wtf, brain?
https://twitter.com/HarvF/status/1563708422805233666
[Alt text: A tweet showing a photo of a group of people posing with Dr. Oz, holding his campaign sign so that it says "NO."]
Dear Diary,
For the first time in several months, my life is boring and quiet, and I fucking love it. I've been waking up in a good mood, and my overall anxiety levels have fallen. Maybe it's some kind of hormonal upswing, or that I'm back at my regular group tennis class, or that I've been doing more cardio and drinking less wine and eating less sugar. Maybe it's a combination of all those things. Maybe this is the happy calm before the next shitstorm. Who cares; I'm riding this out in the most basic way possible: by taking pleasure in the tiniest things:
I found a farmers market — that I can walk to! — with incredible peaches and grapes. I have three new books from the library (The Love Songs of W.E.B. Du Bois, The Candy House, Ain't That a Mother). I pulled the trigger on that fancy vacuum the Wirecutter recommends and holy shit I love vacuuming again. This morning I dropped my car off for an oil change and, on the walk home, I was singing show tunes (quietly, in my head). Is this what normal, well-adjusted people do? Go about their days getting shit done but also... enjoying it?
And yet.
The other night I had the most disturbing, fucked up dream.
You know how, when you peer at yourself in the mirror, and you see a big clogged pore, you can kind of squeeze some crap out of it? That's what I did in my dream, except what came out was this little pink tab, like a tiny kitten's tongue. I pulled on it, and it got longer and longer, and before long I had removed an entire uncooked, petrified-stiff slice of BACON from one of my pores. The rest of the dream was vegetarian me trying to explain what had just happened — to people who did not want to hear about it.
If that is the tradeoff I have to make — daytime serenity, nighttime horror movie — then I think I'm OK with it.
Links
Keep your small children (and dogs) away from Teslas. JFC. (Digg)
Men need more friends. (Vox)
A honcho at UCSF breaks down how he assesses risk re: Covid in a helpful, detailed thread. (Twitter)
"I’m 5’5”, 175 pounds of pure bile, and mean as shit. I have an atrocious astrology chart and I am terrible at parties. Unlike these women with swanlike necks and publicly gentle dispositions, I am certifiably unzipped." — Scaachi Koul on why she should be Pete Davidson's next girlfriend. If she ever offered a writing workshop I would sign up so fast. (Buzzfeed)
1920s and 1930s Soviet pattern designs. The ones of skaters are especially great. (Flashbak)
Nimesh Patel, a comedian who is all over TikTok. He's got this NJ/NY aggressive energy with a laugh that is sometimes so high-pitched, and I love the contrast. He's also not hard to look at. Here's a whole hour of his standup. (YouTube)
Backyard Band (DC go-go) is playing a free outdoor show Friday downtown. Who's in? (Instagram)
Cillian Murphy's resting bitch face. (TikTok)
Please send me your best caption for this kangaroo fight video. (Twitter)