Greetings! (Himeros, God of Sexual Desire)
Lay back and feast as this newsletter guides you through new and exciting positions.
Greetings as well to you, reader, and welcome to
Babbling On
(other title ideas included
The Other Hilton Girl, Their Smell, Confessions of A Dumb Bitch…
let me know if any of those jump out to you!)
It’s been several years, admittedly, since I was last employed as a professional writer. If you’ve followed my syntax since my days as an Associate Editor at
Out
magazine, I appreciate you! If you’re more familiar with my work freelancing for publications like
PAPER
or
Them
,
I’m happy to send you a tasteful nude to show my gratitude! If you supported my time creating the web series
5 Things With Hilton Dresden
,
I owe you a baked good! And if you’re completely new to the Hilton Dresden experience, fuck you! Just kidding—it’s you, uninitiated reader, who I’m most delighted to make acquaintance with. Though I do have to wonder how you found me—stalker much? Nonetheless, welcome!
I’ve decided to start a newsletter. Feel free to beat me to death for this choice if you happen to pass me in the Brooklyn streets! Nevertheless, I will be persisting. The truth is, if ever there was a good time for such an endeavor, this Pandemic Year would have probably been it, and yet, I’ve mostly spent the last 12 months gobbling edibles (that’s
pot
edibles, Grandma!) and replaying Pokémon Gold (Girafarig Supremacy!). Still, better late than never. So as we all slowly creep closer toward normalcy, and thus a much lower thirst for things like extra emails to read, I find that
now
is my chosen hour to begin battling for my life,
Babbling On
.
So, what will
Babbling On
cover? I’m not a Rotten Tomatoes-certified film critic by any stretch—in fact, I’m not sure I have any qualifications at all besides a Babysitting License I got in a YMCA basement back in ’08. But there’s one thing I’m certain of—I’m a consumer. I’ve spent the Pandemic, and my whole life, consuming—films (yeah, I’m saying films instead of movies, like I said, feel free to murder me, I welcome Death!), TV, books, music. Food, even! In short, the classics. I’ll probably also be sharing personal tidbits, while doing my best to protect the anonymity of the other parties involved.
To quickly fill in the gaps—since leaving
Out
and doing some freelance writing for various digital platforms, I’ve worked a string of odd jobs (yes, like David Sedaris!) I spent some time as the low-energy front-of-house at Collections Vintage in Bushwick. You may have seen me there listening to Nicole Kidman interviews on the store speaker system. No? Perhaps you caught me nannying in Fort Greene, where I worked for an exorbitantly rich family (Disney money, I think?) whose three children consistently threw screaming tantrums on the sidewalk, the youngest girl working herself into such extreme rage that she puked and wet herself outside her ballet studio, while I tried in vain to get ahold of her mom, off at Capoiera class. Not a joke, just a fact!
These days I work as a personal assistant for a lovely family who pay me to walk their dog around the West Village. Yes, this family works in the Arts. Out of respect I won’t elaborate beyond that at this time. It may also shock some readers to learn that as my professional Golden Age has been winding down, my sexual Renaissance has only just begun. I’m happy to announce that I’ve been with my 6’4”, moustached British boyfriend for over three years, and we now live together in Greenpoint.
Put that in your pipe and smoke it!
If You Love Me, You’ll Love Me, Cuz I’m Wild, Wild At Heart
So, let’s dig in to what I’ve been ingesting lately. Obviously, chain-smoking elephant in the room,
Chemtrails Over The Country Club
came out one week ago. To say it’s been playing on a loop since would be *Anton Ego voice* a
gross
understatement. It’s really a phenomenal album, and only more impressive in the wake of 2019’s masterpiece
Norman F*cking Rockwell.
Lana really is one of the all-time great singer-songwriters, her messy social media aside. P.S. I think she’s who I would do on Snatch Game (in her
Born to Die
era), if it ever comes to that. P.P.S. It’s a shame my inaugural newsletter will be getting me cancelled as a Lana apologist.
Chemtrails
is a true no-skip album, start-to-finish, something people say a lot but rarely
actually
mean. Even on
Norman,
which is one of my Top 5 Albums of All Time (more on that in another newsletter) I usually skip “Next Best American Record.”
Chemtrails
is truly a vibe—put it on and immediately transform into a busty widow with thick eyeliner and an even thicker cigar dangling out of her mouth as she cruises down the highway, losing herself in the Arizona sunset. It helps that I’m housesitting this week so have been blasting her nonstop while soaking in a giant marble bathtub for hours on end and reading Patricia Highsmith’s Ripley books, as our Lorde and Savior intended! (Sidenote: if you want industrial-strength bath bubbles that will hold their shape in various foamy formations, try
Soapology
on 8th Ave).
Housesitting in the West Village has really been a dream come true—I do not know how I will go back to living in a normal-sized apartment after tasting the life of the wealthy. I really do feel like I’m living out my
Parasite
fantasy! Morning strolls around lower Manhattan are unparalleled in their divinity. I picked up a copy of MOJO magazine from
Casa Magazines NYC
(absolutely iconic, a must-shop) because Lana was on the cover, and aside from a wonderful profile of my Misunderstood Queen by Victoria Segal, there’s an A-Z of the Lana-verse, which recommends various artists, albums, movies, etc. that Lana references or is akin to. I’m still working my way through the list, but have already discovered some lovely new music—including Sibylle Baier's
Colour Green,
her sole album, which she recorded at home, and the music of Dory Previn (yes, André’s ex—and while we’re here
please
watch the fantastic reporting in
Allen v. Farrow
on HBO!), which intrigued me after I learned she created an entire thematic album around a 30s actress’ suicide jump off of the Hollywood sign.
Chief among my Lana-verse finds has been my woefully late discovery of Joan Baez, specifically her Bob Dylan cover album
Baez Sings Dylan.
And last night I watched David Lynch’s
Wild At Heart,
inspired by the
Chemtrails
song of the same name. It’s the second Lynch movie I’ve ever seen, and just as weird and striking as
Mulholland Drive.
Aside from some cringey, vicious gore at the beginning, I really liked it, especially because of the young breakout Laura Dern of it all.
Ripley’s Believe It Or Not
As I mentioned, I’m deep into Patricia Highsmith’s Ripley mystery novel series, the first of which being the most famous,
The Talented Mr. Ripley.
I’m now on the fourth of five books, and cannot recommend them enough—there’s violence, intrigue, homoerotic undertones, French villas,
Gwenyth Paltrow’s coat in the film adaptation...
Ok, ladies. I think that might be all for now. I hope if you’ve made it this far you’ve enjoyed my inaugural newsletter. And I hope I find the inner strength to continue writing it. I’ve felt severely creatively blocked for a long time now and I’m praying that this impulse to share inspires me to dig deeper and become the Greta Gerwig bussy I know I am deep inside. I’d also like to give a shout out to the two newsletters I follow voraciously, both of which are the inspiration for me to pen one of my own: Hunter Harris’
Hung Up
and David Carliner’s
Hi! Hi Again!
Lastly, I’m donating today to
Red Canary Song
, an NYC-based organization advocating for and working alongside migrant & Asian sex workers. Please check out their
page
, join me in donating if you’re able, spread their messaging, and activate yourself against anti-Asian racism and white supremacy at every opportunity!