TL;DR: I had a health screening and am inclined to run on about it.
I got my first colonoscopy this week. I’ve already talked about this much more than I should.
But as a new-to-me experience, the prep/scope journey felt like, you know…a Field Trip. Most surely it was a break from the norm this time of year, August being a month that’s a bit like, as Anna Brones puts it in her Creative Fuel newsletter, “a piece of clothing that’s a little scratchy, a little too small. Something we can still wear but that we’re not quite comfortable in any more.” She asks: “What do we do with this time? I guess we let it be whatever it needs to be.”
And? Perhaps we dutifully check our aging bodies for signs of cancer. Which we are fortunate to be able to do.
In my limited encounters with the medical complex (again: very lucky), I’ve never been shuttled through so many different caregivers at such a rapid clip. Each one had her specific task, even though many asked me the same questions.
One to administer the forms and check my ID, one to palpate the veins and place the IV, one to tell me where to put my clothes.
While I waited for the next step, I overheard a woman in the curtained stall next to mine say, “I don’t drink water, and I have roly veins.” She said this three times. I don’t drink water, and I have roly veins. She had a doll’s voice. What did she have against water? I’ll never know.
A heavyset man with squeaky shoes spoke kindly to her. (I recalled Georgie, from Jesus’ Son, played by Jack Black in the film adaptation of Denis Johnson’s book—who, high as hell, is fascinated by his own squeaky shoes. The squeaky-shoes moment is not below, but this scene is worth a revisit anyway:)
I always feel a bit loserly in a hospital setting, in the midst of all these sturdy souls attending to the ill and infirm, a well-orchestrated team carrying out the care of the human body, following protocol. Worlds away from my workday, where I sit on a couch and fire off emails and log onto Zoom calls and think about how to promote things.
One to wheel my stretcher down the hall, one to deliver the propofol, one to assist the doc.
They call the anesthesia “twilight,” which sounds like a rather lovely dimmed-but-awake state, but is just, like, sleep.
One to wake me and send me off, one to push my wheelchair to the garage.
Everyone tells you the prep is the worst part. They’re right.
The night before the prep I executed a purge of the digital kind: I deleted 2000+ unread emails from my Gmail. Just a few clicks, and gone. I think I felt lighter at that moment than at the end of the next day, having swilled preposterous amounts of Gatorade-Miralax cocktail.
2000+ unread emails remain, however! And more file in every day—relentless, dependable as dawn and dusk, often the first thing I see when I wake and the last thing I see before I nod off.
I find it strange that August is Leo season—ruled by those confident, showy cats—because it is otherwise so mellow, liminal and lazy; the whole vibe is lolling about, winding down. But I guess big cats do sleep a lot, too.
Who’s NOT lolling about? The girls of Bama Rush, that’s who.
Bama Rush is a tightly controlled subculture of ritual and gatekeeping, a subculture we can now all lurk on thanks to TikTok and Anne Helen Petersen’s deep, deep exploration of Greek Life at UA, “"Bama Confidential.” She ventured into this territory last year; this year, she’s doubling down, publishing an essay each day of the week and sharing countless #RushToks—aspiring sorority girls sharing their #OOTDs and the sisters’ elaborate group dances, mainly—collected on her IG Stories.
August, now, is for #Rushtok.
This is all I want to do lately: Watch myself into a stupor on Petersen’s stories. It’s a little agonizing, actually, because the Rushtoks don’t always repost in full to Instagram. Whether they do or don’t, when they end they dump you right into the TikTok logo/outro beat drop. But wait! There’s something perversely satisfying about this. (I’m convinced the outro thing alone has some kind of chemical lock on my brain.) You don’t always get the full TikTok, so you have to get more, but you’re also getting a new dose each time.1 What new girl awaits me after each logo bop? I have to find out!!!
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Yet the sameness of each video is equally narcotic: As each girl rattles off the brands of her shirt, skirt, shoes, and jewelry, the same names are recited, like a spell: E.Newton Kendra Scott Kendra Scott Kendra Scott David Yurman Amazon Hermes Amazon…
It’s a vortex. It’s anesthesia I can’t get out from under, nor do I want to.
I’m compelled to watch Rushtoks because they reveal not only a certain kind of contemporary femininity (miniskirts festooned with enormous bows!), but also performance of identity through consumption and groupthink. Because each OOTD video is so alike, the tiny variations between them—between the PNMs, or prospective new members—become remarkable, which I bet is a microcosm of Rush itself. The rituals captured on video here are both coded and unabashed. I find everything about Bama Rush and Rushtok delightfully exotic, even if most of the brands the girls rattle off are familiar. It’s a very specific window onto a way of life I know is not all that far off, but I don’t have access.
Plus, the dances!!
OK, so: August is good for health screenings and Rushtok stupor. What else?
New music!
So many good songs released recently, all of them with a bittersweet edge, just how we like it around here:
“Empty Trainload of Sky” and “Hashtag,” by Gillian Welch and David Rawlings: A new album (Aug. 23!) from these two is reason enough for serious celebration. But to have the first single’s central image reference a certain train trestle you know from your very own beloved Shelby Park? I’m emotional. Lines I can’t shake: “Was it spirit? Was it solid? Did I ditch that class in college?” And “Hashtag,” written for Guy Clark, is just brilliant, heart-tugging songwriting. “When will we become ourselves?”
“She’s Leaving You,” by MJ Lenderman: “It falls apart, we all got work to do.” Celia on WNXP said this one has big Drive By Truckers energy, and she’s right of course, and no one’s mad about it. I can’t wait to see Lenderman and Karly Hartzman play The Blue Room in Nashville next month. His new record Manning Fireworks is out Sept. 5. #SouthernRock4EVA
“Don’t Mind Me,” by Styrofoam Winos: Speaking of Southern rock! This one’s just a good dang time. New record out in November.
“Once a Bunch,” by Adrianne Lenker: Absolute delight of a refrain: “Half a margarita, have a little dance / Let’s fine-dine the demons, and give peace a chance.” “I’m so glad folk is back,” my daughter murmurs happily as we listen to this one. Yes, yes. Okay, Lenker!
“Patterns,” by Laura Marling: Her music feels like intelligent, over-30 music to me, but my 16yo is extremely into it, too. New record out Oct. 24.
“Old Scratch Blues,” by Jack White, and indeed, the entirety of No Name: What more can be said of this rockstar? Actually, I could say a lot more, but this newsletter is growing leggy.
Essays: Write them!
This freewheeling newsletter may not be the best evidence, but I swear I know a thing or two about essay writing, and I put together a list of 15 tips for a recent class I taught at The Porch. I’m sharing some of it below, and the whole enchilada for paying subscribers. Thanks, y’all, really and truly.
Don’t be precious with your prose or your process when you begin writing. Get messy! Stay loose! Have fun! Throw ideas onto the page. Incomplete thoughts, images, bits of research, even images or songs: Just get it into a document. You might stay in this stage for a while!
That said, it’s never too early to ask yourself the question: What question is this piece seeking to answer? Return to this question throughout the drafting process. If you don’t know your question from the start, that’s ok; just keep pondering. Totally fine to have a bunch of questions at the start and not feel sure which one is the “right” one.
Take breaks of a few days to a week from this document, then read it through again. Identify sentences, phrases, and words that have energy for you. Move these to the top of your document. Try writing more with these “hotspots” as launch points.
Go back to your central question. Revise as necessary. Are there sub-questions? That’s fine. Write those down.
Ask yourself: What don’t you know, or remember, about this thing you feel like writing about? This is usually a helpful question to ask in drafting.
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