marissa lorusso

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2019.

Welcome to my annual accounting of things I loved, 2019 edition. 

I’m realizing the pattern here is to start this with a reflection of how I rang in the year but 2019 crept in pretty calmly: no big bugs to kill, no spontaneous sobs to a Sharon Van Etten song. On the first day of this year, I woke up and cleaned the house and, I don’t know, probably went to Big Bear and got a coffee and took a nap. Since it’s nearly the end of the decade, I could start there, but I couldn’t tell you where I was for New Year’s Eve, 2009; if I had to guess, I’d put myself at a friend’s house on the North Shore, drinking PBR with the guys and listening to pop-punk. That winter I was convinced I wouldn’t return to Poughkeepsie, I was so miserable, but when I did things started to fall into place.

I think my goal for this year was roughly something like, Just put your head down and do the work. When you are tempted to get fed up and wither from frustration or have a big ego about not getting what you want, just put your head down and do the work. I don’t know if I did that, exactly, if I really stuck to the goal, but every so often in a particularly challenging moment the goal would come into focus at the front of my mind and I’d sigh and acquiesce and nod at the work ahead of me. I got a lot done, I think; in this way I got a lot done. It was nice to be reminded about how the process can be the goal -- something I thought about a lot this year. Sometimes the goal looks like a result, but it’s really the habit I’m after.

I’d like to keep that up next year. 2019 was a year of cultivating; 2020, maybe, will be a year of action. Or maybe not! Maybe nothing flowers until 2021 or beyond. Or maybe I start tearing things up by the roots in 2020, who knows! 

So anyway. Here’s to 2019, and here’s a list (more or less alphabetized -- why not!) of ten things that helped me make it through.

annie’s homegrown birthday cake bunny grahams

My official snack of the year. Over the summer I was visiting MZ in Brooklyn and we got snacks at their neighborhood grocery store and I bought these, which are meant to celebrate the 30th anniversary of this snack company, taste like funfetti cake, and are definitely meant for/marketed to children. But anyway I ate the whole box and then sought them out at every Whole Foods in my vicinity (because I went online and WH is apparently basically the only place you can find them?) and started preaching the good word to anyone who was looking for a snack. By, like, September I had eaten so many of these that I could no longer stomach them, so I’ve been on a brief hiatus, but still: snack of the year.

keeping lists

I started this year with a big digital spreadsheet called “2019 things” where I intended to keep lists: all the new albums and songs that struck me, all the old albums and songs I got obsessed with, the places I wanted to travel in the year. I kept adding tabs: the books I finished, my financial priorities, stuff I wanted to make sure to read or watch. I was pretty diligent about updating them -- I wrote down every book I read, but definitely forgot to add a couple albums; I never made it to Philly this year. I started keeping gratitude lists (analog) towards the end of year, too, because in college a friend told me it helps rewire the brain away from pessimism, or something. 

meditation

Before this year, I’ve never had a serious relationship with meditation, but it always seemed like the kind of thing I would like. In mid-January I got struck by the urge to try it, so I did, and kept it up for a few days, and then I fell off, and then I got back on, and now, somehow, it’s been three-hundred-something days of it in a row. I have learned to find a quiet moment in a nice corner of my room before work, but also in a tent in the Catskills, in a guest room in Wales, in a hotel in Georgia, on a walk through Brooklyn, in my childhood bedroom. My life and brain don’t feel, like, enormously different or changed, but that’s good; it feels useful to keep showing up to something without expectation.

my siblings

Having a big family means every year is inevitably a big year for someone, but this was, somehow, a big year for all of my siblings. Mostly good things: health and healing, a wedding and a graduation, a license acquired and a course of study started and jobs well done. It doesn’t feel good to get into the hard stuff here, but there was a lot of that, too -- a lot of grueling bullshit overcome. After the wedding I almost texted everyone just to say how proud I was of all of them, but naturally I chickened out. But I really am proud!

navy blue

Longtime readers of, uh, *gestures wildly* whatever this is may recall that last year I claimed I only wore black but might be interested in navy blue? This year I determined that navy blue is so good: the color of the deep ocean, the night sky, my first Catholic school uniform. I bought navy jumpsuits, a sweatshirt, a scrunchie. I wore navy-adjacent eyeliner just in the corners of my eyes most days of July and August and September. I’m wearing a navy blue sweater right now. A good year for navy. 

