I don’t know about you but that Snake curled round my wrist like a bracelet of submission. So, as the lunar year drew to a close, I listened very carefully. After being stripped down, cut open from tip to top, and taken for a death roll in the mud… a fiery stallion might be the only thing that’ll get me where intend to go.
OUT: Googling & Scrolling
Turns out it is Science (not - as it has been opined - the hips) that doesn’t lie. Or maybe it’s one of those “two things can be true” deals? Back to the point… The brilliant ones have discovered that screen time over 4 hours a day has a crippling effect on your energy, cognition, and mental health. The other smart people, the ones driven by greed and unencumbered by moral compass, are putting all their efforts into a model where they get paid to keep us on that screen as long as they can manage. Our attention, our eyeballs, are being commoditzed. And the only kickback I get is Digital Dementia? No deal!
IN: Books + Notebooks
Taylor Swift doesn’t need to add “Mastermind” to her CV for me to know that she is. As a student of the musician and poet, I’ve noticed two critical components to her brand of genius! First, she appears to study source material. When I imagine her baking bread, there’s a messy dog-eared cookbook open on the counter. The second? The girl takes NOTES! I’m sure of that because (well) she talks about it all the time. And also because the juxtaposition she creates between transparency and innuendo, viscerally so, allows you a window into what it’s like when a person fervidly masticates every single light bulb moment they are offered.
OUT: “Luxury” ANYTHING
I haven’t experienced true luxury for quite some time. I like to think that it demurely dipped out around the same time as room service on a rolling cart. Likely embarrassed by its association with plastics - can I blame it? One minute the word Luxury is standing proud beside a white linen cart and silver discs that cover bone china plates. Butter coaxed into pretty shapes. The next it is quite literally under foot. Even yachts (these days) and million dollar houses seem to have a gaudy layer of nouveau riche that needs debriding before you find anything authentically luxurious. I suggest we let the term rest for a minute. Gather its witts. Powder its nose.
IN: Frugal + Fancy
This adorable tradition developed last year amongst myself and one of my dearest friends. It begins with a “Good” brownie and a bit of Goodwill hunting. Long story short we got presents for each other at Goodwill. Then I helped my four year old best friend do the same for his friends. So like weekends in Athens lately, the whole thing snowballed and the holidays were an idyllic time, unburdened by consumerism and waste and anyone scanning the room for their next “score” - as in tearing something apart to see what’s inside. You know what makes Christmas REALLY great? Financial stability.
OUT: Space to Entertain
Can we please skip to the part where people stop taking down every single wall in a house? I’m quite certain the giant beam makers would appreciate a well-deserved breather. And don’t get me started on my mortal enemy: a giant island covered in granite that doubles as the seating for a “dining table.” I don’t want a walll of clunky oversized refrigerators. That sort of flex is just lost on me. And for the love of peace, please get yourself the best soaking tub that money can buy! That’s my brand of desirable real estate.
IN: Space That Is Paid-In-Full
Love grows best in little houses. Plus! You get to use the finest finishes. Ours is in the forest. And it could use a coat of paint and a new kitchen floor. But it’s often filled with the laughter of a little boy, fresh cut flowers, a simmering pot on the stove, and an abundance of remarkable artwork. Our preferred affluence is in books. Our wealth is measured in laughter and joy.
OUT: Girls’ Trips
Just go ahead and count me out of anything that requires more than two Ubers to get everyone to dinner. I used to pine over the idea of them. But the more I settle into myself, the more obnoxious they seem. If I walk into a restaurant and see 14 women sitting at a table, one-upping and talking over each, I’m going to spin on my heels in retreat.
IN: Neighbor-Nights-In
One of my favorite people moved into the neighborhood recently. So I hosted a mocktail toast. Booze has BEEN out. And I am an earnest student of restraint more than a successful practitioner of abstinence. But my studies, very early on, brought me to a singular conclusion: I prefer a sober soiree! Instead of leaving allllll my money at the liquor store, I had a cut flower bar and a candle design corner. These days I walk into spaces I’d have happily overindulged myself inside of till half past closing time five years ago… and they feel foreign to me. Like an old address, I know I’ll never live there again. But, like pants that are unexpectedly too big, it fits like something to celebrate. Our house comfortably fits five friends!
OUT: Obligatory Relationships
Feeling entitled to my time, currency or energy? The number you are dialing has been disconnected.
IN: Equality
My degree of inclusion should not be defined by: a degree, a bank statement, length of residence, waist size, or the price of my handbag. If you rank human beings with those units of measure, keep moving. If you recognize and treat me as an equal, keep talking!
OUT: “Keeping Up”
Leave that nonsense to the Kartrashians. (*nickname a nod to the amount of waste the type of consumption they engage in creates. Not a personal attack.)
IN: Keeping it 100
Experience the joy of living exactly where you are! I find that focusing on the care of my financial, emotional, and physical health are the strongest foundation for this. Keep up with: your authenticity, your preferred vehicle of expression, and your moral compass. The rest is loud and messy, as things not actually meant for us typically are, but it’s none of my business. And I’d rather keep my eyes on my own paper anyway.
Tuesday, February 17, 2026
Tuesday, November 25, 2025
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME
Bonsoir Inside-the-Loop-ers! Did you hear? It's Scorpitarius Season betch.
Soooo... what we have in front of us is my last year as a forty something. Light the sparklers, pull the pin from the fire extinguisher, and cue le grand tapage! We've been training for this since 1976.
The Js (minus Junie who is currently embedded in the Parisian music scene - making new friends and generally having a "marvelous time ruining" absolutely "everything") kicked off my 49th spin around the sun at Chibuguan Cafe with a Filipino soda and a plate the likes of which I've rarely had the pleasure to drool over. Seriously! I slept on this place MUCH too long and, in penance, you'll likely find me there once a week because I am fully prepared to make right what has been so terribly erroneous for such an awfully lengthy period. Grab your keys, head out to Winterville, and prepare to feel like you've hopped into a very yummy Edward Hopper canvas. On this particular canvas, you'd see Little J delighting us with several rounds of "Goodwill Grab Bag - Thrifts for Humanity." Which I have every intention of asking to play each birthday. Let me also tell you that I am absolutely committed to being "that witch" just as she has commanded via formed plastic and a mason jar with a handle.
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| Current View: Thanks little J! |
Sunday was like a dream! It started, as most do, with G reading Modern Love to me from the NYT, which we have delivered on Sundays - one of the most romantic (if not THE most) Valentines I've ever received. And continue to cherish. It ended... with two deserts. Which is not typically how I handle things but he made me promise to order anything I wanted. Which ended up being: Tempura Local String Beans, Broiled Oysters, Pumpkin Cake, Chocolate Pecan Pie and a celebratory "Golden Years" because yes TF they are and 100 MF can't tell me nothin. I beez in the trap, be-beez in the trap.
What I didn't expect to find? Yet another restaurant I'd been sleeping on for far too long.
Five points Athens (as a staunch Birmingham, Alabama devotee) has not always delivered for me. There is no Hot & Hot, no Fonfon, no Highlands, no Garage. No grocery with Andygator on tap and fried chicken. But there is 5&10. An establishment that I immediately recognized as the place where we'll want to celebrate almost any milestone I can imagine. When Tucker & Emily visit. When Aes gets an award at school. When someone I love needs a little extra sparkle, we'll go to 5&10. Their menu is exquisite. The staff is lovely. The space is GORGEOUS! But there was something else entirely that filled me with nostalgia: Peter Dale running plates.
When I bartended on Bourbon Street, our owner would jump behind the bar with me (in an Armani suit no less) any time I was with one customer and there was another person waiting. He did't watch until we were in the weeds. Or out of glassware. Or in need of more cases of Purple Haze. He pitched in every single time he saw an opportunity to support us. And, as you can imagine, I just thought that's how the world worked. So I spent the next coupla decades finding out that this is very rarely how the F&B industry actually operates. So seeing him drop off a plate of oysters just really hit me in the heart.
And that pie crust? Shut the front door and lock the back. I have questions. It was perfect. Simply perfect.
Tonight I'm slipping off for another Scorpitarius celebration! What's next? Great question.
IF I even leave the house this week . . .
Kidding of course. There are holiday markets and plenty of home-for-the-holiday shows but . . . Let's be honest, as long as there is a pan of green bean casserole to clutch, I'll have a hard time leaving it unsupervised.
You're on your own this week.
Tuesday, November 18, 2025
HOW BLUE CAN YOU MAKE ME?
I think I was five when my great grandmother Big Mama, on a return trip from DC, made my Dad stop the car so that she could get out and walk beside the interstate - muttering, irate, about RR-40 "friend of the rich." This is a story I heard more times than I could count growing up. Posthumously, she was (thinly veiled as it may have been) ridiculed for her political beliefs. With a side of "look at all these things we can buy." I was always fascinated by how "right" (as in absolutely correct) they seemed to fancy themselves. How certain.
But in 2009... there was only one guy for me. Barack Obama awakened genetic memories. Of Leaders I've only read about in textbooks. Of Orators who are etched in stone. I finally understood that absolute certainty. Not that our President would be infallible. But that his intentions were to lead us into a type of prosperity that my family did not worship at the alter of. I don't remember sharing that with most of them. We don't measure success, of any form, with the same systems. I'm "metric."
In 2015, I decided that I would rather vote for anyone other than DT-45. Why? His own mouth. So I looked at J Dub (my friend Jessica) after Rotary one day and said "let's go put a Woman in the White House." Then we did. And then we didn't. We were as grief stricken as we had been hopeful. Barack taught us that. Again, I was mostly quiet about my opinions, my disappointments. But when Jessica left for The Women's March, I wanted to support her. So I posted a screenshot on my personal Instagram.
It didn't take a terribly long time
for me to get the text message:
"Sorry for the short notice but we're making cutbacks.
Your last paycheck will be at the end of March.
Love, Dad"
Immediately, the President of the company - my father's sister - began hounding me about taking on responsibility for my Rotary dues. I guess she didn't care to hang on to the community partners and relationships I'd spent over a decade building. And she certainly did not inquire about my wellbeing. Still, I remained moderate. It wasn't until my republican-activist-father's-wife (after letting it sit vacant for years) sold my great grandmother's (yes the same one) house to a stranger for an amount we could have paid in cash... that I officially thought "you know I'd rather walk home from DC on the side of the Interstate than build my life around these people."
And you know the way it just is.
Nature abhors a vacuum.
So I met Gordon Lamb. And almost immediately gained the kind of family that I was actually born into. Loving. Kind. Checks in on each other. Remembers birthdays. Sends Christmas cards and invites us to celebrations. Lets us know when one of the littles wins an award or has a graduation. Visits each other often. Big holiday spreads and family reunions. I was born into that. But it all fell apart without my Grandmother to keep it going. Fun Fact: Our blended immediate family has a full spectrum of political opinions and associations but we agree on one thing unanimously: to care for each other, is to prosper. For clarity though, I'm still blue as smurfette. But I'm "getting to know" other ideologies - none with a Chief Wannabe. I'm leaving myself open to evolve.
This weekend, Dottie Lamb took us to something I like to call Holiday Hotel and hosted a surprise birthday (mine) pajama party for 4. So I'll not soon get the sound of Dottie, Gordon, and Aes serenading me over Ruth's Chris cookies & cream cheesecake out of my head - entertaining me in the sweetest of daydreams. Not to mention the most thoughtful and precious gifts and a petite but perfect GNO. The little one swam the width of the indoor pool five times without me holding him. The filet was kissed by the chef. And we ended the weekend with our new favorite: sandwiches from Automatic and a "giant pizza with one thousand cheeses." What's next? I can't wait to tell you.
IF I even leave the house this week...
Get to Weaver D's and show the love!
11/19 @ 2 p Tour at Two
11/19 @ 6 p Art Trivia
11/20 1-7 p Africa in Athens
11/20 @ 6 p 3D Printing Class
11/21 @ 9 a Dekalb FM
11/21 @ 5 p INCANDESCENCE
11/21 @ 6 p Art Swap
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