I call my dad from Palm Springs. “Hey, loan me ten thousand dollars.” “Sure, pal,” he plays along. “What for?” “Let’s buy a ‘57 Thunderbird.” “What color?!” is his immediate response.
Ford T-Bird, California, 2021 (Polaroid SX-70)
There’s actually two Thunderbirds—one yellow hardtop and a red convertible—and we’re not going to buy one. But there’s an enduring allure to the beauty of these machines, increasingly rare in the wild. Restored cars from this time often seem more sculptural than functional—beautiful pieces of art, in bright colors, punctuated with shining metal. Calder mobiles with rubber tires instead of strings, rolling instead of floating.
I GULPED DOWN Michelle Zauner’s Crying in H Mart over the past two days, entranced by her incredibly lush memories of her mother, her deep love of Korean food, and blunt, forthright openness about hurt and loss. I’ve long been a fan of her great band Japanese Breakfast, and loved the early version of the memoir in the New Yorker.
MISSISSIPPI HAS A NEW POET LAUREATE, Starkville’s Catherine Pierce. I immediately ran over to Lemuria and picked up one of her recent collections, Danger Days, and was thrilled by its dark humor, wordplay, and kindness. Try her “High Dangerous” for an idea.
SO I WATCHED Ted Lasso and a half dozen seasons of the Great British Bake Off in search of comfort, and it worked (more or less). I wish there were more “kind shows,” like the way there are infinite crime procedurals. What I suppose I really want though are just more seasons of Ted Lasso and Bake Off (I ended up suprisingly liking the combo of Noel and Sandi! Although Noel obviously is having a blast with Matt. But maybe Mel & Sue forever, and I like pretending Prue is related to Mary Berry, like cousins or something, or maybe they’re just in a group, like the Green Lantern Corps).
Back to scanning California Polaroids and drinking coffee—a happy Spring week to you all.