES THANK YOU YES THAT IS WHAT I NEEDED
Twitter can be a hell hole and a vortex and it can swallow six hours in a blink, but sometimes it also pulls me back out. (See: JW)
How do I finish this draft?
With a Laptop and a Stack of Post-Its and a Big Ol Cup of Coffee.
Righteo. Carry on then, Laramie.
*****
This month in, er, fashion?: I bought a pair of Dansko clogs. In my defense, they were $22.50, like new, at Crossroads. I put them on and they fit perfectly and my back has been hurting me… How could I leave them behind? I actually did leave them behind. They seemed too dorky and middle-aged-y. But they haunted me. And when I texted my friend C to seek counsel, she told me all the punk rock girls in Oakland wear Danskos, so of course I went back for them. (“Punk rock” is my cryptonite. You could get me to leave the house in a bell-sleeved off-the-shoulder chambray blouse if you told me it was “punk rock.” JK BUT SRSLY WHAT IS UP WITH ALL THE BELL SLEEVED OFF THE SHOULDER CRAP EVERYWHERE WHO WANTS TO WEAR THAT)
This month in Fashion (with a capital F): I bought an insanely cool dress at the Creatures of Comfort sample sale. Long, black, sleeveless, with pockets, in a kind of space-age-y leather-y Tencel fabric. I have absolutely no occasion to wear it. But hey, let’s all go goth for the apocalypse!
This month in tacos: Gracias Madre, a vegan Mexican restaurant in West Hollywood, makes a pretty terrific jackfruit carnitas taco. The place is terrible though. It’s gorgeous, with an enormous, beautifully landscaped patio, lanterns hanging from the ceiling and the trees. And the chef trained with Alice Waters, I think? But every woman there has a full fucking face of makeup and exposed boobs, and the men are all men that are into that. Makes it hard to enjoy your cashew cheese nachos (aka Totopos Con Chile), also terrific.
This month in teevee: Do not watch The Bachelor. It’s terrible. (Sooo many full faces of makeup and exposed boobs, come to think of it.) Instead! On Amazon, Fleabag is crass and silly and heartbreaking. You’ll power through the six half-hour episodes like ::snaps fingers:: And on Netflix, I’m 4/6 into an excellent French series, Call My Agent. It’s a soap, basically, about a talent agency, which is the perfect showcase for a seemingly endless supply of kick-ass French actresses of all ages (some with full faces of makeup and some with ALMOST NONE).
This month in print: I nearly forgot! Speaking of the apocalypse... Michelle Tea's Black Wave, set in a dystopian 90s California, is Great. Funny and dirty and devastating. If you're a fan of Chelsea Girls or Courtney Love or Permanent Midnight, you will dig it. Beware, though, the ending hits a little close to home.
*****
xoxo,
Laramie
Hi.
I’m under the covers as I draft this, hiding from it all.
Yesterday I spent way too much time on the internet—like, the whole day? Did I spend the whole day reading shitty news?? No, I managed to get dressed by three o’clock, go to the farmer’s market and to Trader Joe’s, buy Not Enough Groceries and Nothing I Felt Like Cooking. Then slink home and watch The Bachelor conference-call-style with my friend S while eating crackers and cheese in bed. The Donald has driven me to watch The Bachelor is how bad this is.
The Donald's regime is getting me down personally, which I realize is a selfish tack to take. And also unproductive. Which gets me down even further. But how do I write a newsletter? Or, say, finish this latest draft of the (un)romantic comedy I’m writing, when it feels like the world is falling apart?
How Do You Make Art When the World Is Falling Apart? —I tweeted and immediately reached to delete because what a whiner.
Sometimes With a Laptop But Mostly With a Pen —my friend L replied.
YES THANK YOU YES THAT IS WHAT I NEEDED
Twitter can be a hell hole and a vortex and it can swallow six hours in a blink, but sometimes it also pulls me back out. (See: JW)
How do I finish this draft?
With a Laptop and a Stack of Post-Its and a Big Ol Cup of Coffee.
Righteo. Carry on then, Laramie.
*****
This month in, er, fashion?: I bought a pair of Dansko clogs. In my defense, they were $22.50, like new, at Crossroads. I put them on and they fit perfectly and my back has been hurting me… How could I leave them behind? I actually did leave them behind. They seemed too dorky and middle-aged-y. But they haunted me. And when I texted my friend C to seek counsel, she told me all the punk rock girls in Oakland wear Danskos, so of course I went back for them. (“Punk rock” is my cryptonite. You could get me to leave the house in a bell-sleeved off-the-shoulder chambray blouse if you told me it was “punk rock.” JK BUT SRSLY WHAT IS UP WITH ALL THE BELL SLEEVED OFF THE SHOULDER CRAP EVERYWHERE WHO WANTS TO WEAR THAT)
This month in Fashion (with a capital F): I bought an insanely cool dress at the Creatures of Comfort sample sale. Long, black, sleeveless, with pockets, in a kind of space-age-y leather-y Tencel fabric. I have absolutely no occasion to wear it. But hey, let’s all go goth for the apocalypse!
This month in tacos: Gracias Madre, a vegan Mexican restaurant in West Hollywood, makes a pretty terrific jackfruit carnitas taco. The place is terrible though. It’s gorgeous, with an enormous, beautifully landscaped patio, lanterns hanging from the ceiling and the trees. And the chef trained with Alice Waters, I think? But every woman there has a full fucking face of makeup and exposed boobs, and the men are all men that are into that. Makes it hard to enjoy your cashew cheese nachos (aka Totopos Con Chile), also terrific.
This month in teevee: Do not watch The Bachelor. It’s terrible. (Sooo many full faces of makeup and exposed boobs, come to think of it.) Instead! On Amazon, Fleabag is crass and silly and heartbreaking. You’ll power through the six half-hour episodes like ::snaps fingers:: And on Netflix, I’m 4/6 into an excellent French series, Call My Agent. It’s a soap, basically, about a talent agency, which is the perfect showcase for a seemingly endless supply of kick-ass French actresses of all ages (some with full faces of makeup and some with ALMOST NONE).
This month in print: I nearly forgot! Speaking of the apocalypse... Michelle Tea's Black Wave, set in a dystopian 90s California, is Great. Funny and dirty and devastating. If you're a fan of Chelsea Girls or Courtney Love or Permanent Midnight, you will dig it. Beware, though, the ending hits a little close to home.
*****
xoxo,
Laramie
Don't miss what's next. Subscribe to The Laramie Report: