T.S. Eliot was wrong, April isn’t the cruelest month–it’s March. By that point I can barely tolerate another second of winter, my New Year’s motivation is long gone and the time switch messes with my energy levels. I can barely function. Still, there were a few gems to be found in this terrible, torturous 31-day stretch.
Books: The Interestings by Meg Wolitzer
I’m at that delightful time in my life when my ambitions shrink in the face of reality and I have to contend with my unfulfilled potential…all while seeing friends and acquaintances win international book awards, get covered by the New York Times and are generally fawned over. This novel tackles this very thing head on as it follows the lives of 6 teens who meet at an arts summer camp in the 70s. Reading it can both be as comfortable as a mug of complacent hot chocolate or as painful as your young self shaking their head in disgust. #wearealljules (read it so you’ll understand)
Movie: Rock in Reykjavik
Baby Bjork! Baby Bjork! Baby Bjork! This 1982 documentary about the bourgeoning punk scene in Iceland lets the performances and artists weave a narrative of cultural change in the tiny country. Shout out to the Tween rocker who complains about not being able to eat gum on a bus.
TV: House of Cards
What does it say about me that I truly believe the Underwoods have an ideal marriage? Hear me out, hear me out. Yes, they might be psychopath terrors hellbent on accumulating as much power as humanly possible but they tend to each other’s needs, support each other’s objectives and are open to creative solutions to fulfill each other’s desires. I don’t know. I’m writing it down as a life goal.
Podcast: You Must Remember This
After Serial (season 1, obviously) and Making a Murderer, I’ve been on a bit of a true crime kick. Karina Longworth’s podcast on Old Hollywood stories has a multi-episode series on the Manson murders that are absolutely riveting. She looks at the case from all angles-social, political, cultural-and truly places the gruesome crimes in the larger context of American history. All this before we even get to the actual night of horror.
Random: Post-Call Me Maybe Carly Rae Jepsen
The song that made me want to strangle a thousand puppies is but a minor fart in the Pure Pop Poetry of our bubbly songstress from the Great White North. Though I once questioned why a 30-something lady talked about love with the emotional range of a slightly ditzy high school freshman, I have realized the errors of my way. Cause it turns out that irrational lust turns us all into a ditzy high school freshman. While I try to stay cool and collected with other adults about matters of the heart, Carly Rae lets me indulge in the absolute hysteria of crushes.
How about you? What should I put on my list of potential obsessions for April?