Lists of Ten, Ranked

1. The Ten "Best" Comebacks. High up because you need to keep your enemies close, and if these are the 'best' comebacks, I need to learn how to respond and become unbeatable, like a Superman of Words. Fortunately, none of these are very good, so it won’t be difficult.

2. The Ten rules to live by Thomas Jefferson. You know it's going to be good advice when one of the top websites about these rules is called "The Art of Manliness." Manliness in its artistic wonder aside, if you did your due diligence, you would notice number nine: "Always take things by their smooth handle.” I agree, Thomas. I always said if there were one man on earth that I thought everyone thought was a president but actually wasn’t a president but in real life was, in fact, a president, it would be Thomas.

3. Ten provinces of Canada. Each one is better than the last! It keeps me on my toes.

4. Ten things you should know before filing a claim for unemployment, à la Illinois state government. This would be super helpful if I was trying to file for unemployment and lived in Illinois. Unfortunately, I am employed in a lucrative blogging career and have never been to Illinois. Semantics, man!

5. Ten things you should never say to a PS5 gamer. Before I set foot back in Montreal, I will read this list. I don’t know proper gaming etiquette, and this list will stop me from unintentionally offending any potential new friends. I will no longer call someone a "Sony Pony" or "Xbot" in good conscience again!

6. Ten things Jeremy Allan White can't live without. I don't believe he really “can't live without” his temporary tattoos or Diptyque candle. It should be more realistic, like oxygen and hair gel.

7. Ten Commandments. Boring, Basic. Nothing these eyes haven’t seen before.

8. Ten things I hate about you. One of them is that she hates that she loves him, despite his other distasteful qualities. I couldn’t tell you the other nine things if you asked me. Unmemorable.

9. Soccer players who wear the number 10 jersey. This is so low because there are not 10 of them. This list doesn't even qualify to be ranked here. Clearly, the writer is getting paid for quantity over quantity, as that would have been one awesome opportunity.

10. This list of ten things. This one’s last place because it’s too meta for me.

Rock Bottom

Recently, I’ve been a fiend for Sudoku.

My journey had been relatively peaceful, nondescript until now. Today, Sarah told me the New York Times reminds her of me. I’ll take it. (She said it was because I’m the only white American she’s friends with). After admitting I’m a bit of a fraud - recently, I’ve barely made it past the headlines, I told her about my recent habit of doing their Sudoku puzzles.

You know, I’ve never seen Pulp Fiction, but I imagine it’s about a paper manufacturer (tree pulp, fiction). Because of this, and because it’s so well known, my next reasonable conclusion would be that there’s a dramatic, show-stopping scene where some big boss, or ‘the Man,’ tells his employee (a girl with a black bob and bangs) some crushing news. To cope, she walks off to smoke a cigarette. (If you asked me what happens next, I’d say she throws the cigarette on the ground, distracted by her thoughts, and the factory catches fire).

I imagined myself to be the bangs and bob girl, struggling under the weight of this new burden. It felt like I got slapped in the face. “Easy??” “Easy!?” Like many things this summer, it caused me to start questioning my reality. Maybe I DID need to continue soul-searching.

The ‘Easy’ level, I’ll admit, is a breeze. The ‘Medium’ is doable. The ‘Hard’ level, though, while I can always complete it, does take me a minute. Sometimes, I taste the sweet tang of defeat and use auto-check part way through. Hey - who says I can’t be vulnerable?

The rock bottom I landed on brought me back to the story I’ve told most of you, one fateful night on the Brooklyn Promenade. It had been a pretty hot day for early summer, but the temperature was finally beginning to lighten up. With Celeste to keep me company, I pulled my arms tight to my chest.

Right before this, I had discovered the Italian language. While my feelings for Italians as people are nothing short of neutral, I was hyper-fixating on a couple of Italian phrases, ‘molto bene’ being one of them. You know the cliché, hope sets you up for disappointment? I’m not usually someone who subscribes to this; I think it makes life nothing short of boring, but, if you will, on this night, you could find me across enemy lines.

I was so far from hope I wouldn’t even know it if it looked me twice in the face. I didn’t allow myself to believe my Italian accent was any good (this is a lie) because if I believed it, my ego would soar dangerously high. Much like Icarus, I have flown too close to the sun before, and I learned my lesson (I had not learned my lesson).