“not” by big thief

My song of the year, which I knew from the first time I heard it. So much of this year (the news, the planet, global catastrophes, mass violence, etc. not to mention personal failures) felt hopeless and dreadful, but also so constant and exhausting that I wasn’t sure I could keep summoning anger, never mind do it in a useful way. I love this song because it is about abjection in the same way it isn’t about anything, about absence as presence, about not-knowing as knowing. It is desperate without being hopeless, explosive without being violent, or maybe: violent without being harmful. It’s about transcending language and different kinds of language and using whichever tools you have (Words are good enough). It’s about being swallowed whole by the everything-ness, a theme that came up in so much of the work I loved this year, the subject of an essay I’ll never write (lol). Music Twitter™ got into an argument about whether this band is good; I feel so sure of my love for this song (and most of what this band does) that I, for once, didn’t immediately assume I was a fool, or being had, just because someone disagrees with me. Instead it felt delicious and special to resonate with a thing that doesn’t resonate for everyone, a rare and generous experience for me. Imagine that.

pottery

At the beginning of the year I signed up for a ten-week session of pottery classes at a studio in Georgetown, and then when I told M, he wanted to join (by which I felt incredibly endeared). Then it became ten more weeks, then ten more, and since then we’ve gone nearly every Thursday night. Some things that are nice: learning to to make something with my hands, especially after staring at a screen all day; not being able to look at my phone or read the news for several hours (related: so many of the Democratic debates happened on Thursday nights!); having a standing weekly date with my favorite person. Nearly everyone in our lives got lumpy bowls, vases, etc. for Christmas this year, of which we are very proud.

“rooms on fire” by stevie nicks

This year, Stevie Nicks became the first woman be inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame twice and so Rolling Stone interviewed her about her fabulous career. In the interview, Rob Sheffield said his favorite song of hers is “Ooh My Love” from The Other Side of the Mirror, which is an album I had never listened to before, so I started listening and the first song just hooked me. It’s so dramatic and magical and moody! It’s right up there on the Apple Music-generated playlist of my most-played songs of the year.

stockholm

For several years one of my repeated resolutions was “go to Scandinavia.” Sweden has always been the big goal, but Oslo seemed possible for a minute, and in 2013 I did briefly entertain the idea of going to graduate school in Finland. (Imagine!) This year I got really fed up of having not really, you know, taken a proper vacation since starting my job, so I took a full week off after my sister’s wedding and planned a solo trip to Stockholm. Each day of my trip I woke up whenever I woke up and I explored a different island; I went for long runs, drank coffee, ate kardemummabullar, took the subway across town, saw a one-of-a-kind Viking ship. I burst into tears at the Moderna Museet, ate through a vegetarian tasting menu at the Fotografiska, had an extremely lovely spa experience. I read three books in a week. I loved every second of it.

wigs

I bought a big gaudy pink wig this spring in anticipation of seeing Sasha Velour’s one-woman show in New York -- or, I told myself I bought it for that reason, but I think I really just wanted the possibility of wearing a big gaudy pink wig at will. After the Sasha show, I wore it to see Robyn at The Anthem, and was delighted when, after I put a picture on Instagram, a handful of people in my life thought I had a) dyed my hair pastel pink and b) grew my hair ~half a foot over the weekend. (I wish!) I think I’ll wear it for our house’s beach-themed NYE party, too.

everything else 

frequent, long drives with M; songs about solidarity; the #saltypod; custom t-shirts; craving waffles; having an e-reader; the concept of “the archive”; choosing kindness; threatening to move to rural new england to work on a farm; being in love

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I moved to Washington, D.C. five years ago today. When I moved here I only listened to Jimmy Eat World and that one Mirah album on repeat because I was nursing a pretty bad crush, so that’s where the playlist starts. It’s roughly ten songs per year -- from the Gabby’s World show my friends came with me to when I was lonely in grad school to all the times I cried listening to “It’s Okay” when I was about to be unemployed to cruising with the windows down in Austin listening to Jeff Buckley on the radio to my first ever Turning the Tables assignments to yes, my own music, to NPR Music’s No. 1 song of 2017 to last year’s Kate Bush obsession to “Old Town Road.” And, you know, everything else in between.

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scenes from pop conference 2019

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2018.

My first memory of 2018: I woke up at 5 a.m. and spotted an enormous bug on my bedroom wall. I was mildly hungover after a really lovely and somewhat raucous party in my house, and when I saw the bug I felt like my stomach dropped out of my body. (I’m a wimp! It had so many legs! Stay with me.) I tried to rouse M for about 10 minutes to kill the bug with no luck, then told myself, with an air of forced gravity, It’s 2018, and I must kill the bug myself. Which, I am glad to report, I did. 

