The more things change, the more things stay the same, except for Hannah, I guess. Her life is facing a slew of changes, and it seems like she’s not only changing too, but changing for the best.
We begin with a very typical salad dinner for Marnie that Hannah has orchestrated to tell her about her pregnancy. (Literally the only carb Marnie could stand at dinner is Hannah’s bun in the oven.) Shockingly, Marnie takes the news of Hannah’s impending motherhood pretty well. It’s not until they disagree over informing the father that the typical sharp edges of their friendship show through. (more…)
What do you get the mom that has nothing? Weed gummies, obviously.
Ready or not, here comes mama. Mama’s talkin’ loud, mama’s doin’ fine, except she’s really not doing fine at all. It’s more like Mama’s eating too many weed gummies and vomiting in Chinese restaurants. Let’s see Bernadette Peters try that.
Hannah’s mom Loreen is in town, and she’s in rough shape. These days she’s got a sweet medical marijuana hookup, and spends her lonely days stoned. As she munches on her first gummy worm, Hannah drops the bomb that she’s pregnant. Loreen reacts with a ton of chill, because she realizes Hannah feels like this really is her baby. (more…)
Papa don’t preach, but also Patrick Wilson don’t preach. Just when you thought this week’ episode of Girls, “Painful Evacuation,” was all out of twists and turns, one shocker followed another until we were so overwhelmed we collapsed right into Elijah’s briefs. Hannah’s in trouble deep.
After last week’s stunning “American Bitch,” an episode that I’ve personally witnessed no less than half a dozen conversations about on the streets of Brooklyn since it aired, we’re back in the throes of our core characters’ daily drama. This was an episode HBO withheld from critics/lowly television recappers, which generally means it’s going to be chock full of surprises. Boy howdy, was it. (more…)
Let’s cut to the chase: Last night’s episode of Girls is not the kind of thing that lends itself to the kinds of flip, jokey recaps we typically produce. In fact, being the one to discuss the episode at all feels slightly icky, as it focuses specifically on the experiences of young women placed in uncomfortable positions where power dynamics complicate consent. (I re-read that last sentence at least six times, and I’m still not sure it properly says what I want it to.) Still, the episode necessitates conversation, and I hope this post creates space in the comments and social media for others to weigh in with their takes. (Plus my editor shot down my earlier attempts of getting out of this.)
Two’s company, but three’s a crowd, unless it’s three people going together to Poughkeepsie, in which case you might need that third person to keep your ex-husband from shimmying down the chimney to get his Oxycontin.
Finally, someone is portraying the real millennial Brooklyn. The one that confronts their Oxycontin ex-husband in Poughkeepsie.
Allow me to explain. Marnie and Desi are still being so gross, and they decide to take a road trip to romantic Poughkeepsie for reasons that remain unclear. To help mask the charade, Hannah tags along. While squirreled away in their cabin, Marnie finds Desi’s mason jar full of Oxycontin, because — twist! — he’s been addicted to Oxy this whole time. Marnie, of course, does the entirely wrong thing, smashing his mason jar and stomping on his stash, turning Desi into a full-blown Marky Mark Fear monster, smashing windows and terrorizing Hannah and Marnie for a weird horror movie segment. The whole situation allows Hannah to drop some knowledge on Marnie: Maybe she didn’t realize her husband was pounding Oxy like they’re fucking Mentos because she’s too busy always thinking of her self. Mind blown. (more…)
You can keep Montauk, just leave us the Rockaways.
Beyoncé once said, “The best revenge is your paper,” which is true, unless you’re Hannah Horvath, and the best revenge is writing about how your best friend stole your boyfriend and you didn’t bother warning her about his oral herpes in the paper of record. The final season of Lena Dunham’s iconic, infuriating, painful and sometimes painfully accurate portrayal of millennial aging and angst kicked off last night by setting its protagonist on a path of something that almost looks like success.
Hannah’s “triumphant” performance on the Moth has led to a Modern Love column in The New York Times which has in turn led to some freelance work for something called SlagMag. The editor (played with perfect emotional disregard by the hilarious Chelsea Peretti) sends Hannah up to Montauk to infiltrate (and inevitably fail at) a bougie surf class for bored ladies. She, of course, fakes an injury to her “front arm” and ditches almost immediately, opting instead to down electric blue cocktails and sun her open vagina. It’s not a total loss, though. She ends up on a whirlwind romantic adventure with the hot (but dim) surf instructor Paul-Louis (The Night Of’s Riz Ahmed) that includes sloppy fucking on a beach, Cheetos, Hangin’ With Mr. Cooper and vomiting off the side of a bunkbed. Oh, and an acoustic jam of soft alt-rock, mid-tempo classic “She’s So High.” (more…)
Keep your sweaters, keep your decorative gourds, keep your pumpkin spice anything. There’s only one thing I care about in the fall: WITCHES.
