media consumption: articles, video essays, podcasts to make you smarter (vol. 23)

what i’ve been reading, listening to, romanticizing, and treating myself to

hello.

had three finals this week and didn’t get a chance to write to you, which left me feeling a bit empty. still, i’ve been collecting things: articles, video essays, podcasts, pieces of media that caught my attention and felt worth sharing. i think you’ll like them, too.

july always feels like the longest month. as someone who’s never warmed up to summer, the heat tends to stretch time in strange ways. everything feels a little too still, too hot and sticky and humid. it’s the part of the season where autumn still feels far off, and the novelty of warm weather has worn thin.

but i promised myself i’d try to make peace with the sunlight and find softness in the sweat and stillness. i have this next week off, and i plan to lean into it. slow mornings, good books, long walks, and a little bit of stillness. it’s not autumn yet, but maybe it doesn’t have to be.

here are my rules for living in summer:

–eating cold fruit in the bathtub: cherries, watermelon, peaches, anything that drips down your wrist

–living on tomato mayo sandwiches and iced coffee with coconut cream

–clean skin, damp hair, white linen

–falling in love with people who keep the windows open all night

–smelling like salt skin, overripe fruit, nostalgia, and hazy love spells

–accepting that midsummer is for losing your mind in slow motion

–creating shrines and pentagrams out of seashells, empty matchboxes, and old love notes

–designated afternoon nap time. ideally post-sun, ideally under a ceiling fan

–designated smut time preferably post-bath, pre-dissociation

–believing in the slow decay of summer: pleasure, heat, boredom, and the urge to disappear

–eating cold spaghetti for a midnight snack with no pants on

–remembering that even the softest seasons can undo you

and letting them.

let’s move into this week’s report, shall we?

weekly report

reading

(same reading stack as last week) but i’ve also acquired the newest edition of the paris review which i’ve been enjoying very much in between texts. oh, there one more new edition to this stack…

autobiography of red by anne carson
a myth retold as a queer coming of age poem. geryon is a red-winged boy. herakles is the one who leaves. carson writes in fragments: part lyric, part theory, part dream. but the result is sharp, aching, and unmistakably human. carson zooms in on a single wound: love as both ruin and revelation. together, asking what it means to be made, and remade, by the people who hurt us. (i meant to get around to finishing this last month but never got the chance)

on being blue by william h. gass
a cult classic that begins with the color blue and spirals into a dazzling, sensual meditation on language, desire, and meaning. cerebral but lush.

a game of hide and seek by elizabeth taylor
a quiet, emotionally charged portrait of missed chances and enduring love. deeply english, beautifully restrained, and quietly devastating.

the juniper tree by barbara comyns
a strange, melancholic fairytale about a single mother drawn into a world of wealth, friendship, and eerie domestic tension. unsettling in the softest way.

east of eden by john steinbeck
i just started east of eden by john steinbeck. his self-declared attempt at writing a modern book of genesis. it’s a generational novel set in california’s salinas valley, where the story of cain and abel repeats itself in quiet, devastating ways. but it’s not just about good and evil. it’s about everything in between: moral ambiguity, inherited guilt, the ache of free will.

eating

blueberry pancakes
with melted butter and just enough maple syrup to soak the edges. soft, golden, a little sweet, and perfect when you want to feel cared for before the day even begins. i think love island has us all craving pancakes.

pumpernickel bread with salted butter
earthy and dense, the kind of bread that feels like it has a memory. even better with tea and a quiet morning where nothing needs to be said.

tomatoes, flaky salt, basil, and burrata
it’s a cliché for a reason. juicy, creamy, fragrant. like eating sunlight with your fingers. best when everything’s slightly too ripe.

fresh avocado with black pepper, flaky salt, and olive oil
not guacamole, not toast, just avocado in its simplest form. rich and clean, like a reset for your palette.

cold tofu with soy sauce, sesame seeds, and soba noodles
light but grounding, like something you’d eat in a novel set in summer. soft textures, salty edges, and a kind of quiet satisfaction that lingers.

playing

oldies playing in another room and it’s raining

berlioz

too much (netflix)

love island (balance)

obsessing

my new headphones :)

the feeling of cold tile under bare feet in the morning
especially when the light is good and the kitchen is quiet.

slow mornings with jazz, coffee, books, and journaling
just a quiet sequence of rituals that make me feel like a person again.

replacing a tiktok scroll with a pinterest scroll
less dopamine, more moodboarding. it feels like curating your brain instead of emptying it.

richard scarry to remind me that i’m human
tiny drawings of animals going about their little lives. comforting in the way only a fully labeled cross-section of a sandwich can be.

figs
cut open with your hands. sticky, glistening, ancient. decadent in the quietest way.

recommending

going on a picnic. here’s everything to pack in your basket:

green grapes, still cold from the fridge
fig jam or other jams in a tiny glass jar
french brie, already soft
slices of sourdough wrapped in a linen napkin
a hard-boiled egg with flaky salt and cracked pepper
strawberries with a little sugar shaken over them
radishes with salted butter
lemony lentil salad in a vintage looking jars
cucumber and dill tea sandwiches with the crusts cut off
dark chocolate broken into shards
chilled rosé or a thermos of earl grey with oat milk
paper-wrapped sandwiches turkey and cheese with good mustard
a slice of almond cake or two madeleines
a clothbound book with underlines in pencil
linen everything — tablecloth, napkin, blouse
spoons that clink softly in ceramic bowls
sun-warmed skin and a breeze that smells like jasmine

treating

fresh peaches from frog hollow farms
sun-warmed, deeply sweet, almost obscene in their softness. the kind of fruit that reminds you summer wasn’t always a punishment. eat over the sink or over a napkin. it will still stain your fingers and make you feel like someone in a faded italian film.

posting and ghosting
a sacred ritual. drop something beautiful, thoughtful, fleeting — then vanish. no scrolling, no replying. it’s not about validation. it’s about preservation. a digital message in a bottle tossed into the tide.

sparkling water at restaurants
the smallest luxury that always works. crisp, cold, slightly performative. you feel like a different person when the glass sweats in your hand. maybe european. maybe more hydrated than anyone else in the room.

this next section is for paid subscribers where i share a sizable list of interesting articles, video essays, and podcast recommendations that i’ve curated throughout the week(s). today’s media consumption roundup includes the dominance of psychiatric language, intuitive eating, how to meditate when you’re bored, mushrooms as a metaphor, the personality type that suffers the most, the crazy world of korea’s plastic surgery industry, the courage to be misunderstood, and so much more…

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