PicoBlog

Julia Child would have been 111 years old last Tuesday. In honor of her birthday, I offer up this piece I wrote for Smithsonian Magazine (where you can see Julia’s entire kitchen). This morning, walking around Art Omi (a truly lovely place for a morning walk), wild blackberries were everywhere. By the time I got home I was stained purple. I love the way blackberries appear where you least expect them, an unexpected gift.

A message from my mum, the lifelong value of family jokes, what’s in a name? Friday was my birthday. Thank you dear Facebook friends for the cascade of greetings and thank you to the dear ones who said happy birthday in person or by phone or FaceTime. I so appreciate the encouragement. “The night is young!” “The best is yet to come!” and as Auntie Mame said, “Live, live, live!”

Someday, our grandchildren will ask us: where were you when the Lauren Oyler takedown appeared in Bookforum? I was in the car. My husband was driving us to a park to watch the eclipse and I was on my phone because that’s where I live. That’s when I saw Adam O’Fallon Price tweet two tantalizing excerpts from a review in the print edition. You can now read the review, by Ann Manov, online—by now, I’m sure you already have.

Hi there! Happy National Pizza Day! I was alerted last week that National Pizza Day was February 9th. Why that day? Hard to say, but shouldn’t we celebrate and honor the spirit of pizza every day of the year? The way the hot, warm disc brings together friends and family. How the molten, gloopy cheese incite conversations, passion and silent, bloated, introspection. I ate pizza for seven days straight leading up to this.

Happy Novy God! Happy Sylvester! It’s 2023 and It’s No Ibiza is BACK. Let’s get started. How are YOU? At the risk of giving him more publicity, we are nonplussed to report that the singer Omer Adam has decamped to Dubai indefinitely, citing the very justified public criticism of his lifestyle and often racist, misogynist music. Don’t worry, he’s taking his younger model girlfriend, Yael Shelbia, with him. (Yael Shelbia made headlines before when her rich American then boyfriend Brandon Korff, son of billionaire Shari Redstone, got deported from Israel after getting special permission to enter as a non Israeli citizen.

Growing up in a small town in Maryland (shoutout dville), we didn’t have a huge Persian community. Our closest Iranian relatives lived in Massachusetts and we usually only saw them once a year, during summer vacation. For me, cooking Iranian food and celebrating the Persian New Year, or Nowruz (sometimes spelled Norooz), has always made me feel closer to my dad and that side of my family (of which I have only visited in Iran once and have met only a handful of times).

Warning: if you’re not a fan of dogs doing naughty things while their humans look on dotingly, turn away now. I understand. And I also apologize if it bothers you: and confess, I am a bit indulgent when it comes to my doggies. Likely many of you won’t think their antics as adorable and lovable as I do. So, I promise: next week’s newsletter will not mention D O Gs at all.

Welcome to Hardcore Style, a new column in which I describe and analyze style trends in hardcore punk. The first installment shines a light on 2003, a time of transition and wild expression in hardcore. I attended my first local punk shows in 2001 and my first hardcore shows in 2002. I was 15 years old. I dressed like Blink-182’s Mark Hoppus. I worshipped brands like Volcom, Hurley, and Quiksilver. My clothing never prevented me from moving across subcultures; I ran with jocks, punks, band kids, and norms.

Autumn is quickly shifting into winter in several states this week, as a foot of snow is falling in South Lake Tahoe and the white stuff is blanketing parts of New Hampshire. Although I’m 11-plus years removed from living in the Midwest, I carry fond memories of zooming around Pelican Lake in north central Wisconsin on my parents’ snowmobiles, striking fear into my wife as my brother Joel and I raced across the snowy ice at a squillion miles an hour.