This & That

Field notes from the weekend.

Memorial Day weekend is supposed to feel like the start of summer. Instead, New York spent the entire weekend acting like late March. Cold. Rainy. Windy enough to make you question every optimistic wardrobe decision you made five minutes earlier.

At one point I looked outside Sunday morning and genuinely considered turning the heat back on. I would currently do unspeakable things for direct sunlight and a mild sunburn, which is probably not something my dermatologist would endorse, but emotionally I stand by it.

Here’s what I’ve been thinking about for the past week.

Sometimes my brain is so creatively dry it feels medically concerning. Nothing. No thoughts. No ideas. Just static and a vague awareness that I should probably drink more water and maybe spend less time staring at my phone.

And then there are weeks like this one where the ideas arrive so aggressively I become incapable of functioning normally. Essay concepts. Business ideas. Random observations. Half-written notes. Creativity on overdrive. 

At one point this weekend I had to stop doing the dishes because my brain apparently decided that was the ideal moment to pitch me my future.

It’s honestly exhausting. Creativity in your twenties feels artistic and tortured. Creativity in your late thirties feels like having 47 browser tabs open while trying to remember whether you paid the ConEd bill.

Memorial Day weekend also means we are officially entering “Song of the Summer” season, which got me thinking about recession-era pop music.

While cleaning Saturday morning, two absolute bangers came on back-to-back: Black Eyed Peas and Justin Timberlake. Suddenly I was transported directly into the emotional ecosystem of 2009.

Honestly, I don’t think the Black Eyed Peas got their flowers for psychologically carrying millennials through the great financial crisis. The economy was collapsing. Housing markets were imploding. Entire industries were melting down. Meanwhile we were all screaming “TONIGHT’S GONNA BE A GOOD NIGHT” with complete emotional conviction.

And somehow, it worked.

Every recession hit sounded like bottle service during the apocalypse. Pitbull. Flo Rida. David Guetta. Music specifically engineered to distract us from economic instability through sheer BPM and delusion.

No generation has ever coped harder through synth production. Which now has me wondering whether this year’s “Song of the Summer” is eventually going to be remembered as the soundtrack to whatever economic chaos we’re currently pretending isn’t happening.

The Knicks playoff ticket prices right now feel less like sports entertainment and more like a socioeconomic stress test.

Every time I check Ticketmaster I feel like I’m accidentally browsing for a pre-owned luxury sedan. And I know people say the NBA isn’t rigged, but if this series somehow extends after a few mysteriously questionable calls, I will be observing respectfully but suspiciously.

Because can the NBA really afford a clean sweep? Or does someone quietly need seven games worth of ad revenue and Stephen A. Smith content? Time will tell.

Note: this was written before Monday’s game. By the time this hits your inbox this question will have been answered. 

The French Open started this weekend which means, once again, I’ll spend the next two weeks pretending I understand clay court tennis at an advanced level.

There’s also something deeply aspirational about the entire French Open aesthetic. The outfits. The effortless Europeans. The muted luxury. Everyone looks like they casually drink espresso while discussing philosophy and backhand mechanics.

Meanwhile American sporting events are basically beer, nachos, Kiss Cam, and mild dehydration. Completely different emotional ecosystems.

Also, the French Open is a firm reminder to me that America is the best place to make money and Europe is the best place to spend it. So inevitably I end up on the Delta website looking at flights, ready to live out my brief annual dolce vita fantasy.

In the spirit of summer, I stopped by Whole Foods this weekend for one of their giant containers of chunky spicy guac and the store-made tortilla chips.

And honestly? Their guac is elite. Creamy, fresh, actually spicy, and dramatically better than almost every other store-bought version.

At this point, a really good container of guacamole can noticeably improve the quality of my day, which feels like a very specific stage of adulthood.

So… shout out to Whole Foods for consistently delivering chef’s kiss-worthy guac.

That’s This & That.

See you Friday. - Chris