to be sorted later #21
in which I cannot stop talking about the weather & I'd really, really like to
“Only my books anoint me,
and a few friends,
those who reach into my veins.
Maybe I am becoming a hermit,
opening the door for only
a few special animals?…
Yes. It is the witch’s life,
climbing the primordial climb,
a dream within a dream,
then sitting here
holding a basket of fire.”— excerpt, “The Witch’s Life,” Anne Sexton
We’ve reached that especially bleak point of Chicago winter, where my phone tells me terrifying things on my weather app like “the dangerously cold wind chills could cause frostbite on exposed skin in as little as 30 minutes.”
It’s also a scary time in that my creativity has apparently dipped to such a pathetic low that I’m beginning a blog post like I’m making small talk on a Teams call at work. How about that weather, folks!
Today, I actually heard myself say, out loud, to two of my colleagues: “If only it could be spring already … but who am I kidding, this is Chicago.”
Or something like that? I’m not sure, as my soul left my body around that point, and I saw myself, sitting at my desk wearing two sweaters, which of course clashed completely with the olive green sweatpants I was wearing paired with my favorite red wool socks, my cat Simone sitting next to me, staring, judging, also clearly wishing I would stop talking.
To make matters worse, in the last week my video connection on all my meetings keeps glitching, causing me to see myself moving in delayed, slow motion. I hear my coworkers say “Alison? We lost you” or “uh oh, she’s frozen” or “I think she’s gone” and I’m left wondering if this is how I’ll be remembered, a fuzzy, poorly lit talking head, frowning into her laptop camera saying something utterly idiotic like “as you can see on last month’s eCommerce scorecard” or “if only it could be spring already.”
If only it could be spring already!
I didn’t actually leave the apartment today, but perhaps that’s already wildly clear? When I’m not frozen on a video call, what the hell am I even doing?
What I’m Sorting Through, Currently …
“to be sorted later” is a series in which I attempt to have fun on the internet again, namely, by sharing the latest things I am watching, reading, listening to, hating, loving, discovering, and otherwise sorting through in any particular week or season. Enjoy! Or don’t!
In the Mood for … Yearning
“Why do I fall in love with every woman I see who shows me the least bit of attention?” I love this moment so much in “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” and I think about it often, specifically when I’m shopping at Trader Joe’s and I have pretty much any interaction with any employee!
I was planning to rewatch “Eternal Sunshine” again this Valentine’s Day weekend, a follow-up to my favorite Valentine’s Day tradition, which is a movie date with my friend Beth (this year’s movie: “Love Hurts”) — but instead I got ambitious and decided to finally watch “In the Mood for Love” and see what all the fuss is about.
Holy. Shit. The hype is real! In fact, I kind of want to watch it again right now, not only so I can spend some more time with these devastatingly beautiful people (yes, sorry, Susan, I’m still a sucker for beauty!) but because it’s really that fantastic. The melancholy! The rain! The music! The stairs! The neighbors! The clocks! Maggie Cheung’s dresses! Tony Leung’s face! My god!
I wish like this writer, I had first encountered this movie as a sullen teenager browsing at Blockbuster, but alas, we didn’t have Blockbuster in Knightstown, Indiana. From The New Yorker:
“In the Mood for Love” is the kind of singular art work that stands in as a shorthand for one’s personal taste. If you know, you know. Wong created a cocktail of French New Wave filmmaking, American hardboiled mystery, Chinese modernist literature, and the geopolitics of his own Hong Kong-via-Shanghai upbringing, then channelled those disparate influences into the mundane, domestic story of two not-quite-lovers. The combination is both unprecedented and somehow familiar upon watching, like a forgotten memory. The clarity of vision leaves an indelible mark on the viewer, and the film’s suitability for selfies makes sense; one wants to inhabit it, to take the places of its beautiful protagonists. But I first encountered “In the Mood for Love” as a teen-ager in the least glamorous of circumstances: a glaringly lit Blockbuster in suburban Connecticut in 2002, not long after it was released in the United States. Drawn in by its evocative title and cover on the foreign-films shelf, I snuck it into a pile of family rentals and watched it at home alone one night, entranced. I didn’t know what an “art film” was, but I aspired to the greater depth of feeling it seemed to promise.
Do you think we’re exaggerating? Fight me:
In Pursuit of … Whatever
The new, quick hits section! 4 more things that have my attention for at least the next 4 minutes:
So you’re telling me calling this blog “ARH” isn’t a compelling way to grow my audience? Weird. | “Names matter,” it turns out.
“I actually prefer to be called a freelance brand invigorator.” | Hiring Alexis Rose to lead a “super easy multi-step plan” to rebrand my Substack, now that I am aware of its failings. (Yes, I’ve been rewatching Schitt’s Creek. Again.)
“The fuck were we doing? I digress.” Poets write the best essays. Here’s proof. | Danez Smith, “Cruising at the LA Fitness,” The Paris Review
Still thinking about that piano. Here’s a peek behind the scenes, with inspiring words from both members of my favorite couple I don’t actually know. | Suleika Jaouad, “American Dreamer, The Isolation Journals
On Repeat
No matter what album, playlist, or song I’ve been listening to lately, Spotify then autoplays this Sharon Van Etten song. Last year, it was this St. Vincent song, which then landed as my #4 top song of 2024. So I look forward to “Afterlife” ranking in my top 5 of 2025!
Listen, I’m not mad about this (they’re both good songs!), but here’s the song I’m, in fact, intentionally playing again and again lately:
And here’s a little playlist for when you need to give yourself a little love and care — like maybe on an exceptionally cold Monday in February when you’re tired of seeing yourself on a video call, making small talk about bullshit? Just me?
previously:
