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kruk/kuip 30 more years!

we've seen someone come in with the bases loaded and no one out and strike out the side. tyler walker, in detroit? yep. i remember because you and i went out to celebrate... we went to dunkin donuts and had a cup of coffee.

for felix

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10 years!

ys tennis

a hug??

https://twitter.com/cwarzel/status/1278116194621419520 https://twitter.com/PeterBurnsESPN/status/1278345537977229314

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kuip!

shouldn't have communication problems in a stadium with no fans. you could hear mccarthy saying "i got it from here." i was getting out of the way. so were you.

seeking an end from the friend i have at the end of the world

http://www.espn.com/espn/feature/story/_/id/20746080/inside-cleveland-indians-clubhouse-their-historic-22-game-win-streak

A clubhouse really does feel a lot like living on a warship or a tour bus. The world moves past at a million miles an hour, but in the bubble, they're still and isolated. Little ever changes.

https://www.indiewire.com/lists/podcasts-2020-great-episodes-listen/soundstage-prime-heather-christian/

jia / shea chicago talk

"i have to trust that i've counterprogrammed myself enough... to have a partial, desirable ego death."

Palm Springs is still a comedy, don't get me wrong. But it's using the time loop idea to think about something interesting. A time loop is a form of meaninglessness, really, and fighting that requires figuring out what you're going to get out of bed for every day. It's not that once Nyles is nice and is redeemed, all his problems are solved. He's mostly pretty nice all along. It's that both of these people have to decide how to add some kind of stakes to their own lives, because if they wanted to, they really could just float in the pool and drink at the wedding forever, and they could even have each other's company along the way.

https://www.npr.org/2020/07/11/889794645/kick-back-with-palm-springs-a-witty-romcom-about-fighting-despair

feels like a movie made by a human being not by algorithm HMM adam scott / lizzy caplan sorry for your loss palm springs episode

palm springs / contagion

ah okay looks like it's just about high tide again. my last words? i cannot encourage you enough to tweet every day like it was your last. i consider myself the luckiest to have ever done it. ah okay looks like it's just about high tide again. my last words? tweet every day like it was your last. today i consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth

https://www.interviewmagazine.com/culture/ask-a-sane-person-jia-tolentino-book-2020-hope

I’m also suspicious of the way that Not Being Racist is a project that people seem to be approaching like boot camp. To deepen your understanding of race, of this country, should make you feel like the world is opening up, like you’re dissolving into the immensity of history and the present rather than being more uncomfortably visible to yourself. Reading more Black writers isn’t like taking medicine. People ought to seek out the genuine pleasure of decentering themselves, and read fiction and history alongside these popular anti-racist manuals, and not feel like they need to calibrate their precise degree of guilt and goodness all the time.

INTERVIEW: What’s one skill we should all learn while in quarantine? TOLENTINO: How to make someone feel loved from a distance.

https://believermag.com/art-by-women-about-women-making-art-about-women/

“Even though these women knew their lives were marked out in advance, they experienced something else,” Sciamma says of her characters. “Their bodies become their own when they are allowed to relax, when vigilance wanes, when there is no longer the gaze of protocol, when they are alone.” It is this aloneness that gives the film’s depiction of love its realness, its maturity. One must know oneself in order to be alone in love, to be differentiated in love. Otherwise, oneself and one’s love can be enmeshed and defined only in relief: against the disapproving parents, the addiction, the mobster husband, the distance, the restrictive religiosity of late-eighteenth-century France, the future husband in Milan. The drama of Portrait of a Lady on Fire doesn’t lie in whether or not the lovers will resist their fates or survive apart. They will separate and they will survive. The story is their collaboration in the creative acts of loving and of remembering.

I still like my love stories as I like my love, though now that means unadorned by manipulative soundtracks, shorn of the male gaze, repudiating hierarchy, and recognizing autonomy as a condition for true love. When I finally met someone who shared this aesthetic, both in her art and her love, of course I asked her to marry me.

STAY ANGRY SHIRT IS FASHION

"there are years that ask questions and years that answer." -zora neale hurston

hey love you, mean it.

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/lists/writers-break-down-key-scenes-crown-pose-more-shows-1301607/item/scripts-pose-1301606

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https://thesewaneereview.com/articles/mind-fuck-writing-better-sex

Because what they already knew, likely more from being lifelong readers than MFA students, was that one of the requirements of memoir, and perhaps of all satisfying or authoritative writing, is that the writer know more about their characters than the reader does. Simply transmitting my impressions of an experience at the site of their happening was not nearly enough. My early drafts suffered from the worst sort of dramatic irony: the unintentional kind. Not only did my readers know things that my protagonist didn’t—that in fact not every waitress in Manhattan would have been a pro-domme if they’d known it was an option—but also things she hadn’t entirely realized.

My mother has been a practicing clinical psychotherapist herself for over twenty-five years. Once, I asked her if she ever gets sleepy during sessions. “Rarely,” she said, and explained that, for the most part, she finds listening to her patients inexhaustibly compelling. Over the years, she has come to understand that the only time she gets drowsy is when her patient isn’t telling the whole truth, mostly to themselves, or when they are not fully awake in their telling. If they are performing a persona or telling her the story they have told themselves and not reaching for the greater truth of an experience, she begins pinching herself. I related, not as a listener to people’s stories but as a reader of them. There are many beautiful and acclaimed books that I have begun and found astute in any number of ways. However, if such a book strikes me as asleep to its own biases, if it lacks that glint of authorial awareness amid the characters’ self-delusions, my attention drifts. I wish there were a more technical way to describe this recognition, but it is largely the function of experience. I have written work that is dishonest in this way and, in literature as in life, we who have recovered from a thing are often the best detectors of it.

The power of scripts is that they are easily transferable, whereas sexual intimacy is entirely specific and cannot easily be simulated. Porn is probably the lowest quality entertainment I can consume, made possible by its reliance on these internal scripts, which don’t require (and which to some extent foreclose) imaginative nuance. In my opinion, the highest forms of art do the opposite: they disrupt our internal scripts and force our thinking to become creative, like the third or fourth round of writing your sexual life story in five sentences. They upend the familiar story and insist on a truer, more interesting one.

We are all ultimately writing about the same four or five things: death, trauma, love, loss, recovery. Mostly death.

It means that I refuse to let the narratives that once colonized my thinking also colonize my art. This requires a different kind of rigor—in thinking, living, and creation. Whereas writing was once an exercise in transcription, it has become an exercise in transformation. I urge you to hold your own life and work to this higher standard. As Lorde writes, “This is a grave responsibility, projected from within each of us, not to settle for the convenient, the shoddy, the conventionally expected, nor the merely safe.”

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mermaid laugh (less than three)