I think I told that story a lot this year in the hopes that the more I retold it, the more it would come to define my year: You know, being brave? Taking charge and vanquishing, uh, icky stuff? (And later, for all the times I told the story of starting my day by sweeping up the post-party-confetti-canon detritus and throwing away the half-used Solo cups before my roommates woke up: Doing rather thankless work for a greater good?) I’m not sure I mastered the art of “manifesting” in 2018, though (sorry Oprah!); I certainly wasn’t as generous or industrious as those stories would suppose, but the image of me resisting something frightening then eventually/begrudgingly giving in and being grateful I did — I suppose that rings true.

It’s easy for me to be blue in December — to think about what didn’t get accomplished, the ways I have been selfish, shallow and lazy — but if I’m honest with myself, the year had its share of success. I got hired out of my temp status, spoke on a panel at a conference, helped lead a project I’m proud of, talked on some podcasts, survived my college reunion. I learned a lot about commitment, complacency and what drives my writing. I spent a lot of time with my family. I watched people I love make incredible art, find cherished partners, move their careers forward, get engaged, become parents. I wrote a couple good songs, played a lot of good shows. My hair got long enough to wear it in a bun most days.

The truth is that I’m pretty scared about the future. Call it cyclical energy or call it the brink of exhaustion but I think things are going to happen in 2019; I think, for better or for worse, I’m going to make them happen. I’m trying to transmute anxiety into excitement for what the year’s bringing but I think it’s ok to be scared, too. Anyway, here’s to 2018, and to the things I felt and saw and did and loved that helped me make it through. 

Andrea Long Chu’s writing

I read “On Liking Women” in January — the kind of article where you start it at your desk and then have to finish it later, and you get home and sit on the couch without even turning the living room lights on and just read and read, breathlessly, until it’s done — and I got hooked and I have read everything ALC has written since. Her work is thoughtful, engaging, provocative, breathtaking, earnest, shady, queer as h*ck. It has made me think about what kind of writer (and person) I want to be and was fodder for some of my favorite conversations I had this year about gender, power, identity and the ultimate self-own. Also, her Twitter is hilarious.

Dried mango

Snack of the year for me, hands down. Though if I’m being honest, green tea kit kats are a serious contender, too -- much tougher to find, though, meaning they can’t quite nab the top snack spot for 2018.

Traveling & open space

I didn’t travel a ton this year but the few trips I took were lovely. In April I visited Seattle, a city I love, for a truly marvelous conference and I saw the water and the mountains. In October I visited Vermont, had a real dream-come-true moment in a field of goats. I visited Sam in Austin and realized that Texas is, indeed, huge. (And affordable!) I visited my family in MA a lot and rode horses a couple times but mostly just sat on the couch with my mom watching re-runs of The Office and making sense of ourselves. It felt nice when I was in motion this year.

Riding my bike

Speaking of motion! I borrowed my sister’s cool bike last year and started riding to work, but then the bike got stolen, which put a big damper on everything. I got a crappy replacement a couple months later and rode it to work every day, nearly, of 2018, and to all sorts of other places. I read Jessica Hopper’s book about Chicago this year and so much of that book takes place on her bike, which inspired me to take things a little more seriously. I’m not an experienced cyclist by any means (truly: most of my bike rides are on two streets in the one-mile radius between my house and my office) but I like what it affords me.

Trying to be a void

that is to say, wearing all black. I know that clothing is how a lot of people express themselves but mostly what I wanted to express this year was: a black hole. By black hole I mostly mean nothingness, and also deflecting the gaze. Incredibly comforting. As a caveat: Mads taught me about the power of navy blue late this year, and I think in 2019 I will try to be the night sky. 

New York

I used to hate NYC for boring reasons but now I don’t, and it defined my year, in many ways — I visited about once a month, for work and for friends and for fun. I nearly always stayed with Mads in Bed-Stuy, which is an excellent situation, although one time I blew a big chunk of a bonus (!) on a fancy hotel room (!!) in Manhattan. (Worth it!) I spoke on a panel, I played my songs in a gallery, I ate bagels with vegan cream cheese, I had bad pizza in a cigar bar, I saw Maggie Nelson give a talk, I watched Duster play two consecutive comeback shows. I had a lot of small moments, too, of bliss and kindness and serendipity, of tortellini soup and espresso tonics, late night talks, doing laps around Bryant Park, walking quietly through galleries. I cried on buses, got freaked out on a plane, had a particularly memorable set of conversations on the Amtrak. I also saw Carly Rae Jepsen!

