Good Things, February Edition
Three weeks later and I’m still dreaming about these cinnamon rolls.
You would think, these days, that when a friend asks what’s new with you, it would be basically impossible to answer that question. What’s new? Nothing’s new. But with life having become so predictable and repetitive, I weirdly find it easier to answer that question. Because the variations are as rare as jewels, they stick out in my mind, gleaming and precious.
Like, in the Before Times, if a friend asked what was new with me, I would probably feel slightly self-conscious while trying to conjure something Interesting and Important. If I responded with something like, “Well, I made pizza for dinner,” or “Well, I found a new podcast I like,” or “Well, on Friday, I went to the movies,” I can imagine it seeming kind of … lame? (Really? That’s it? That’s everything?) But during Covid times, each of these constitutes a Big Deal, a thing worth writing home about. In February, I have felt this anew. If you ask me what’s new, I won’t hesitate to shout it from the rooftops. What’s new? Well! I’m glad you asked! What’s new is that I, Anna Pitoniak, in the year 2021, went to the movies! The movies! In a movie theater!
In late January, I saw someone post about this on Instagram, and because I am very susceptible to influence, I immediately started Googling. It turns out that a number of chains (AMC, Showcase; I’m sure there are others) will let you rent out a theater for a private viewing. You pick from a limited slate of options, you show up at your appointed date and time, you bring along your little pod, you enter a completely empty theater, and you’re in business. Earlier this month, when Andrew and I were up in Rhode Island to visit my parents, we made a reservation in honor of my dad’s birthday. It cost $150 to rent the theater, and it cost another $20 for the popcorn and soda and Junior Mints, but I am put in mind of that old MasterCard commercial when I tell you that the entire experience—the lights dimming in the empty theater, the taste of fake butter and Diet Coke, the feeling of being mask-less while not inside the house—was PRICELESS.
So, anyway, that was my February. I never thought I would be so elated to watch a mediocre movie in a down-at-the-heels suburban multiplex, but here we are. It was truly the best thing ever.
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Cooking. I really ought to call this section Sourdough-ing, because that’s what this has become. When I first embarked on the sourdough journey, I found a lot of useful guidance from Amanda at Heartbeet Kitchen. Beyond recipes and tips for bread baking, she has myriad good ideas for how to deploy your starter. When she posted about these sourdough cinnamon rolls, they went straight onto my to-bake list, and one snowy weekend in early February, it felt like the perfect time to try them. Even though my expectations had been high (I mean, look at her pictures!), these absolutely exceeded them. They were incredible. After they emerged from the oven and I slathered them with that gorgeous cream cheese frosting, I was snapping away (like any new parent, I cannot resist documenting the sight of my precious children), and then—it was truly so weird—at the very moment I was about to text one of my best friends a picture, she texted me a picture of her cinnamon rolls, which had just emerged from her oven. In different states, using different recipes, with absolutely no coordination, the two of us had arrived simultaneously at the same end point. Weird! I took it as a sign from the universe that I was fated to make these cinnamon rolls, and therefore ought to have seconds.
Reading. I finally finished Stalingrad! It only took me … three months? Not bad. You can’t sprint your way through these Russian tomes. I suppose there are novels that deliver true life-changing profundity while also being easy-breezy reading experiences, but I haven’t encountered many of them. Much more common, in my experience, are the books that require you to work a little in order to access their true power and insight. (Three of my favorites in this category are Middlemarch, War and Peace, and The Ambassadors.) Stalingrad turned out to be one of those books. I’m so grateful to have found this book at this particular time. I found the reading experience to be strangely reassuring: watching these characters navigate the tragedies of wartime reminded me of the things people can endure, the ways in which they learn to survive, in circumstances far (FAR) more dire than anything I’ve ever encountered. This novel made me break down sobbing, but it also strengthened me. I’m taking a little break before embarking on the sequel, Life and Fate (I’m a masochist but not that much of a masochist), but already I’m looking forward to it.
Watching. We just finished season two of Mindhunter, which means I am now routinely Googling “season three Mindhunter update” and crying at the ambiguity of the results. Please David Fincher, please Netflix Algorithm Gods, please make another season of this show. Andrew and I binged this faster than we’ve binged anything in a while. I will say that I wasn’t hooked from the very first episode, it took until episode two or three to really get sucked in, but once I was … oh man. It has some of that same slow-burn-deliciousness, not to mention period-appropriate stylistic flourishes, of a show like The Americans. It takes this fantastically creepy premise—FBI agents studying the psychology of criminal sociopaths—and then intertwines the complexities of that premise into the lives of the agents themselves; and it does this without feeling heavy-handed, which is a credit to both the writing and the acting. I feel that I am both late to this party (I think the show got a lot of buzz a few years ago?), but also that this party has been tragically overlooked.
Listening. For some reason I’ve been on a kick of revisiting old high-school-era favorites. It started a few weeks ago, when I felt the random urge to listen to Transatlanticism. I texted a few friends to wax nostalgic about our boarding school days, when Death Cab for Cutie was on heavy rotation in our dorm rooms. Then I spent the better part of the ensuing week listening to the album, wandering around the Upper East Side and quietly singing along (wearing a mask masks it much easier to sing discreetly in public), feeling both very close to and very far from my high school self. It’s a short journey from one Ben Gibbard band to another, so naturally, this week I’ve been revisiting The Postal Service and Give Up. How is it possible that I still remember all the words to “The District Sleeps Alone Tonight”? Anyway, in case you’re wondering, both of these albums absolutely hold up.