Death By Consumption #3: 5/20/24 - 5/26/24
Welcome to Death By Consumption's Memorial Day edition: exactly the same as other editions! I hope you're having a good holiday weekend if you're in the US, and if you're anywhere else in the world, I hope you're having a good Monday, or, if in your location it's a different holiday I'm unfamiliar with, I hope that is also good! There, that should cover everyone.
Wave Spray — from OUAI
Last week, I accused my mail lady of stealing this hair spray. Imagine my utter shame when, days after it was marked delivered, it showed up on my doorstep. The mysteries of the crumbling USPS! I hope the mail lady is not a subscriber.
I spent most of the week trying this out in the world, and I think it might be the winning salt spray. It does keep my hair rather beachy-looking, without the dryness or tangles of other sprays, and it doesn't smell like absolute shit (a surprisingly difficult benchmark to clear with salt sprays). I'm not 100% sold — we have to see how it fares with the miseries of NYC summer humidity, etc. — but I'm tired of thinking about my hair this much so I'm happy.
"The Valley"/"Vanderpump Rules" — on Peacock
Vanderpump was my gateway drug to Bravo, and though it's often failed us, it has had at least two truly perfect seasons of television, so I'll ride it out to the bitter end. This latest season was rocky, but it somehow gripped me throughout. The show only works when the cast is facing annihilation — we need them all on the brink of madness, living in ramshackle apartments with vertical blinds and crummy air conditioning, clawing desperately at success while failing at even the basics of adult life. So it's no surprise that Ariana, newly minted queen of scorned women and even newer gazillionaire, was the most boring person this season. Meanwhile, Tom Sandoval, that truly repulsive creature, was utterly compelling. Ariana spent the season being cold and emotionally distant, whereas Tom did cold plunges and screaming breathwork, blocked a 2-year-old on Instagram, and started his transformation into Father God. I couldn't take my eyes off him, though I sleep better knowing there's an entire continent separating me from him.
Speaking of repulsive creatures, the Vanderpump spinoff The Valley is, tragically, a must-watch. Kristen Doute is a genuine star of reality TV who puts the hard work in on a daily basis. She is consistently bra-less but ready to brawl, an unpredictable creature who we despise and pity because she reminds us of our own basest impulses. In her glorious return to television, she immediately accused a longtime friend of being a racist Republican cheating on her husband, and currently she's feuding with a pregnant woman while also trying herself to get pregnant via her brand new boyfriend (who I'm pretty sure is part of a militia trying to overthrow the government). Again, this is must-watch TV. Bravo keeps spitting out garbage and I keep gobbling it up like a nasty little pig!
Postcards From the Edge — on Criterion
How are people not talking about this movie? I don't care that it's 35 years old, this should be a regular topic of conversation to this day. I can't believe I'm not walking around overhearing Gen Z kids talking about Postcards From the Edge! We've failed our youth. Based on Carrie Fisher's "autobiographical novel" and with a jaw-dropping collection of talent, the movie is, genuinely, perfect. Carrie Fisher wrote the screenplay! Mike Nichols directed it! Carly Simon did the music! Gene Hackman, Rob Reiner, Annette Bening, Dennis Quaid, and Richard Dreyfuss show up! There are two complete musical numbers from Meryl Streep (and I say this as a Mamma Mia! devotee: you have never in your life seen Meryl emote while singing like THIS), and one stunning performance from Shirley MacLaine! (Also: the film follows the same structure, and has the exact same ending, of Cole Escola's play "Oh, Mary!" and no one is talking about this!!) This movie was made for gay people, but I think straight people could probably enjoy it, too. I urge you to abandon all your commitments and watch it immediately.
Storm King Art Center — in New Windsor, New York
13 years of living in NYC and I've never visited Storm King. Whoops! So this weekend we rented a Zipcar for too much money and drove up to walk around and look at some gigantic abstract sculptures. It was good! Storm King is pleasant. It's nice to be in nature! I correctly identified three sculptures as Alexander Calders without reading the plaque, and everyone pretended like they weren't impressed, but I know they were.
Borscht — at Spa 88 in Manhattan
Justin and I met a couple friends at Spa 88 (or Wall Street Bath & Spa 88? The name confuses me), the Russian baths on Wall Street, on Thursday night. It was blissfully empty, thanks to everyone leaving the city for the holiday weekend, so we enjoyed a few hours of rotating from the steam rooms to saunas to the lounge area, where we drank Russian beer, got way too many free vodka shots from the woman working there, and ate dumplings and shockingly good borscht. If you think the idea of sweating your ass off and then eating a bowl of beet soup sounds disgusting, I'm sorry, but you don't know what you're missing. It's not a glamorous spot by any means so I'd hesitate to recommend it to any tourists, but we're always surrounded by filth living in the city, so it doesn't bother me.
Fried rice — at Fish Market in Manhattan
After the spa, our friend took us to Fish Market, the most confusing place I've been in the city. First of all, no one hangs out at the South Street Seaport, so even getting there is disorienting. Then, to get into the bar, you have to jam your fingers on the top of the door and pry it open (there's no handle, and the door's window is completely smashed). Inside is a tiny old dive bar, about half the size of my apartment but with about 10 TVs, all playing sports. It's packed full of drunk groups, and if my friend had described it to us before taking us there, I would probably have avoided the entire experience. This sounds like a nightmare!
But the reason we were there — the reason most people were there — is because this bar randomly serves some of the best Malaysian/Chinese food you can find. We ordered course after course, all of it plopping down on the table in plastic takeout containers, each bite incredible. But the fried rice, of all things, is what blew us away. Somehow they got each grain of rice perfectly crispy, so the whole thing is this crunchy, salty masterpiece, the perfect accompaniment to the unfortunately free Jameson shots the bartender more or less forces down your throat (I genuinely don't know how that man is standing — he gives everyone free shots all night long, and always does a shot with you; I must have seen him throw back at least 10 Jameson shots in the time we were there, and he showed no signs of slowing). Fish Market was a revelation, though we had to flee to avoid dying of alcohol poisoning.
Is it just me, or is everything I consumed this week vaguely trashy? What happened to me?! But speaking of trash...
Hot Dog — at Nathan's Coney Island
A classic! Ordering and obtaining a hot dog at Nathan's on the Coney Island boardwalk on essentially the first day of summer was a nightmarish event, truly like entering one of the first few circles of Hell, but we persevered and I enjoyed every stupid bite. It's summer, you guys!