vibe inventory: may 2024
what I read/watched/listened to, plus some diaristic bullshit + the long-awaited eurovision postmortem
An annoying thing about my brain is that it wants everything – even pain – to last forever.
I’ve always been this way. A few days before my tenth birthday, I had a full-blown panic attack after watching a digital clock flip from 7:09 to 7:10. Maybe I assumed that there would be some sign beforehand, some moment of transition that I could catch if I just stared hard enough. But the change just happened. The glowing numbers just changed, and I hated them for that. I’d hardly figured out how to live in 7:09, and now I had 7:10 to deal with?! And this would keep happening forever?! I burst into tears and didn’t look at a digital clock for the rest of fourth grade. Needless to say, I was a fun kid.
Since then, I’ve gotten less fussy about impermanence. Not to brag, but at the age of 26, I can look at a clock and be normal about it. The essential impulse is still there, though. I want every phase of my life to last at least 25% longer than it actually does. On the worst days of my life, I’ve crawled to bed and felt disappointed by the fact that the next day would be incrementally better, or at least incrementally different. I muted George Harrison on Spotify once because the song “All Things Must Pass” stressed me out too much.
In my ideal world, every sunset would last five hours. Every spark of connection would remain electric until I’d had my fill of it. Every morning routine would stick, and every mimosa would be bottomless. I don’t even like mimosas. I’d still feel safer knowing they were never-ending.
I realize how childish I sound here. I know that any therapist would scold me for the always and nevers, the black and white thinking, the every every every. That’s how I feel on my weakest days, though – I’m still that trembling 9-year-old, avoiding the gaze of an angry red clock.
I’m trying to get better, to figure out how to celebrate the passage of time, rather than fear it. That felt more difficult than usual this month. The first couple weeks felt aligned and energized, and I fell into the trap of thinking that momentum would last forever. I blamed myself when it didn’t. I locked up – jotting down sentences I’d never finish, command-clicking tabs I’d never revisit, pulling up contact cards and never hitting “call.” I was overthinking and under-doing, grasping at versions of myself and my circumstances that had already disappeared. Not fun. Don’t recommend.
When I feel myself getting itchy and weird like this, I know that I need to launch a counterstrike – do something active, loud, stupid, and/or scary. Take the “opposite action,” in the aggravating language of cognitive behavioral therapy. Instead of gingerly carrying that end-of-month dread, tie it up with a bow and drop-kick it into the eternal then. Do my best to crystallize the feelings, and then (this is the scary part) share it with others.
So…that’s what this is. A vibe check, some light recommendations, and (most importantly!) an open invitation to recommend stuff ✨you✨ loved to ✨me✨ if you’re so inclined.
I love the sentimental tone that social platforms take on every 30th and 31st, but usually have a mental block about participating. I like thumbing through 6-tile Instagram stories of my friends’ memories from the month and reading the monthly reading and watching roundups that my favorite newsletter girlies post. But I still feel icky about doing it myself, like I’d need to earn the right to recommend, or even share, anything. I’m trying to get over that. Part of the project of this newsletter, and this phase in my life generally, is the attempt to Be Brave™ in the hopes of Building Creative Confidence™ and Finding Community™, or I don’t know…just figuring out how to show up as myself in both lived and written contexts. Is an inventory of consumption actually a decent representation of who someone is? Isn’t it really just shorthand for who the person wants you to think they are? Obviously no, and maybe yes, but I’m tying myself into knots here. This is god’s green internet. Blogging is free, and so are you.
Maybe I’ll continue on a monthly basis, or maybe I’ll feel bored and overexposed and never do it again. Life is a mystery and/or a highway and/or a box of chocolates. Happy June!
reading material
No particular order, and half were audiobooks. Big memoir month and lots of divorce narratives? Weird.
The Recovering: Intoxication and Its Aftermath, by Leslie Jamison
A deftly-structured braided memoir about the link between addiction and storytelling, anchored in Jamison’s personal sobriety as well as the history of AA and addiction journeys of multiple writers and artists. The preachiness is counterbalanced by Jamison’s stylistic and critical gifts, but still feels like a little much from my POV.
Strip Tees: A Memoir of Millennial Los Angeles, by Kate Flannery
Come on, it’s a memoir about working at American Apparel from 2004 to 2008. Sells itself imo.
