One of my favorite Substacks here is Chris Corbo’s My Nonna Era. He gives a tiny snapshot of his week each Friday. It’s a perfectly portioned snippet of writing,1 chronicling the ups and downs and then rating how Nonna his week was.
All I can think on this gloomy Sunday night is how my week was spectacularly un-Nonna. A serious low on the Nonna scale.
The term “nonna” summons visions of cozy cooking and pursuit of passions in a methodical, unhurried manner. It’s warmth and intention and comfort. My week, and the weekend in particular, was the opposite of that. It was productive, sure, but in a way that exhausts.
Especially tonight. Every November I participate in at least three holiday choirs. This year, I’m the accompanist for one, singing a shaky first soprano in another, and performing second alto in the third. Don’t be impressed at that range. I’m supremely “mid” at all three, bordering on bad at some.2 All rehearsals fall on Sunday, making my day a frantic rush to and from practices. I always get a sore throat. Today was no exception. I clutched my water and my tea and wished I was in bed all afternoon and evening.
On the other hand, a neighbor put a bunch of free plants on the curb and I snagged a pothos. Do I kill every plant that enters my home? Yes. Am I full of delusional hope that this one will break the cycle? Also yes. So I’ve got that going for me, which is nice.
Watching
How had I never seen Steel Magnolias? Thankfully, that wrong has now been righted, and the earth is as it should be. Bonus, I now have a new life coach in Ouiser. She's everything I want to be.
Finally Weird left the shackles of its Roku embargo, and you best believe I got on that. Is it as good as UHF? No, but what is? I'd say half the movie was Dan Radcliffe lip syncing, but he gave it his all and I respect him for it.
Buh-duh-duh, it’s the SNL Report!
No new episode last week, but as of this writing I’m fresh off Timothee Chalamet’s episode. His brand doesn’t do it for me attraction-wise, but he’s one charming host. He’s game. That’s the best trait of a host, someone who’s down for the weird stuff. And add boygenius to the mix? Most satisfied I’ve been with an episode for a while, even with a weirdly truncated Weekend Update and yet another off-the-wall celebrity cameo (this time, what I’m guessing is a soft launch of image rehab for Alec Baldwin).
Reading
I've been enjoying peppering graphic novels into my weekly reads. I miss them when I get too mired in straight prose. That being said this week's pick, Giantess, was a huge blah of a novel. It was like Candide but not satire. What is that called? A morality pageant or something like that? Anyway, the giantess in question was young and naive and travels around meeting archetypes and learning of the world. Again, too straightforward in its storytelling to be interesting to me, and the art didn't suck me in enough to make up for that fact.
Ok. I read The Fourth Wing. It took me a week to slog through 40 pages, and then I read the rest of the novel in a single day.
So. Let's get into it. The best thing I can say is this is a series for the original fans of Twilight, made for the adults they are now.3 And listen, I’m not really criticizing that! I read all the Twilight books back in the day, snagging my roommates’ copies and devouring them while I put off studying for finals. Even then, I felt like Twilight was cotton candy–light, fluffy, it went down quick and left you feeling a bit sick and nutritionally deprived afterward. The Fourth Wing is the next step in that progression. Like the frappuccino or boba tea of literature. Still sugary, but geared towards a slightly older crowd.I recovered from dragon-rider shenanigans by finally reading Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine. What a pleasurable character study! Eleanor’s voice is utterly insufferable and depressing in the beginning, and the way she progresses through the book warmed the cockles of my heart. I love it when a character you think will never be endearing–like Pete from Mad Men or Richy in The Bear–becomes a favorite, not even because they drastically change, but because you gradually receive enough backstory and detail that makes them precious in your sight. It teaches me to be more generous to those around me. Anything that inspires me to eschew my inner critic and embrace the rich tapestry of humanity is A+ in my book.
One that not-so-subtly inspires this here missive, at least in length and chattiness.
Accompanist, which could be solved by actually practicing instead of sightreading every practice, but mehhhhhhhh.
With all the swears and sex you can shake a stick at.
Okay, first, flattered as hell. Second, I think this definition of “nonna” is better than any I’ve ever come up with myself. Third, sorry your weekend was decidedly not very Nonna, which is all the more reason to do something nice for yourself this week