STORIES WE LIKED: NO KISSING YOUR PHONE! *** POST-PLAGUE ANXIETY *** PRO HANDWASHING STRATS *** EMAILS *** IT'S REAL WEIRD TO GO OUTSIDE RN *** FRUIT MAN CONFESSES
Sunday, 17 May 2020
I think I might be right about this
This morning, while eating pickles for breakfast and reading the pretty good New Yorker profile of Phoebe Bridgers, a subtweet came to me. It was like,
It doesn't really make sense because I think I was only talking about Harry Styles and Phoebe Bridgers, and given that Phoebe actually grew up in California I think it's probably fine for her to make an album about it. Maybe I was feeling a little hostile towards her because she said in the profile that she'd avoided Didion due to "mansplaining."
She's way too online to say something like that. (I really don't consider Joan Didion part of my personal history or brand in any major way, but I did yell at an ex-boyfriend in Speedy Romeo for making fun of women who do. It's simply not cute or professional to be like, I'm not reading Joan Didion.) Also I had been listening to the new Charli XCX album in the shower and nearly choked on my shampoo water when I heard her little robot voice yell about how much she misses life and wants, specifically, "New YORK!" She's so right. If you feel anything other than super-corny longing for some dumb shit like a taxi on the Manhattan Bridge or the back room at Three Diamond Door, I don't know what to tell you. Don't write any songs.
Anyway after I sent that sort of nonsensical tweet I had a cup of Jell-O and thought, well isn't it true that great movies are about Los Angeles, and great albums are about New York, and all of the great novels are pastoral? (Great auto-fiction is Canadian.) I think I might be right about this. Luckily nobody's paying me to write this blog post so I don't have to expand on the idea or prove it or submit to a six-hour fact-checking call during which I put the phone on mute so that I can pee—not like that's something that would ever happen to me in the last 10 days. TKTK NUT GRAF
I'm finishing a chapter of my book today and then I get to drink the one Miller High Life in my refrigerator. You can write to me at kait.tiffany@gmail.com if you think of any exceptions that prove the rule I have proposed.
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Hell yeah, Nut Graf!
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