Aug 30, 2021
Seeking Culinary Guidance from God, My Mom, and Kelly Ripa
My first unkosher months weren’t especially guilt-ridden; if anything, it was the closest I had felt to coming of age.
My first unkosher months weren’t especially guilt-ridden; if anything, it was the closest I had felt to coming of age.
It’s difficult to enter an anxiety spiral while cross-stitching. Believe me, I’ve tried.
When my dad was incarcerated, I began noticing specific tropes that reinforce a cultural narrative about prison all around me.
In Q Hayashida’s wild, imaginative artwork, I found the freedom to see beyond my surroundings, all on my own.
As a preteen, I’d absorbed this dynamic—a teen girl dating adult men—as totally normal because it was embedded in the show’s wholesome package.
In a theater, I am freed by the voices that shake the rafters, the dancing, the lights, and the colors. Musicals are my form of catharsis.
Fifteen years after it premiered, ‘The Devil Wears Prada’ continues to teach ambitious young people that exploitation is the price you must pay for success.
When stage shows went virtual, traditional directors declared that the form was “dead.” They are extremely wrong.
Can you still hear us? We’re drowning the state in our chirps tonight if you’d care to sing along.
Across the thousands of miles, and the hundreds of years of historical and cultural distance, Albertine and I had our hair in common.
The years I suppressed my queerness are a loss that I'm exploring and grieving—if only through fiction.
On the back of that wind, my brain rose and skipped and tumbled far beyond the boundaries of any quarantine.
Obviously, I cannot be the old woman. Obviously, I cannot be the woman.
I could almost sense them beside me, as if the spattered index cards they’d left behind had come to life.
Eurydice’s decision to choose comfort could be read as a betrayal. But it is a survival response, an instinct to protect the self.
That plant in a park in Rhode Island delivered the promise that there might be something familiar in this place where everything was new.
They told me, “Gay people are all in WeHo. There are no gay people in Inglewood.” To be gay was not only to be Other, but to be white.
These stories had deep histories, centered Black women, and belonged to us. We only had to be brave enough to claim them.
But I’m a Cheerleader gave me something to hold onto: for the first time, I had seen queer love and community.
