Nostalgia drew me in. But the escapism, absurdity, and innocent stupidity of the late 2000s kept me watching.
It’s the second Friday in March, and nobody seems to be going outside anymore. I’m glued to my couch watching season 1, episode 11 of Gossip Girl, in which Blair Waldorf is coming to terms with her dad. He’s recently come out as gay and is moving to Paris to live with his boyfriend, who — scandal upon scandal! — used to be a model for Blair’s fashion designer mother.
Now it’s July, and I’ve moved a mile down the street from my old apartment. Gossip Girl’s Dan Humphrey is, improbably, getting a story published in the New Yorker as a high-school junior. It’s August, the eve of my birthday, and Nate Archibald is running The Spectator, which is surely not a parallel to Jared Kushner’s ownership of the New York Observer. It’s Thanksgiving, and I’m making three men between the ages of 28 and 31 watch as Jason Derulo’s “Whatcha Say” plays over the now-iconic Thanksgiving scene in season 3 in which everyone exposes everyone else’s secrets at the dinner table. And now it’s January, and there’s a fascist insurrection happening in Washington, D.C., but I still have to work, so to add another layer of noise and chaos to my day, I watch as Rufus and Lily’s love child, who is now an adult, comes into town, dates boring Vanessa, and, after revealing his identity, leaves again. …
Buckle up! It’s a doozy.
I trust that my neighborhood bookstore has only the best selections on display, books that its employees have personally vetted and chosen, and because of this, I’ve never been let down by any of my purchases there. Until last week. Before absconding to the Catskills to sit in a hot tub for several days, I stopped by Greenlight to buy some books, which I planned to devour sitting in said hot tub or while wearing an alpaca sweater in front of a roaring fire at an Airbnb. I picked up a stack of books, and then I saw Cecily von Ziegesar’s Cobble Hill, and as I am always in the middle of a Gossip Girl rewatch I thought, oh good, this will be great to mindlessly read, like literary cotton candy, and I bought it. Reader, I hated this book so much I couldn’t stop talking about it to anyone I spoke to between December 30 and January 6. It’s possible it’s the worst book I’ve ever read, though I’m loath to even give it that superlative distinction. …
Blankets, silk pillowcases, and a little wicker basket really can make things better
As the year draws to a close, I am looking back on what 2020 has wrought. For me, it was a year of adjustments (new job, leaving journalism full time, new apartment, etc.), which included trying to find ways to self-soothe during a global crisis. I bought a bunch of stuff that made me happy because that’s evidently what you do when you have a small amount of disposable income for the first time in your life. I donated to my local mutual aid organizations, and and I made a bunch of pretty small changes and purchases that improved my life significantly. …
As soon as the scale of the pandemic became apparent this spring, I accepted that the rest of my 2020 was probably fucked: No enormous birthday party at my favorite wine bar in Clinton Hill, no Thanksgiving, no Christmas. So when my birthday rolled around in August, I saw some friends in the park and walked to Chinatown to eat my favorite wontons outside on Bayard Street. When the CDC all but cautioned against cancelling Thanksgiving last month, outside of celebrating with the members of your home, I was sad but I made peace with it and cooked a big dinner for four in my Brooklyn apartment’s kitchen. …
How else would I have learned to do magic tricks, make friendship bracelets, or braid hair?
When I close my eyes I can see my childhood bookshelf. There’s the light blue Laura Ingalls Wilder box set, the copy of Anne of Green Gables, Little Women, the “Dear America” books with the built-in fabric bookmarks (in retrospect, possibly problematic or at least historically questionable), the copy of the The Care And Keeping Of You, an American Girl book that was wordlessly handed to me when I was 9 years old. There’s all of my dad’s old cartoon and comic books that got passed down to me, a stack of Judy Blume paperbacks, and years of Highlights magazines.
But there’s a part of the bookshelf where the books don’t sit nicely side by side. The books are slightly oversized and jut out at odd angles because of the plastic pouches attached to the spiral wire that binds the book. …
If you’re working in any capacity right now, perhaps you are familiar with this scenario: It’s a Friday and you’re trying your best to focus and accomplish anything. The sun is hanging low in the sky by 3 p.m. and you can feel your desire to crawl into bed increasing. You look up at 4:30 and realize it’s completely dark; you haven’t even been outside yet today, and it’s looking less likely than ever that you’ll be going for a walk in the dark once you finish work. Not that there’s anywhere to go right now, anyway.
I have a solution to this—I think you’re gonna love it. It’s called Winter Fridays. Just like how in the summer some white-collar employers give their employees a little half-day treat on Fridays to enjoy the sunshine, or day drink, or simply take a nap, Winter Fridays are essentially that, but in the winter. You arguably need time off on Fridays more in the winter than you do during other times of the year. There are fewer hours of daylight, and while I don’t personally haven’t conducted any science on this, I have to imagine it’s not good for any of us, already necessarily limited by where we can go and what we can do during a global pandemic, to work all day on Fridays when it gets dark at 4 and we’re all in various states of personal mental distress. Let us out to experience a few hours of sun and relax, untethered from our responsibilities and our devices before it gets dark outside!!!!! …
I love to buy people holiday presents, but I hate remembering to have to do it the day after Thanksgiving, when I’d much rather lie on the couch getting mad about the Great British Bake-Off finale. I missed the Black Friday and Cyber Monday deals this year, which doesn’t seem to even matter because the deals just…kept happening after Monday anyway? Also, when items get put in a gift guide on a national publication’s website, I find by the time I’m frantically Googling actually good gift guide for ideas the stuff on those lists is already out of stock.
So! It is now the first week of December and you’re on the hook for winter holiday gifts for everyone. How do you know what to buy that a) is not insanely expensive b) firmly cements your place as an incredible gift-giver and c) will almost* definitely arrive in the next three weeks? I’m HERE TO HELP, and if you’re expecting a Christmas gift from me this year this is your cue to stop reading. …
Who are the only people still playing desktop flash games in 2020? Great question. The answer: Me, my friend Kate, and some old British women. What are we playing? Another great question! The answer: It’s not even a game so much as it is a 25-day digital advent calendar from British illustrator Jacquie Lawson. Every day there’s a new ornament you can click on, leading you to a fun animation or a little cute card game as you inch closer to Christmas.
The town itself and the people in it are the beautiful snow-capped backdrop that Big Christmas has led to believe is aspirational for the month of December.And look at this cozy living room. …
You all are on your own for Christmas.
This year I have cooked prolifically. As our global, uh, situation spiraled out of control in March, I helplessly began making and freezing a ton of soups and stews because what else was I supposed to do? I baked my obligatory breads like everyone else. Spending more time at home in my kitchen made me more inclined to nourish myself with food I already had at home. Lots of salads with homemade dressing. Lots of braised chickpeas. Lots of chicken thigh skillet meals. Lots of meatballs with various accoutrements. Plenty of cookies.
The apotheosis of my casual home-cooking peaks every year at Thanksgiving. Every year I look forward to the holiday. Even this year, knowing I would be cooking for just three other people in my quarantine pod, I was thrilled by the prospect of having a Thanksgiving meal that was entirely my own—no dry turkey in sight. I love cooking for my friends, and not being able to do it all year in a meaningful way has sucked. …
I’ve known my roommate Larissa since college and have lived with her for a couple years, though it feels longer, possibly due to the amount of time we’ve spent indoors together this year. Larissa has many great qualities. …
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