Splinters: Another Kind of Love Story, by Leslie Jamison
I read this one, Jamison’s latest, before The Recovering. It’s a much more straightforward memoir about renegotiating the idea of love after divorce. Some really gorgeous reflections on motherhood that made me want to call my mom immediately. Here’s a passage that I furiously underlined:
“My mother is the only person I’ve never needed to impress. During our morning commutes to elementary school, stuck in gridlock on the 405, I sat silently in our silver Toyota, thinking nothing of the silence. I only thought of that silence years later, when I realized that I’d never been comfortable in silence with anyone else…Her love was not a fish I did my seal tricks for. As long as she never died, I would be okay forever.” LESLIE STOP!!!
No Judgment: Essays, by Lauren Oyler
Well…this was indeed a book of essays. I think a lot of the vitriol that got hurled at Oyler upon its release was a result of jealousy from other writers. She is one of the few working writers who can debut a nothingburger like this and still get the star treatment. Her laziness in research and subject choice feels gloating in that context, even if that isn’t the intent. She’s obviously skilled but seems too stuck up her own ass to create anything that feels honest. The anxiety essay was my favorite, so I’d recommend just reading that one.
All Things Are Too Small: Essays in Praise of Excess, by Becca Rothfeld
It’s reductive to say that anyone needs to choose between Oyler’s book and the book by the woman who (rightly) eviscerated it in The Washington Post, but if it comes down to it…just read this one. I really liked the dominant argument about uncoupling political ideals from their aesthetic counterparts and delighting in maximalism, overgrowth and ugliness. I don’t think the book quite follows through on its promise to flesh out that thesis (in fact, the best pieces in here are barely related to it), but Rothfeld’s warm intellectualism and bracing moments of vulnerability make up for that. The anti-mindfulness essay was my favorite, maybe because it features this lovely description of the healing power of dissociation in movie theaters:
“...as the lights dimmed around the silver flicker of the screen, I was flooded with a sharp sense of human presence…sitting in the dark with strangers and staring at the same play of shadows on the wall can be salvific, especially if the shadows are beautiful. It was good to be somewhere besides where I was, good to know that escape into the parallel world of art was available and that other people could escape there with me.” I’m realizing as I type this out that it’s just a souped-up version of the Nicole Kidman AMC monologue, but oh well.
This American Ex-Wife, by Lyz Lenz
Honestly forgot that I’d read this one until I checked my library history. Another story of divorce, this time from a guy who seems straight-up awful, interspersed with very bleak reportage about the inherent unevenness of heterosexual partnerships. Yikes!
I’m also midway through Biography of X by Catherine Lacey, Hot, Cold, Heavy, Light: 100 Art Writings 1988-2018, by Peter Schjeldahl, and The Method: How the Twentieth Century Learned to Act by Isaac Butler. Will report back when I finish.
listening material: tunes
my monthly playlist had kind of a cursed doo-wop motif running throughout, which was fun. I need recs for June!
Only God Was Above Us, Vampire Weekend
Okay yeah breaking news: coastal brunette loves Vampire Weekend. Groundbreaking, unique, never done before!! This one came out last month, but because my brain was stuck in Euroworld, I only got to sink into it in the last few weeks. Happy to report that its grimier take on the VW schtick still fuckin HITS! I appreciated the more measured take on the shithead back-of-the-classroom intellectualism (I say that with the utmost kindness) that defines the band, and the lyrical preoccupations on heritage and situating oneself in a historical moment gave me a lot to chew on while also allowing me to cheerfully sing “fuck around and find out” while brushing my teeth. Putting “Hope” on repeat while going 80 mph at 11 pm on a Wednesday healed my inner child more than 2 years of talk therapy.
A Dream Is All We Know, The Lemon Twigs
This album makes me feel kind of insane. It’s so good at recreating a certain brand of candy-coated midcentury psychedelia that it feels kind of…fake? Feels a bit more self-conscious than their previous release, Everything Harmony, which I don’t love, but still makes me want to put on a little spinny hat and carry around a big lollipop which is a win in my book.
The Beach Boys Today!, The Beach Boys
Jokermen kicked off their Beach Boys Extended Universe series last month, and it’s nice to set a foundation of the classic Beach Boys stuff before we get into the (shiver) Mike Love era. I still think “Help Me Rhonda” sounds like an original song made for a romcom about a pizza restaurant, and there’s a 3-minute proto-podcast of the boys talking about how much they love bread. Other than that, bops bottom to top.
Atavista, Childish Gambino
Really enjoyed this for like a week and then suddenly hated it. The Ariana song is better than most of eternal sunshine, though.
Britpop, A.G. Cook
There’s little left to be said about PC Music, the decade-long experimental pop project that A. G. Cook founded, nurtured and, last year, shuttered. This is partially because Cook and his collaborators have always been deeply attuned to the clichés of both pop music and the narratives that surround it, pushing both of those elements to their most grotesque degrees. The critical take on a three-sided LP that’s literally organized as past, present, and future seems to write itself a little too easily – it’s the father of hyperpop giving his creation the Old Yeller treatment, or just wiping his hard drive now that Beyonce’s come calling. Honestly, if this album only existed as a Viking funeral for the label, I’d probably enjoy it. I’m a sucker for songs that sound like they should be emanating from a single speaker in a burned-out Claire’s, and there are plenty of those on here. But the slightly warped, shiny plastic of that classic hyperpop sound is tempered with fuzzed-out rock ballads and meandering synth tracks that seem to loop inside of themselves, invert, and then come out the other side. Cook and his compatriots’ earliest releases were thrilling – and sometimes aggravating – because it felt like they knew all the answers to what pop music was or could be. As Cook moves into the next phase of his career, he seems content to merely sit in the questions. “Lucifer is my personal favorite track, whipping an unbothered Charli XCX demo from the how I’m feeling now era into a floaty, stuttering dance track with the help of none other than Addison Rae. This’ll be a very eating ice cream watching TV can’t remember if he loved me kind of summer if I have any say in it.
What’s Tonight to Eternity?, Cindy Lee
Okay, Diamond Jubilee is definitely better, but I’m too much of a Spotify simp to consistently listen to an album that’s only available on Geocities and a single YouTube stream at this point in my life. This predecessor still has that warped, otherworldly doo-wop sound – imagine the ghosts of all four Shirelles singing from opposite corners of an abandoned mall – but with a distinctly more harsh palette. It’ll do the trick until I finally become a better person and/or enter my physical media era.
I also developed short, intense fixations with these cuntcore German girlies rapping about Elon Musk, a few tracks off of the Billie Eilish album, the second coming of SoundCloud emo, Marina Satti’s post-Eurovision EP (not beating the Greek Rosalía allegations) and ofc the Charli singles — “360” is the best of the four imo, even though the cover art makes my skin crawl. I’m very excited about Brat coming out this week, though I really hope the lyrical content extends slightly beyond the “I’m hot and am friends with Julia Fox” territory that she currently seems most comfortable in.
listening material: non-tunes
Honestly, I haven’t been a very devoted podcast listener as of late, aside from straightforward news shows. Most of the stuff in my usual rotation felt like a waste of time, which is maybe a sign of growth. Couple standouts, though:
Nonfiction with Callie Hitchcock
I was so excited to find this show via Callie’s appearance on Stargirl, because it felt like I’d been looking for something like this for years. It’s really hard to find a show focused on nonfiction writers, and even harder to find one that’s not like…80% old heads from The New Yorker talking about how awesome it was to work at The Village Voice in 1985. These interviews are pretty tightly focused on the writers’ individual projects, and I wish they had a little more discussion of craft and research processes, but the guest selection is consistently interesting and doing no favors for my library holds list.
Old episodes of eating alone in my car
Don’t ask how I got to the point where “woman monologuing about limerence while eating a pint of Halo Top” is the height of entertainment for me, just understand that it’s my truth. I’m bummed that Melissa Broder doesn’t post these any more, but if you’re ever craving the “impassioned voice memo from a very verbose friend” experience and I’m not available, this’ll do the trick. I’m almost always available for a voice memo, though, to be clear.
screen time
“watching material” sounded stupid, so I went with this. didn’t watch much this month tbh, so I’ll keep these short :)
Challengers, dir. Luca Guadagnino
Sexy fun tennis movie was indeed sexy fun tennis movie 🫡
I Saw The TV Glow, dir. Jane Schoenbrun
I made a joke that this is the final boss of A24 vibes-based cinema and I stand by that, for better or for worse. My nightmares about meeting Connor O’Malley in a dark alleyway continue.
A Self-Induced Hallucination, dir. Jane Schoenbrun
Watched Jane Schoenbrun’s hour-long supercut of Slenderman-related YouTube sludge under ideal conditions – weighted blanket, tiny edible, 1 a.m. – thoroughly determined to prove my 12-year-old self wrong and not get a little bit spooked by the internet’s most notorious urban legend. Joke’s on you, Kylie, turns out the power of collective imagination is much scarier!
Enys Men, dir. Mark Jenkin
Dazzling, almost entirely wordless folk-horror movie about a woman staring at flowers. I’ve never had a more visceral reaction to lichen. Take my word for it.
Most of The O.C. season one (lol)
Started watching this for “research” on teen meta-narratives (the fact that the characters watch The Valley, which is basically just a show-within-a-show version of The O.C., is fascinating to me) but underestimated just how slow I am at watching TV shows and how genuinely invested I’d become in the fate of the Balboa Wetlands.
Ok that was my May!! My main goal for June is to actually drink enough water (not going well).
I also recently realized that nothing makes me feel more luxurious than sitting outside for 30-45 minutes with a book and one of those annoying probiotic sodas that just got sued for not being probiotic enough, so I’m also trying to do that every day. That one is going better.
Tell me what you loved or hated this month if you’d like! An actual essay is coming soon 💖
and for the real heads…the contractually-obligated eurovision section
After devoting a stupid amount of words and a stupider amount of time to writing about Eurovision, I’d originally intended on writing a postmortem on the shitshow that unspooled in Malmö between May 7 and 11, 2024. But I don’t want to be a Eurovision writer, believe it or not, so I let the dust settle a bit. The TL;DR is that it was a MESS.
Joost Klein (my fave) was disqualified a few hours before the grand final for reasons that are still winding their way through the Swedish courts (it’s not as bad as that makes it sound…maybe?), there was all kinds of drama about which flags were allowed in the arena, there were about 2 minutes when everyone thought Israel would win, and apparently things got so tense in the press room that at one point the producers sent the Italian performer in there to sing “Imagine” to calm everyone down. The glass trophy shattered within minutes of being handed over, which felt like an all-too-literal representation of the whole affair. Most fan communities are calling it the worst, or at least most stressful, Eurovision season in recent memory. But also like…the mess is kind of the point imo, and I had a great time.
I’m happy Switzerland won, and I think it’s fascinating that “The Code” split the difference between a jury-favorite vocal powerhouse and a manic, borderline novelty genre-breaker. Almost like it…broke the binary left by “Tattoo” and “Cha Cha Cha”...from a country known for its neutrality…FUCK! Eurovision brain is showing up again.
Other topline thoughts:
It’s eminently clear that Israel should’ve been booted after the delegation showed they were intent on using the contest for political ends. The Swedes put on a good show, but not even Petra Mede could fully distract from the rancid vibe that Israel’s inclusion carried into the arena. Now that the country’s foreign ministry has essentially admitted to an astroturfing campaign for public votes from outside the Eurovision sphere, they should be reprimanded. But the EBU is staffed with hypocrites and cowards, so that’s unlikely to happen. On a related note…
I’d really be surprised if Martin Österdahl remains in his position , at least in a public-facing capacity, into next year.
Joost is the breakout star of this season, despite (or honestly, partially due to) his sudden disqualification.
Staging was incredible across the board. Ireland, obviously, was a major standout, but hardly any delegations went with the standard “performer plus five dancers” package. Even though I already knew the songs going in, pretty much every performance managed to surprise in its own way. I especially appreciated all the experimentation with camera work and direct camera interaction.
Songs most improved by staging: Ireland (!!!), Switzerland, Ukraine, France (or maybe he’s just hot idk)
Songs done most dirty by staging: Australia (too boring), Azerbaijan (the giant sparkly hands and space suit combo ICK), Italy (they put my girl in BEIGE?! fixed it by the final, but the damage was already done), Greece (turns out a chaotic song plus chaotic staging just feels like…chaos
Funniest staging (intentional): Finland (the is-he-naked gag got me every time)
Funniest staging (unintentional): Germany (the literal trash fire felt a bit on the nose)
As a devoted stan of the ABBAtars, even I was weirded out when they showed up instead of the actual members of ABBA.
And as for my personal experience of the contest, I’ll let you decide which is worse: feeling two margaritas slowly creep up the back of my throat while refreshing the Joost disqualification Reddit thread in the back of an Uber on Friday night, or finding out that my ex-boyfriend would be at the same watch party on Saturday morning. Best of times, worst of times, etc. etc. We were less United by Music this year, and more united by the shitshow. It was exhausting, it was awkward, and I can’t wait to do it again.