Fox Five || 007
The 90s pervade my peanut butter, my TV, my stereo, my nightstand and even right outside my hotel room.
I PROMISE I have something better to say, I just can’t get it to stick together yet. I’m also distracted by planes, trains, automobiles, and reality TV. I’m also distracted by micromanaging a birthday party that I absolutely should be letting my husband take the reins on, but instead insist on the addition of things like candy wax lips and the exact right shade of amber plasticware. But here we are. Another week passed. More tiny things that brought me joy from Peanut Butter to yet another Kennedy re-imagining (I will never get sick of a Kennedy reimagining).
Jif Dark Roast Peanut Butter
I was a little sick over the weekend, and you know what they say - starve a fever, feed a cold. The only thing I wanted was rice cakes smeared in peanut butter and Breyers mint chocolate chip ice cream. And ginger water. Lots of it. Luckily for us, I grabbed a jar of peanut butter on sale because I am a sucker for new products and even more of a sucker for garbage peanut butter. Please don’t try to convert me to your "no sugar added" oil-on-top nonsense. I want 90s peanut butter, but now I want it to be dark roasted. I can’t tell you how good this product is. It feels like a product that I will never be able to find again, but if I see it again, I will buy everything they have. I suggest you do the same.
A comment on the article about hot takes on air travel.
Turbulence doesn’t bother me as it used to, after a wonderful woman sitting next to me on my first solo international flight told me that it was just “nature’s rocking chair,” but I wouldn’t say it’s my preferred way to travel through the air either. There is family lore that we were on a tiny plane heading to my cousin's bar mitzvah in West Virginia, and as we made our way through the Appalachian airspace, climbing and falling in equal measure, that my mother and I were huddled up together, and my dad and my sister couldn’t get enough. I don’t like roller coasters or anything of the like. According to a New York Times article, some folks, like my 3-year-old sister, love it. Another thing folks purport to love in this article? Airplane food. While I love the pomp and circumstance of airplane food in a premium class, I wouldn’t say I love the food. One thing I do love, however, is a comment on this article about how to make your airplane bread more enjoyable by sliding the ice cold puck of butter under your thigh the minute it lands on your plate so you can be sure it’s warm and malleable by the time you’re ready for it. PEAK HUMANITY.
Being sick this weekend allowed for A LOT of time in front of the TV. I caught up on Love is Blind, The Pitt, and the internet’s new obsession, Love Story: JFK Jr & Carolyn Bessette. You can’t take one step on my side of the internet without a piece about how to capture Carolyn Bessette’s style. One thing most of these pieces fail to mention is her bone structure, as some of us look like zoo keepers when we put a pair of khakis on, not a style icon. I digress. I am pretty entranced by this series for a lot of reasons, but the music is something we’re not talking about enough. This is an exceptional survey of what I imagine it was to be in your 20s in New York in the 90s, awash in CK1 and eau du Parliament Light.
The white feather outside my hotel room door.
I got to Nashville tonight, and immediately outside of my hotel room was a small white feather that reminds me of the opening sequence of Forrest Gump, and the opening sequence of Forrest Gump always makes me emotional. Actually, there are few Alan Silvestri Scores that DONT make me emotional (I’m looking at you, Father of the Bride)
The Book on my Nightstand, aka my Libby Shelf
The Wild West Village by Lola Kirke. Sue me, I’m in a 90s, pre-internet, state of mind (we spent about an hour going down a 90s nostalgia rabbit hole last night), and I will never tire of reading stories about it. This is a fun, quick read with a well-written milieu that makes you feel like you were there, too.
Chic Schmaltz La Vie,
LCF