That’s right, witches. I love witches. I love stylish Ryan Murphy witches that fire off snappy dialogue. I love animated Disney witches that straight-up try to murder people in a children’s movie. I love aspiring teenage witches in the suburbs that are too old to like horses, but too young to do drugs so they play Light As A Feather, Stiff As A Board at weekend slumber parties.
And why not? Witches are awesome. Not only are they reclaimed feminist icons, but they also DO MAGIC. As soon as Halloween hysteria gets in full swing, and Hocus Pocus is on heavy rotation on cable, I start calling the corners.
Walking the streets of Brooklyn, it’s tough not to see witches all around you. Every block is seemingly studded with stylish girls dressed in black with dark lipstick and wide-brimmed hats. (Or maybe that’s just the HAIM sisters.) And let’s not forget the actual coven of witches in Bushwick.
To celebrate the season of the witch, we’ve rounded up 10 of our favorite pop culture witches to represent Brooklyn neighborhoods. Take a look at which witch we picked for your hood in the list below. (more…)
Are you in den-aisle about how much you’re saving? via Brigitte / Flickr
The beauty of living in New York City is having almost anything you need at your fingertips whenever you need. I could take out my phone right now and order bahn mi, batteries and an eighth of sativa delivered to my door. But where cost is concerned, convenience is cruel. We don’t have the sort of expendable income to be throwing away our cash haphazardly.
But how much would you actually save by going to Costco? Is it worth the train ride there and back and the membership fee to get those sweet bulk prices? We conducted a comparative shopping test of a grocery store (Key Food), a bodega and Costco, all in Sunset Park. Keep in mind that prices are going to vary depending on your neighborhood, weekly specials and bodega of choice. But if you’ve ever wondered whether you were wasting money buying toilet paper one roll at a time at the corner store, maybe this will help ease your inner Suze Orman. (more…)
Dogs light up your life, but the job isn’t always easy. via IG user @the_dog_walking_network
There are two relationships essential to every stressed-out New York City office drone: a reliable dog walker and a reliable weed dealer. In many ways, these services are similar: both provide invaluable peace-of-mind, both require you to allow otherwise total strangers into your home and both require a good referral from a trusted friend.
With so much overlap between drug dealers and dog heelers, it was only a matter of time before their worlds collided on television’s most incisive portrayal of contemporary New York life, HBO’s High Maintenance.
This Friday’s episode connects The Guy with a dog-walker whose passion for pooches rivals most folks’ religious convictions or bodega loyalty. It’s our favorite episode of television about walking dogs since Ilana nearly killed Judith Light in season one of Broad City.
Of course, walking dogs isn’t all leisurely strolls and puppy kisses. And in honor of tomorrow’s episode of High Maintenance, we wrangled a handful Brooklyn-based dog walkers to share stories of their job at its most, er, dogged. (more…)
The author circa 2003, as if those frosted tips beside him didn’t already let you know.
Whether you spent your prom night home alone watching Carrie on loop or obsessively matching your dress to your butterfly clips to the elastic on your braces, chances are you wish you could have done a few things differently. And this Saturday, our friends at the skint are giving you the chance.
The Dancing On My Own 80s-00s Prom at Littlefield is your official prom do-over replete with an attractively-lit photo booth, drink specials to not stain your dress with and a playlist that’s completely danceable without a date. In fact, they recommend you don’t bring one! Even so, we don’t think you should be too embarrassed about your own prom history; it’s an inherently ludicrous tradition. A sweaty banquet hall or high school gymnasium stuffed with horny teenagers rubbing their Men’s Warehouse-clad erections on some Alfred Angelo chiffon? Good riddance (Time of your life) to that.
In the spirit of moving past your pre-millennium or early millennium prom mortification, we’ve rounded up some cringe-worthy high school tales from our favorite Brooklyn-based comedians below. This writer added his, too. So spike your daytime punch, leave your own horror stories in the comments section, and we’ll see you this Saturday night. (more…)