The weekender, #4
Democracy may be dying, but at least now we have Caesar flavored potato chips.
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I’m back with another Weekender to combat the May Gray in Los Angeles. For the uninitiated: while the weather tends to improve this time of year ~everywhere else~ in the northern hemisphere, in LA it gets so consistently weird and spooky and overcast, the micro-season has an official name: May Gray (to be followed next month by June Gloom, which, you’re correct, does not technically rhyme.) Luckily halfway through that I’ll be on my way to a wedding in Sicily*.
*if you have packing tips for more than two weeks but less than one month in Europe, I’m all ears. Literally, you should see my baby pictures.
The winner: Carlos Alcaraz, who can’t play at the French Open this year due to an injured wrist but who is on the cover of Vanity Fair covered in clay anyway.
The losers: Spencer Pratt, and everyone who is supporting and/or platforming this hateful, inexperienced dum dum running for LA mayor. That includes Lakers minority owner Jeanie Buss, deeply loca boy Taylor Lautner, and guy who has never once gotten it wrong before Joe Rogan (who also, mind you, doesn’t live in LA.)
Ice cold tips: Spencer sold photos of Mary Kate Olsen when she was a teenager, used to pal around with Sandy Hook conspiracy theorist Alex Jones whom he has called “an American hero,” and is just trying to turn this entire thing into a reality show. Where have I heard this one before?
The good news: Grogu got to walk the red carpet at the premiere of his new movie.
The bad news: Rep. Steve Cohen (D-TN) is ending his reelection campaign after the state’s GOP chopped up his district last week. He’s Tennessee’s only Congressional Democrat.
Best look: I continue to be floored by the grace with which Stephen Colbert is exiting CBS, because I know I would personally be much pettier than he is. But I also thoroughly enjoyed watching him and David Letterman throw furniture off the roof of the Ed Sullivan Theatre, which landed on the target below—a very familiar giant eye.
Worst look: Ka$h Patel wins again, outed recently for having his own personalized bourbon bottles and publicly challenged to take an alcoholism questionnaire by Sen. Chris Van Hollen. Then this week we found out about a trip under the sea he took last year (under seemingly no duress whatsoever, completely of his own volition, by total choice), the scuba excursion from hell. I guess maybe catch him this summer on a Segway tour of Arlington National Cemetery?
The book: I finally had time this week to dive into Phoebe Thompson’s recently published Girls Our Age, and am loving this perfect ode to 30-somethinghood.
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The drink: As a gal who can’t get into martinis no matter how hard she tries—they just taste like straight vodka to me—I am desperate to try this summer olive mocktail, via Erika Veurink. Hot tip: I may try it with pickle juice and pickled jalapeño brine, too.
Best call: A Neue Galerie merger with the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 2028, just announced yesterday. The collaboration brings pieces into the Met Collection where it’s lacking, and preserves Neue (and Café Sabarsky) with its collection of Klimts as is.
Worst call: More female celebrities shilling the “girls don’t get left behind by AI!!!!” argument. Admittedly, one of them is a big time plagiarist, so—if the shoe fits.
The lol: After Trump fell asleep at his desk during an Oval Office event, the White House defended it by saying he was “blinking.” And whomst among us doesn’t enjoy extended, minute-long blinks while Dr. Oz calls women “under-babied?”
The snack: It would not be an exaggeration to say my life was permanently altered via potato chips this week—specifically Graza’s Zesty Caesar flavor from their new line at Target.
The hack: As a long-time double cleanser (oil-based, then water-based), I was overjoyed to discover CeraVe’s version of the former, which costs half of what I usually pay.
The meh, it’s fine: Laurel Supply is the new ~it~ grocery store in West Hollywood, and I found it pretty but mostly underwhelming. My only asterisk is that the baked goods are excellent—I went with rosemary focaccia and a hazelnut cocoa cookie.
Still thinking about: John Mulaney’s two-hour set last week at the Hollywood Bowl, at least 45 minutes of which was an RFK Jr. impression that had me wheezing (in a much cuter, less creepy way than RFK does.) Thank you to Netflix and Substack for sending me and putting me in the same general radius as Jon Stewart, too.
Previously on Hot Tip:
