That's what I crossed the street for?

I've been feeling lost, confused, and uninspired the last few weeks. I don't think I'm alone in this. It's tough being an American who knows how to read right now, and I don't even indulge in the news as much as most people. But we have to check in enough to know what is going on. As my friend Mandy reminds me, fascism is designed to be exhausting. Us growing weary and checking out is part of the plan, so whatever you do, don't check out entirely. If you can't handle drinking out of the firehose, connect about things you care about with friends.

On Saturday night, I went to a scholarship fundraiser hosted by the local Women's Improvement Club and was touched by the organizing energy of a bunch of really old ladies. They threw a spaghetti and meatballs dinner. Sure, some of the food came from boxes, but it's a lot of work to put anything on, so I received it in the full spirit with which it was intended. It was great. Everyone has their own ebb and flow when it comes to community things. I'm happy to say that mine is mostly a flow. I have consistently shown up to community things through Rotary, the chamber, and random events like this since returning home to manage the family business in 2011. That business is gone now, but the relationships remained, and although I vehemently disagree on politics with so many people who show up to these things, our disagreements don't matter when we're united by cause.

I woke up the next morning with this thought—that democracy was never intended to be comfortable. Democracy is not some secure stage of success. It is inherently a fight, and that's what we signed up for when we became Americans, or exited the womb in this place. If we like what this country offered, we have to fight to uphold it. Obviously people disagree on what America is or stands for, but honestly, if we show up to more spaghetti dinners together, I think our common ground will inevitably rise to the surface and we'll be able to dance on it together to the tune of mediocrely covered 80s hits to keep this country moving forward.

Diane Keaton died. This one hurt. Robert, I expected. But Diane? She was such a spry woman, a consummate artist. A woman's woman. A woman you steal horses with! I watched a lot of things this weekend instead of working on a presentation I have to do today. (I'm still not working on that, I'm writing this instead.) Among the things I watched was this scene of Diane as J.C. having a nuclear meltdown in Baby Boom. I was so inspired by this movie as a young, wannabe food entrepreneur. I did some Googling to see if others felt the same, and I found this article by Rebecca Flint Marx in Eater about how Baby Boom predicted the artisan food boom of the 2000s.

It was only much later, as an adult who had spent years writing about food, that I realized what else Baby Boom was: an uncannily accurate blueprint for the popular narrative surrounding the artisanal food movement of the late aughts. Specifically the one in which a burned-out corporate drone abandons their fast-paced career for the simpler, more honest life of an artisanal food entrepreneur, finding salvation and work-life balance in the process.

I was well into my career in the food service and manufacturing industries by the time people were discovering the food business and I considered setting up a 1-800 hotline called, "Do you even know what the fuck you're getting into?" Since my exit as a manufacturer, I've seen dozens of folks tank millions of dollars into branding and marketing mediocre products that should remain dishes in a home kitchen. Home cooked dishes are not lesser than marketable products, they're just different. And not everything can be mass produced. Nor should it be! I'm going to veer dangerously off course here. If you want to hear more about this, hit Reply and let me know. I could write a whole book about this. (And maybe I should!)

Speaking of movies, I always pay attention to how food and drink show up in them. I watched F1 the Movie twice this weekend (I saw it in theaters also) and noticed a single plate of food being served up by a mom to her rookie racer son. Other than that, and a few beers and cocktails, there was no food in the movie*. Strange. Speaking of beers, I love this scene from The Way We Were when Katie (Barbra Streisand) slurps beer with Hubbell (Robert Redford.) He giggles and there's a cut, and I would love to know what went down. This is the kind of disarmingly real conversation that makes two people fall in love.

Mrs. Simpson married the Duke of Windsor, it'll be in the papers tomorrow.

I think this is enough for now. I can feel my attention pulling away from the station and I'm not in the mood to chase the caboose. I have to work on this damn presentation. Some Somethingburgers I'm still cooking...an essay about my period, something on how Trader Joe's in the fall makes me want to beat people, maybe some stuff about school because I'm qualified to write about public education, but have been noncommittal about having a beat, but maybe I should, but why? I have a lot of issues about this, can you tell? I reserve my right to remain stupid!

Link Pickles 🥒

Let Love's Theme 1973 Disco Purrfection be the soundtrack of your Monday.

I discovered yet another YouTube channel worthy of neglecting your life's purpose for: Meditations for the anxious mind. "How do we create new futures that become someone else's nostalgia?" 🔥

Check out Fish Man and his library of playlists of TV and movie music. I can't imagine the amount of watching, editing, clipping, and sorting that went into this. My favorite of course: Columbo.

I HAVE TO WORK NOW.

*I forgot Brad Pitt and Javier Bardem chatted at a diner. I was not paying attention to the food.