Playing covers with friends

Ok, yes, seeing Carly Rae at the Turning the Tables event in NYC was magnificent, but more magnificent was being in Gnarly Rae Jepsen, aka the Carly Rae Jepsen cover band I was invited to join around Halloween. Frankly I was just flattered to have been asked, since Lars does a cover band for Halloween every year and they always rip. And Gnarly Rae ripped! I didn’t do a lot of stuff with my own music this year, so it was great to play with a band with pretty much zero pressure and an abundance of good vibes. The Halloween show was one of the happiest moments of my year. Plus this winter I planned a December open mic and so some friends and I decided to do a couple covers — “Silver Springs” by Fleetwood Mac (which Mads sang) and “Dreams” by The Cranberries (which I sang) — which was a little messy and extremely fun.

Christmas cactus

A friend of mine from grad school moved to California after graduating and gave me a bunch of her plants, including a cactus that looked like it was in poor health but I was determined to keep alive for as long as I could. I kept caring for it even though I was convinced it was going to croak any day; turns out I’m just ignorant about what a healthy cactus looks like, because it blossomed just days before my birthday this April. I didn’t even know this cactus could flower, so to have it happen right before I turned 26 made me feel such a deep sense of joy and hope, and connection with the living world, like a true, grounded, healthy Taurus. It bloomed again before Christmas; last week, I realized my grandmother has the exact same plant in her living room.

Writing criticism

I wrote a couple things this year I was especially proud of, and most of them were reviews. (My Turning the Tables essay doesn’t fit in that category but I’m really proud of that, too.) Most of this writing happened in my house where I was alone in my room rubbing my temples and whining softly why is this so hard, why does it have to be so hard but it also felt electric and life-affirming; I heard a podcaster refer to writing as something like “touching the divine” this year and that feels like it, exactly. I think I loved those processes too because they so often involved having really fun, challenging conversations about the art in question with people I admire, and that’s why I got into this game, right? Plus a few conversations I had this year adjacent to these pieces helped me realize that a) criticism is the kind of writing I feel the most drawn to right now; and as we used to say on Tumblr, “not to get fake deep but,” b) the goodness I am searching for in my life/self is a big part of what drives me to write, of what I’m doing in my writing. That helps.

Coffee O merch

My forever favorite coffee shop is Coffee Obsession in Falmouth, not necessarily because they have the best beans in the world or anything but because when I’m there it’s because I am spending time in my favorite place, usually with my family and best friends, etc. Anyway I have recently started to rep them on a regular basis: I got a purple HydroFlask with the Coffee O logo and used it every day this year to bring iced coffee to work, and this summer I bought a big green Coffee O t-shirt that says “LOCAL FLAVAH” on the back (incredible), which is more or less my favorite item of clothing I bought this year. I guess I’m kind of a poseur because I’m a tourist, not a Cape Cod native, but my love for Coffee O is true and real and I’m glad to spread the word.

Etc: Making iced coffee every morning in the Chemex; roséwave and the #Saltypod, both of which I love fiercely; the difference between being liked and being heard, à la Ellen Willis; editing essays; the Fever Ray show at 9:30 Club; wearing glitter in the corners of my eyes; “no one is going to wait for you to ask for permission”; wearing heels to work; the steam room at the W St YMCA; my tarot deck; the Pome newsletter.

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2017

I rang in 2017 drunk and crying. I left a New Year’s Eve Party where all my friends and I drank down the clock and M and I went home, and I had been obsessed with “Love More” for a few weeks so as soon as we got back to the house I put it on over the stereo. Anyway about ten seconds in I started sobbing and I couldn’t, for the life of me, explain why. (I wasn’t even sad! It’s just such a beautiful song!) M just put his arm around me and kind of half-laughed and told me it was going to be okay in a quizzical but very convincing way and eventually I stopped crying and the song played itself out. I think that about sums it up.

Anyway I think we can all agree that 2017 was a weird year in a grand sense, which I don’t feel compelled or equipped to speak to. But it was weird in a personal sense, too. The year started in that mass of feelings for me; I dyed my hair pink; I lost someone I cared about deeply, which hurt in a place I didn’t expect or understand. The other side of that month was the Women’s March: housing twenty friends from Boston and Brooklyn and elsewhere in a spirit of earnest and viable and real solidarity that nearly broke my heart.

