Hi, friends.
I may or may not have a new piece of Garbage arriving this month. My writing time has been taken up by my not-writing and I’ve just learned that I am to supervise my seven-year-old brother, Aiden, during the week between Christmas and the New Year. This means my hands will be full until 2023, most likely with Nerf guns and UNO! cards.
The nice thing about having a brother 17 years my junior is that I get to experience my childhood all over again. In no other scenario could I, as an adult, spend a weekday afternoon on the floor of my parent’s living room, wading in a sea of Legos and demolishing a giant tub of Animal Crackers while Adventure Time blares on the TV. Or could I drop the basketball hoop in my neighbor’s driveway to eight feet and unashamedly throw down windmill dunks. Next week, he’s taking me to my first trampoline park, a mythical place called Urban Air, where I will likely tear my ACL. After that, we’re to visit my mother at her office a few blocks away and empty the jar of chocolate adorning her desk. If we’re really good boys, maybe she’ll let us open a present on Christmas Eve.
This year is the first in over a decade I’ve felt a trace of holiday spirit, and I know it’s all secondhand from this small human. Because they’re on his wishlist, he suspects that he will receive a Playstation, Xbox, and Nintendo Switch all in the same day. That’s a fucking crazy thing to believe. And yet he does. I long ago lost that unbridled optimism, but simply being near someone who possesses it reminds me that the world is still full of possibility and wonder.
Things to Consume
“Secrets of the Christmas Tree Trade” by Owen Long for Curbed.
One of my favorite things is learning the dark context behind something seemingly cute and wholesome. Ty Warner, creator of the Beanie Baby, is an absolute prick. Paul Bragg, of Bragg’s Apple Cider Vinegar, is the reason your grandmother believes in quacky and expensive “all-natural” health supplements and has probably battled body dysmorphia. Reptile Gardens exists because Earl Brockelsby paid people to illegally smuggle exotic animals into the Black Hills. (Records show that Brockelsby, who served as mayor of Rapid City in 1948-49, was actually a decent human.)
Thus, this story about the evergreen mafias that turn NYC into a battleground between Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve brought me great pleasure.

Adrianna says:
The Anality of Evil by Patrick Blanchfield for Apocalypse Vibe Check.
The last few weeks, I’ve spent some time thinking about all the good that Twitter has brought to my life: access to perspectives outside the church and town I grew up in, a number of friends, an entire writing career, a place to store the dumb things that cross my mind.
Now on the verge of collapse thanks to the second-richest person on the planet, it’s offering a final gift: real-time evidence that no amount of wealth or power can hide one’s insecurities, obliviousness, cruelty, failures, sadness, and shame. Here, the ever-sharp Blanchfield investigates wealth and its linear relationship with assholery.
“politics as content” by Abby Wargo for her Substack, cosmic gumbo, which you should absolutely subscribe to.
Bad Radio // Felly
Yes. Hell yes.
New pod deconstructing airport books/pop science. Malcolm Gladwell has so far made a cameo in every episode.
Intelligent. Eloquent. Honest.
Golden Tate highlight reel, for some reason.
Art & Fear: Observations On The Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking
Making art now means working in the face of uncertainty; it means living with doubt and contradiction, doing something no one much cares whether you do, and for which there may be neither audience nor reward. Making the work you want to make means setting aside these doubts so that you may see clearly what you have done, and thereby see where to go next.
Lastly, some signs.
That’s all for now. If you’ve recently consumed something you think others may find enjoyable, personally deliver it to me or leave it in the comments below ⬇️
Thanks for consuming. Have a good week (Or year. We’ll see.)✌️