Call me a hater, but this book from Offal (“helmed by a CEO operating under the pseudonym Jeremy Portal”; other product is “a radio show…or is it a podcast?…that was produced entirely by AI”) isn’t a zine. Offset printing and perfect binding are dispositive with zinemaking. (Via Storythings)
Have to say, it’s disappointing when your NBA podcast abruptly pivots to an interview with the host of an affiliated politics podcast, and she evinces no interest in the use of power but focuses entirely on the tussle. Who’s up, who’s down. I loathe the savvy style in political reporting.
Los Angeles, February 2024
Ha! I have been keeping a sourdough starter going since October, but it hasn’t been lifting my bread the way I want. So I’ve mostly been making waffles with it. (Very good!) I just had the insight: are my ratios off? I’ve been feeding 1:1:1. Checked cookbook and, yes, the standard is 1:10:10. 🤦🏼
Finally some answers in the quest to understand the NYT’s Harvard obsession:
One popular hypothesis: The reporters flock to Harvard to work through their personal struggles with generational overachievement. There’s no “crisis in higher education”; there’s just a crisis of New York Times writers with daddy issues and anxiety over what the end of legacy admissions could mean for their children’s college prospects.
West Hollywood, February 2024
West Hollywood, February 2024
Saturday morning, coffee and pancakes with the baby, window open, a chill breeze, Kind of Blue on the stereo—and an abrupt, vivid memory:
First months of pandemic, horribly lonely for the company of strangers, every Saturday I made cappuccinos, put on jazz, and played… ambient coffee shop recordings
First cake of 2024, an old favorite called Ruins of a Russian Count’s Castle or торт графские развалины. From Caroline Eden’s wonderful Samarkand. Dense, delicious prune-nut cake, iced with whipped sour cream, topped with meringues and drizzled chocolate.
To the ruin of the House of Putin!
So much of my education as a writer of narrative has consisted of asking
How do I get from here to there? (Spatially, emotionally, plot-wise, etc.)
And so often after many hours or days or years I’ve realized
I must skip the transition, jump straight there, and assume the reader will follow.
At my 33 1/3 birthday party (an excuse to buy a record player) we got back into the face-changing apps. Back in 2020, the age-yourself button had fascinated me. This time, though, I found an app with a button that makes you into a baby. No deep thoughts, but we laughed so hard our faces hurt.
Still life as a millennial creator who is feeling uninspired to add to the blog, the newsletter, the other newsletter, the personal website, or even his own diary.
Saving it all for the book project.
Los Angeles, January 2024
West Hollywood, January 2024
Listening to Waxahatchee’s new single, her casual, understated harmonies with MJ Lenderman, I fill with wonder at voice, so unlike any other instruments. Is there any distance between willing a sound and producing it? No. The mind-body jacks its vocal cords straight into the airwaves—and sings.
The corollary to William Gibson’s famous observation that
The future is already here, it’s just not very evenly distributed
is
The apocalypse is also already here, also unevenly distributed.
Noyo, January 2024
Today, remembering the greatest Words of Enlightenment ever to grace a GT’s kombucha bottle.
Quick shoutout to the ravens in my mom’s yard who killed a gopher and now are eating it with a real joie de vivre.
Mendocino, January 2024
Noyo, January 2024
This suspiciously well-funded NIMBY group somehow got ahold of my email address, to which they now send their ugly emails. And their funky slogans don’t even make sense!
“It will no longer be the Sunset Strip; it will be the SUNSET STUCK… in traffic" - Keith on Alta Loma
Girl, the traffic on Sunset already doesn’t move. Take Fountain. You’ll be fine.
From Abortion, Every Day’s coverage of the case of Brittany Watts, an Ohio woman who was denied medical care, miscarried at home, returned to the hospital due to bleeding, then had her toilet destroyed by cops, who eventually arrested her for “mutilation of a corpse”:
Brittany’s case epitomizes everything we know about the criminalization of pregnancy outcomes: Women charged are often turned in by healthcare providers; Brittany was turned in by a nurse.
The way these anti-abortion laws empower zealots—including nurses!—to appoint themselves as informants is just chilling.
“Since 2016, in the last eight years, we can identify 215 individuals that have been buried behind that jail and their families have not been notified.”
This PBS interview with Bettersten Wade—whose son was buried with his wallet and ID in his front pocket—shocks the conscience.
Mendocino, January 2024