In the spring I worked a lot, and eventually got to travel across the country and fall in love with a couple different cities: New York (Life After Youth, celebrating my 25th); Seattle (Bois Naufrage, fancy coffee, riding the bus); Austin (freeways, rental car, KUTX, wildflowers). In the summer, Keeper put out a tape – bittersweet timing, just before Sam moved back to Texas – and I got a few days on the Cape with the crew. I worked weekends and drank green juice and read novels. In the fall I got really into that Fever Ray song and memorized the opening passage of The Argonauts and finally made it to DIA: Beacon.

Overall, I think, it’s been a head-above-water kind of year for me, where I mainly got caught in a cycle of exist-process-react-exist without creating much. I spent a lot of time thinking about my feelings but still can’t exactly mark the growth. Sometimes stillness is a sign of change, though; maybe I’ll count that one as a win. So here’s a list of 10 things (big and small!) that I saw, heard, watched, made, felt and loved in 2017, that helped me get through the year.

The Heart Season: “No”

Before this year became the kind of dumpster fire in which you hear everyday about new ways that powerful, prominent men treat the women around them terribly, The Heart was talking about consent in a genuinely nuanced, genuinely feminist way. The “No” season was four episodes long, during which host Kaitlin Prest stared down specific instances in her own life where consent’s gray area reared its fucked-up face, and explored where the experiences left her – how they influenced her sense of self, how they shaped and informed her future sexual (and non-sexual!) encounters. And then she broadened the scope, ignoring the easier narratives – “yes means yes,” “no means no,” “consent is sexy!!!!”, rhetorical devices so exhausted and exhausting – and instead asked harder, realer questions about the intersections of desire, fear, gender, pleasure, and autonomy. It gave me language I didn’t know I needed and set a model for a kind of audio storytelling I didn’t know was possible. I wish they played this at every college orientation across the country.

Turning The Tables

What if we appreciated women’s art apart from maleness entirely? What would it look like to tell the story of popular music through only women’s greatness? That was, crudely put, the mission of the list of the 150 Greatest Albums Made By Women that NPR Music published this year. Being part of this project was huge: it meant absorbing massive amounts of history, rethinking canon, getting to be an editor(!), working with some of my biggest professional idols. Mostly, though, it meant devoting much of my working life to the intersection of radical feminism and rock and roll. What a dream.

Drag

I was drawn to art that felt genuinely subversive this year, but it mainly played out in moments of surprise: disappointment from expectations I didn’t realize I held being left unmet; utter radiant joy when this need I didn’t know I had was fulfilled. Maybe the most memorable time it happened was in June, at GAY/BASH, a monthly experimental drag show in D.C. It was the first time I saw drag IRL, which would maybe have felt subversive no matter what – but probably few things would have matched watching a drag queen in a red white & blue housewife dress penetrate the eyeholes of a Trump mask with a strap-on. Incredible! Tell me you can watch that and feel unmoved. My friends and I went back to GAY/BASH every month after that. The music was always perfect: The Knife and Paramore and No Doubt and Cher, etc. But mostly what felt so powerful was the company: being in explicitly gay spaces full of gay and queer people, where abject expressions of sexuality and of gender trouble felt neither like threats nor invitations to violence.

There was also, of course, Sasha Velour, the cerebral art-queen who was crowned this year’s winner of Rupaul’s Drag Race. I saw her on tour with other season 9 queens this summer; her lip-sync of “Praying” by Kesha was perhaps, no lie, the most moving musical performance I saw in 2017. She embodied and embraced the reality so many of us face as women and queer people: victims and victors, agents and acted-on, mired in both hope and fear on a near-constant basis. It was transcendent. 

Ramen

On a less serious note, D.C. is, like many cities, in the midst of a ramen craze right now, and if I’m honest I spent an inordinate amount of the year benefiting from it! And from the fact that a few places will even deliver ramen right to your house if you have the right app! (Also, there’s a lot to be said about cultural appropriation, the devaluing of non-Western food traditions, etc. in these contexts; I am trying to keep learning and will leave the explanations to folks smarter than I.)

Tank And The Bangas

I called this band the “best band in America” all year and I meant it. Their Tiny Desk concert was both an exhale (after the stress of running the Contest itself) and an inhale (before an unrelenting and enthralling month of tour with them). I saw Tank and the Bangas perform eight times in 2017; their positivity never got stale, their exuberance never felt forced, their passion never wavered. They sound like no one else I know. Goddamn, I love this band. The best band in America!

Therapy

I went back to therapy this year after not really going since childhood but thinking about finding someone to talk to and being jealous of friends’ casual off-hand remarks about their therapists for years. I went mostly because of this thing that happened last December involving some brutal unkindness from a loved one that was so vicious yet unexpected it left me feeling startled and knocked off course, like having been shoved from a great height and, after shaking off the dust, finding myself very alone. I thought it was a minor disturbance but it actually burrowed pretty deep into me and I wound up freaked out about a bunch of stuff, so long story short: I finally found someone to talk to.

I will save my breath about how mental health care should be accessible and de-stigmatized. I will say that therapy made my year better in a lot of ways; mostly, in that I had a dedicated time and place to work, patiently, on some things that felt really paralyzing. (It also taught me some useful concepts, like the idea of psychological safety and the Buddhist teaching of the “second arrow,” which I then snuck into some of my favorite writing I did this year. Win-win.) Nothing is fixed, obviously; therapy has felt mostly like a drawn-out emotional root canal all year, which is to say, I still nurse the same ache that sent me. But I’m grateful and I am learning and it’s starting to feel less self-indulgent to want to address my bullshit. I recommend therapy to everyone! If you’re interested in talking to someone, here are some affordable resources.

Iced Americanos 

There are precious few things that get M out of bed early: the promise of imminent skiing; a genuine emergency; and coffee. I’ve relied heavily on the third one this year to squeeze in a half-hour of quality time with him before I go to the office. Listen I know this is cheesy as h*ck but it truly improves the overall quality of my day! Anyway the iced coffee at our corner coffee shop is not for me but the baristas take great care with their espresso shots so I started getting iced americanos instead and now I have been converted to an iced americano grrrl, even in winter (true to my New England roots). And a morning-coffee-with-your-boyfriend grrrl. Gross! I can’t help it.

Creative collaboration

Madeline Zappala is both a dear friend of mine and a total badass artistic inspiration to me. I was so glad she asked me to help edit her magazine, Reflections on the Burden of Men – and that she (and her co-creator, Laura) accepted a short piece I wrote about being disgusted by sexuality, or maybe more so by the insistence that women perform it for patriarchy, feeling isolated from my body, wanting to not want what I want. Editing the writing in the magazine was a dream! And watching it come together was so instructive. Go get a copy! (Or just pick up some unsolicited dick pic stickers, a real thing they made.)

2017 was a pretty exciting year for Keeper, too. Between January and August – when Sam moved back to Texas and Keeper became a project with a less coherent identity – we played amazing shows and put out a tape and met a lot of really lovely people. I learned a lot.

Female solidarity

I never got the appeal of using the phrase “work wife” to describe a lady BFF in your office before this year (too close to “girl crush,” which, I maintain, is basically homophobic; plus, who wants to replicate the capitalist heteropatriarchy of the marriage-industrial complex in your office friendships, of all places?!) but now I have two and I totally get it. There’s really something special about working alongside women like me, and having them be people who are willing to take a lunch break or walk to Starbucks (lol) so we can encourage each other through weird career stuff, or vent about male incompetence, or gush about new music, or interrogate what it means to care about feminism or justice or epistemology or whatever in 2017, which is mostly what we did. Some of the most enriching and important conversations I had this year were these; we often joked about the positions of authority we’d have, the raises we’d get, the articles we’d be assigned if only the People In Charge heard the conversations we had around cafeteria lunch tables!

Of course, there was also the mere fact of having lived with three other women throughout this year, creating a home that was a constant space for frank discussions about shared oppression; there were days of 8+ hours of GChat sessions that formed a virtual safe space; there were the year’s albums that spoke to the bizarre, incredible realities of womanhood. And all of this happening in the context of women coming forward about sexual assault, women journalists reporting on it, all of us whispering #MeToo on the internet. It was a year that, for me, fostered a consistent and palpable sense of solidarity among us. I needed it.

The “Thief” music video:  

Lastly: this is, maybe, the most wonderfully terrible music video I have ever seen. I first heard about this on the now-defunct podcast This Week Had Me Like, which I sorely miss, and now it’s rare that my housemates and I go more than a month without watching it communally. It’s histrionic in the best way, nonsensical, totally delightful. Thank you, Ansel Elgort.

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home is where ya want to  friends are who ya need to  life is what ya get to  and love is what ya been through