desk lunch – 2015-10-01

Brought to you this week by Hamilton, currently devouring the brain of every person I know. If you’re looking for something linking this week’s three essays together, it’s something thematically similar: stories about how artists make their work and their careers happen.


This Is How You Become an Editor

They didn’t know about Mensah, the name I gave myself when I was eighteen, and if they knew the name, they could search for me online and know everything. Know about my messy relationships, know about my politics. To be unknown by everybody, or half-known, and to have to decide who should know which half of me, but never giving all of me, not even to someone I’d share a bed with, is to be constantly half-powered, half-committed, half-ready to leave it all behind. So I would joke with my coworkers, and we would swap stories over beers or Italian at a local spot for lunch, but I lied to them. I lied to everyone. I presented one man, but I was another man.

This is just a very good, winding story about going from a day job to a writing/editorial job, but I’m linking it for the passage above—finally able to own what you want to do and who you want to be. The day job/writer job split feels like Voldemort and his horcruxes a lot of the time.


“Make sure you value us. …Your students of color have worked twice as hard to get to where your white students are. Appreciate the work it took for them to get there.”

Really interesting quotes from students in MFA programs, but I’m particularly glad they interviewed comparatively a lot of Sarah Lawrence grads. I attended undergrad at SLC and ended up furious/uninspired by all of my writing workshops for the reasons listed in this piece.

LMM: I was like, Don’t look at Busta, don’t look at Busta. Then I look into the second row and Mandy Patinkin is sitting above Busta Rhymes. If there is a Busta Rhymes of musical theater, it probably is Mandy Patinkin. And it was just fucking crazy, when the people you’ve emptied your pockets to see are seeing you.

Lin-Manuel Miranda, the composer of Hamilton and In the Heights, is like an actual ray of sunshine come to life. (See what he said about donating some of his grant money. UGH. ARE YOU REAL.) Every interview with him contains some moment or some line that strikes a little too close, and this interview in particular has a lot of good stuff about being Latin@ at a mostly white school, and working while also working, and. It’s a lot.


Advertisements

desk lunch – 2015-08-13

Brought to you this week by mainlining Girl Meets World (S2) and Another Period (EVERYTHING). I highly recommend Another Period for its beautiful and snide hilarity. GMW, on the other hand, feels like a present that was crafted, wrapped, and delivered directly into my lap and I love it too much to question it. I GUESS I’LL JUST HAVE TO ENJOY THIS THING IN A STRAIGHTFORWARD AND COMPLETELY EARNEST MANNER.


Listening to house music while driving with my father. He said, “I don’t understand this music. It’s like driving through Kansas.”

He’s right. The repetition, with slight variation.
*
In my room is a map of the United States where black dots mark the places I’ve been, black lines the roads I’ve taken. America, enmeshed in a net.

I’m a sucker for road trip narratives especially when they’re micro snapshots into very specific places and times. SOLD.

There’s no correct answer. Height is a construct. Reality is irrelevant.


Latest musical-related obsession: Lin-Manuel Miranda’s running joke re: Hamilton as their high school play.

Even Jonathan Groff is into it, because Jonathan Groff.


It’s fine, I was due for a good WRENCHING SOB torn from my chest on Monday.