notes from may
challengers, sports stats, and magical thinking. a less formal structure for this installment because I haven’t felt so coherent lately
I am in the middle of a texting renaissance, probably because I have kind of intense screen-time limits restricting my access to all the apps I would actually like to look at instead (it’s for my own good). It feels like I am in high school again, talking to my besties over Facebook messenger when I should be doing homework. There’s a forgotten 2010s glamor to texting. For some reason, our culture has poisoned the name of a humble text. People act like an unexpected text is an unbearable, selfish burden thrust upon innocent people already at capacity. We have prioritized the Facetime and IRL meetup, not realizing that the Facetime and IRL meetup, while wonderful, have a completely separate necessity and pleasure from texting. Anyways, I hope none of my friends are bothered by the constant barrage of inanities I am sending to them on the daily. For better or for worse, I am always hungry for a Chat. Also, if a barrage of inanities seems like something that would bother you, I advise you to discontinue your reading of this particular newsletter.
For reasons I can’t really get into, Challengers should actually be pretty triggering to me, but instead of avoiding it I’ve decided to become obsessed. I listen to the soundtrack when I drive to work, even though it makes me feel like I’m going to crash my car. I’ve also been playing a lot of tennis lately, mostly with Ally and Lilou, and I think I am doing it wrong because my wrist kind of hurts while typing this. I can’t play a game now without stopping to say, in my best Zendaya, “tennis is a relationship.” This week we discovered a new court at the top of a hill, next to a house with a hot tub on the roof.
I’ve also been third wheeling a lot. There’s no romantic or sexual tension or Blood Orange soundtrack, but I’ve been returning to the triangular dynamic in a big way. Third wheeling makes me feel like a kid again, because I’m in the backseat of the plan. It reminds me of when my brother and his girlfriend (now wife) took me to see The Giver when I was 14.
My third wheeling era looks like this: I’m eating dinner with a friend and her boyfriend, and afterwards, we go to a bar in my neighborhood. I’m sleeping on the couch while my parents are in the bed in the other room at our hotel in Utah. My friend and his boyfriend ask me if I want to see a movie with them, but I can’t because I actually already have plans to third wheel with an entirely different couple. I’m the third roommate to my best friend and his boyfriend, and they took the trash out for me this week because I’ve been feeling sad.
But more on Challengers. I was thinking about Tashi Duncan as a character and how, at least to myself, seriousness feels so refreshing. I’m tired of the winks and nods at everything. I’m tired of self-aware, I’m tired of self-deprecating. I love that Tashi Duncan is a freak for tennis and basically nothing else. I love that J.Lo made that movie. I love Claire from Fleabag. I love Jeremy Strong and his crazy GQ “Ten Things I Can’t Live Without” interview; how a person can so completely embody what it means to be a triple Capricorn. I find a sense of discipline and seriousness beautiful. It’s beautiful to care, to want. If you take things too far, of course you can make life difficult for those around you, but it’s a vulnerable way to live.
tennis :D Last weekend I was crying on the street in the Castro. A guy walked by and said, “it will get better, sis,” and somehow this actually did make me feel better.
My mom left me a voicemail that started like this: “Hey this is Connie—I mean this is your mommy.” In 2019 my dad left me a voicemail that started like this: “Hey this is Bob—uh Dad!” They are the only two people in the world who leave me voicemails.
I’ve been listening to a lot of soft pop/rock lately, the kind of stuff that I never seek out intentionally but sometimes have a spiritual moment with in a CVS. A few weeks ago, Valerie came over, and we played “The Man Who Can’t Be Moved” by The Script on the smart TV. I put the lyrics on the screen and we sang along. It was like 2 PM.
I’ve been more interested in sports lately, mainly basketball. What I never realized before is that sports are all about narratives. It’s about dynasties, rivalries, and arcs, and the stats that legitimize these narratives. On that front, there are some truly arbitrary and ridiculous cherry-picked records, the spirit of which can be summed up by a quick scroll through nbacrazystats on twitter (I will never call it X).
Some examples of particularly ridiculous ones that make me laugh are as follows:
“Steph Curry joins LeBron James as only 2 players in last 5 seasons to record 25-pt double-double on 27th birthday.”
And these:
Sometimes I read a stat line at the end of a game or on reddit and think, why the hell would anyone waste time thinking about that? I imagine whoever produced these stats as sweating over a deranged spreadsheet, their apartment fitted with a detective-type investigative cork board. It’s an endearing feature of fandom, this ridiculous record keeping. And it’s not completely unique to sports. I know this because I was watching Drag Race with Kenny and he said, “Ru Paul has given the compliment ‘you were born to do drag’ less than ten times.”
Whoever is up late crunching numbers and compiling evidence is my twin flame, a kindred spirit. I find myself looking for patterns and records in the stupidest places. All to support my little narratives. I am looking at the data and finding things like: This is the first time I’ve bought a rotisserie chicken while single. Today is the four-year anniversary of the day I drove home because of COVID and forgot to tell my friend happy birthday. This is just the third time I’ve worn this shirt since the bad thing happened. Today is a three-day streak of eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner. May 2024 joins September 2020 as only 2 months in last 5 years to record at least 1 hour of crying every single day.
I am celebrating anniversaries that no one else is even aware of. I am claiming victories no one else is competing for. I think I must look for patterns because I am desperate to contextualize my feelings; even if the context is simply that they’re unprecedented.
I’ve been watching Hacks on HBO, mostly because I think Pat Regan is funny. The show is good but I’m running into my frequent TV problem, which is that I hate watching conflict, especially between people who have no stake in the conflict. In my ideal show, Ava and Deborah get along like old friends, apologize when appropriate, and write awesome jokes.
Hacks is just one of the many pieces of media I’m engaging with right now in my all-consuming attempt to Stay Busy. This week, I found on the street The Complete Stories of Flannery O’Connor as well as Doppelganger by Naomi Klein, both of which were on my reading list. I’ve decided to believe and delight in such small instances of good luck right now, even though times are hard.
Today I saw that the publication date for Sally Rooney’s new novel has been set for September. I am being so serious when I say I need that novel and I need it bad and I need it now. I spent the last week rereading “Beautiful World, Where Are You?” I love Sally Rooney for many reasons, just one of which being she writes books that give me hope that people with difficult personalities can find lasting friendship and love.
My new scary mantra: It happened. It happened. It happened.
this clickbait on the bing homepage of my work computer also reads as a really scary affirmation I work near the beach now, so every day during lunch I take a walk to the water. This week, I came across a woman walking her dog. The dog was going nuts over the sea foam; he was chasing it, pouncing on it, trying to both wrestle with and eat it. The more the dog agitated the sea foam, the more he wanted it, though, the more it just simply disappeared. It reminded me of this meme I saw on tiktok a while ago that I have been trying to hold close to my heart ever since:
It feels a wrong to just tack this on but it would be worse to say nothing about the abhorrent crimes Israel is currently committing in Rafah. And we should probably witness the actual horrific images instead of an AI-generated one. Our tax dollars are funding an active genocide and to Biden, a “red line” apparently means nothing.
Operation Olive Branch - for resources and donation direction
local friends, i hope to see you here tomorrow:
