A September Email From Isabel
We're talking about love, sports, and a "Ratatouille"-themed playlist
Welcome to September! Absolutely no one wants to be here, and that’s okay. This week I am writing to you about sappy sports writing and being bitchy about love, as well as some fun recommendations for things at which to stare.
A Big Thing To Read:
Dive in & enjoy some of the nostalgic sports writing from the last few months!
When the NBA shut down and the start of a baseball season looked grim, sports editors still had pages to fill. However, instead of snarky articles about injury lists and stats, reporters wrote many nostalgic pieces about old players and past games since little else was going on.
I found a new joy in the deep dives into an old player or sports folklore, which was often written with a sentimental tone, one that was previously only reserved for special sports anniversaries. At a point back in May, the sports pages of the NY Post may as well have been as mushy as Instagram posts from Sorority sisters to each other on birthdays.
Check out a few of the articles below:
The legend of Vince Lombardi and his endearing, true love of Fordham football
The most tragic pitch in MLB history
How “New York, New York” became a Yankee standard (Actually made me cry)
And… following the death of iconic Mets pitcher Tom Seaver, here’s my personal favorite, written by one of my favorites, Jay Schreiber, lifelong Mets fan and retired NY Times sports editor, and also known as My Good Friend Julie’s Dad.
Small Things To Stare At:
A Twitter practical joke which convinced readers that every time photos of prawns are printed in recipe books, they are actually the images of the same six prawns used over and over again.
This collection of photographs of text messages sent by strangers.
James and Karla’s YouTube account - A couple who visit and film small, independently-owned businesses in NYC. Their recent videos have gotten increasingly more impassioned as many of our favorite local spots are in danger of closing.
Daniel Featherstone’s 2020 street photography, which has brilliantly captured much of the pandemic.
A Small Thing To Listen To:
This absolutely wild French cafe, Ratatouille-inspired playlist meant for working that I found on Twitter, obviously:
One day, a few summers ago, my friends and I were freshly home from our semester abroad in Tel Aviv, our feet sweating in our business casual, internship ballet flats, eating 120 calorie vegan fruit-based frozen yogurt in a Union Square store. We were talking about - honestly, who even knows - and, suddenly, this bitchy gay middle-aged man swung around, unprompted, and said: “You’re all single because you’re snarky, jaded, cynical tri-state area Jews who hate everybody before you even meet them.” His name was Brad Rosen, and we never saw him again, yet we still refer to him in moments of important decision making, hoping he’ll send some sort of low-calorie, Kosher message from the heavens telling us what to do.
Thinking about this now, I was 19 then. If Brad Rosen had run into me and my 23-year-old friends now, we would probably sound twice as jaded and cynical as the 37-year-old New Yorkers we grew up watching on Sex and the City. That is sad! We’re so young!
I’m going to give my friends and me the benefit of the doubt by blaming the spirit Brad Rosen sensed partially on the essence of dating apps. The whole cruel point of the apps is to make split-second decisions based on pictures or bios.
In fact, we all know the rules: If a guy has too many pictures of himself drunk on a boat, he will cheat on you. Guys wearing khakis - call the police. Guys who too prominently display their expensive watch - run.
Then, naturally, there are the specific rules for the Jewish dating apps, if you’re into that, like… If the 4th picture on their profile is at what looks to be a family Orthodox wedding, they’re too religious for you. Always look for the specific hair dent that would imply a year-round, 24/7 yarmulke wearer - if visible, they’re also too religious. If they say they’re 5’7”, they are actually 5’5”…. Sometimes I scare myself.
This weekend my friend and I went to stay by a lake in a small Berkshire town. We could not stop noticing this specific type of all-American couple around us. We watched a young guy with muscled calves and his blonde girlfriend with a heart-shaped locket hop in a car. The boyfriend promptly reached for his phone to turn on the song, “Build Me Up Buttercup.” And then they drove off, windows down, holding hands behind the clutch.
Another couple, of similar build and look, stopped short right in front of us, staring at the sky, determined to identify what type of plane was in the sky. When we passed them on our way back from a shop, they were still standing there, discussing glider planes, or something.
We started to feel the same thing at exactly the same time: what the fuck are we doing? Truly, why can’t we just find love and spend the day happily looking at planes like these people? Why are we, instead, sitting around making rules about khakis and yarmulkes?
We know that we are not really superficial people. That’s not it. Yes, we’re probably judgmental, but it’s 2020 - who isn’t.
However, this ingrained dating app judgment reflex also becomes confusing when you’re someone like me, who genuinely and embarrassingly believes in true love. I am so confident that I will find love, it’s unshakeable: I can almost already feel it. My friend (and partner in bitchy app dissections,) on the other hand, questions me often, and has a more perhaps realistic yet pessimistic view of love than I do.
We spent almost every night this weekend in bed by 9 PM, watching House Hunters, and comparing our views on love and life. While I sat there so confidently optimistic, he was frustrated that nothing he could say could convince me that I ever could end up “forever alone” or in a marriage with someone I never fully loved. Annoyingly, I had absolutely no proof for his rebuttal, I just know.
It’s fascinating to me that I could be so negative and jaded about love on physical dating apps, and then so disgustingly positive and trusting about finding gorgeously, fulfilling love in my made-up future. I’m not sure what this means, or which part of myself is more honest. For now, I am going to blame this identity crisis on dating apps. And perhaps also Brad Rosen.
In the meantime, and I do wish deep down that I could say otherwise: please do not show me a picture of a man in his twenties wearing khakis. I will develop hives, and I’m not proud of it.
Thank youuu for reading! As always, please let me know what you think about any of this and share it with your friends! <3
Leaving you with this all-powerful picture of Barbara Streisand, Ethel Merman, and Judy Garland. It’s very important to me.
Much love, Isabel
