Good morning, friends. Are you feeling the first glimpses of spring where you are? Yesterday it was a sunny 60 degrees here and I could feel myself 1up like a video game superhero.
I don’t often miss having a car, but yesterday was the kind of day where you might just jump in the car, roll the windows down, turn the music up, and drive without a destination. On days like yesterday, my parents might have said: “Let’s go up the mountain today,” or “Let’s go find some good yard sales,” and you’d spend the whole day in a kind of joyful, sunny fog. As adult, that might have meant a road trip down to Shenandoah or Occoquan, and an impromptu stop with the dog at some trailhead.
Here though, without a car, we’re still finding other ways to replicate that kind of reckless abandon (Manhattan has a kind of gravity that can make it difficult to breakaway). If our first year here was about learning about our own borough, the second year is about exploring the boundaries beyond. Storm King. Hastings-on-the-Hudson. Cold Spring.
Bring on the sunny days.
A Digital Detox Reading List (and Roadmap) (Long Reads)
Does life have to have a purpose? (The Cut)
The progressive politics of Julia Child (The New Yorker)
Not sure how I stumbled on Starchild and the New Romantic, but digging its low-key waves right now.
The timing of last week’s This American Life was painfully prescient. “Beware the Jabberwock” explores the Alex Jones conspiracy theory.
Hi-Phi Nation is the podcast I listen to when I think: Who has time for moral philosophy in this economy? A thoughtful episode on the “forever war.”
I’m going to make a bold statement: Spiderman: Into the Spider-Verse is maybe the best superhero movie of all time. Better than Star Wars, better than X-Men, better than whatever stuff Marvel is pushing this week. And the soundtrack is…whew.
Did you love Pop-Up Video like I loved Pop-Up Video? And by that, did I mean did you obsessively seek out every possible episode with the same enthusiasm you saved for the #1 video on TRL? Then you’re going to love Mooj Zadie’s Anatomy of a Music Video.
JUNE by Alex Dimitrov
There will never be more of summer
than there is now. Walking alone
through Union Square I am carrying flowers
and the first rosé to a party where I’m expected.
It’s Sunday and the trains run on time
but today death feels so far, it’s impossible
to go underground. I would like to say
something to everyone I see (an entire
city) but I’m unsure what it is yet.
Each time I leave my apartment
there’s at least one person crying,
reading, or shouting after a stranger
anywhere along my commute.
It’s possible to be happy alone,
I say out loud and to no one
so it’s obvious, and now here
in the middle of this poem.
Rarely have I felt more charmed
than on Ninth Street, watching a woman
stop in the middle of the sidewalk
to pull up her hair like it’s
an emergency—and it is.
People do know they’re alive.
They hardly know what to do with themselves.
I almost want to invite her with me
but I’ve passed and yes it’d be crazy
like trying to be a poet, trying to be anyone here.
How do you continue to love New York,
my friend who left for California asks me.
It’s awful in the summer and winter,
and spring and fall last maybe two weeks.
This is true. It’s all true, of course,
like my preference for difficult men
which I had until recently
because at last, for one summer
the only difficulty I’m willing to imagine
is walking through this first humid day
with my hands full, not at all peaceful
but entirely possible and real.