If you’re looking for a fun, cozy way to ride out the L.A. June Gloom, come join Dinner Party Editors Polly “the third act twist, the unexpected declaration of love” Gregory and Pamela “I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy” Guerra at Rom Com Fest this weekend! The schedule’s got all your bases covered, from the classics (Never Been Kissed, How Stella Got Her Groove Back) to new films and shorts to some extra special events (Mortified Live, anyone?)
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“I was an artist before I was politicized,” said Patrisse Cullors during a discussion after her MFA thesis show at The Big House last April. Widely known for her role as co-founder of Black Lives Matter, Cullors showcased a different side of her work with her performance piece, titled “Respite, Reprieve and Healing: An Evening of Cleansing.” The piece aimed to create a space of cleansing in a time of trauma and crisis, as told through movement, and was dedicated to celebrating Black culture and healing the Black community.
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Blame the algorithms all you want, but you can’t deny that social media often excels at delivering on-point—and sometimes painfully accurate—content straight to the palm of your hand. I found myself cringing the other morning on my post-snooze-button cruise through my Instagram feed at the results of a Q&A on someone’s story. The question? “What does being Southern mean to you?” An answer: “Being both incredibly proud and deeply ashamed of where you’re from.”
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Dear readers, may I present to you, a rather incomplete, but no less impressive list of various things that happened when I finally decided to stop hating myself:
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I once worked in a restaurant where the customer had to be greeted within seconds of approaching the bar—or else our manager would rush over and drop a menu, smiling almost aggressively as if to make up for my supposed negligence of their presence. Later, I would be reprimanded for not tending to their needs immediately. My manager would raise an eyebrow. Immediately.
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I’m back in the San Gabriel Valley to have dinner with a good friend. Ivy—she’s just moved back from two years teaching English in Korea, and she’s living temporarily in our hometown of Arcadia while contemplating her next move. I live only about 30 miles away on the Westside of LA, but my parents have moved away from the area, and now I rarely make it back. It’s a chance to get my hair cut by an Asian lady, stock up at the Chinese grocery store, and see what’s changed.
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Fran and Emma (2016) by Kate Mitchell
I sat with my back against a hundred-year-old grave marker, eighteen years old, the promise of liberty as a soon-to-be-college-student pumping adrenaline through my veins. Michael kept close. He knew the graveyard creeped me out a little. It was February and a few degrees below freezing—the perfect excuse to sit side-by-side, knees touching. Funny how quickly intimacy can blossom between strangers.