The conversation continued, and it soon came time for me to use my new Italian catchphrase once more. “Molto bene.”

As if summoned by some greater force, as soon as the words flew off my tongue, someone asked a question.

“Are you from here?”

I wondered if it was what Amelia Earhart felt like soaring in the skies, looking down on the people below her and the vast open seas. Did they think I was Italian? Everything I had ever dreamed of seemed possible. Could it be true? I had never wanted to change my heritage so badly. Maybe I was Italian? Maybe she was right? It could be more than just genetics; it’s a feeling. Italian.

Shaking me out of my daydream, the inquirer continued her question, asking what Pier 17 was and what type of events they hosted.

She didn’t think I was Italian. I was crushed. Gone was the story I had begun imagining for myself, who I could have been if things were different.

I could still compare myself to Amelia Earhart; although, this time it was a little later in her journey.

Pier 17. Later, this same pier would force me to listen to a Yung Blud concert across the water (thank you, particle density). Over and over. When will it stop?

Back from Copake

For someone who said they were spending the whole summer in the city, I sure feel like I’ve barely been there. Maybe part of it is how long summer break is, but I would have a hard time telling you how I’ve spent my past few months. Still, even if the past few months have sped by, it feels like I never went to Montreal at all, like last year never happened.

I have a lot on my to-do list for when I’m back, so let me spell it out for your benefit and to organize my mind.

• Buy more stripe and polka-dot socks. I’m running low. I’m also incredibly violently jealous of Georgia’s red polka-dot socks. Sometimes I feel like vomiting when I see them on her feet or in the laundry.

• Buy two lamp bases for my shades and two lamp shades for my bases.

• Go to the library (the park slope one, unfortunately. It’s been challenging in the past couple of days to stay positive knowing the Carroll Gardens branch is closed)

• Put on my gardening gloves and get to work. (Actually, I don’t use gardening gloves at work most of the time. I am a water system installer now, after all).

• Practice my conversation starters for the next time I hang out with Mia and Sidney, so they think I’m really funny

I hope all of my recent list-making has inspired you. Remember that social media isn’t reality, and while you may be amazed at how productive I am, I have my faults, just like any other person.

Today before hitting the road, my dad, Georgia, June, and I stopped in town to get sandwiches. I’m not sure if any of you have been to Copake, but “town” is three shops.

The failures that would later confront us were not for lack of trying. Much like how I imagine the knights felt fighting battles in the Middle Ages, June Georgia and I had to psych ourselves up, putting on metaphorical armor before stepping into the general store. The day before, the employee's brother (?) overheard us saying she was a bit of a bitch, more or less. Oops! I found it hard to move in this armor, real or not. The weight of steel and chain mail kept my feet pressed into the ground, and I shuffled over the fridge.

Was it worth it, facing a woman that had the potential to be our very own Moff Gideon? (I hope this reference makes sense; I’ve never watched The Mandalorian. My social consultant told me the blog would benefit from connecting to the Star Wars fans who read HUPD). (Heads Up Phones Down).

Anyways, back to my original question - was it worth it? Not really. The fridge reached out its chilly long fingers and wrapped them around our bodies, pulling us in. My eyes flitted back and forth on the rows, hoping for a discovery, hoping for a victory akin to the beginning of the gold rush of 1848. (The gold rush was only in 1848?? In my mind, the horse and carriage migrations couldn’t have been later than 1800).

I did experience something like the gold rush, but instead of the end goal, the gold, it was more the journey. The three sandwiches inside the fridge immediately brought to mind the arid and uninviting desert encountered before arriving in California. They were the driest-looking sandwiches I’ve ever seen.

Thankfully, we hapless women were in the presence of a man, or THE man. My dad whipped out Yelp like his life depended on it, and we learned that, lo and behold, the third business in town was open and served sandwiches.

While inside, I got what I had spent the morning dreaming of. A BLT. More than that, June and I both got chocolate milk. It had been a while since the last time I’d had chocolate milk, other than a couple of days ago when June got one, and I had a few sips. Semantics aside, it ignited something in me.

Delicious!! We set off, one step closer to Brooklyn, one day closer to the next Summer I Turned Pretty episode. (How is Mia going to watch it at camp??)

Violet

Ps. No more than a week later, Sidney and I both had to endure a BLT crime. A diner served us BLTs WITHOUT MAYO.