Things That Made Me Less Cranky: April 2024 Edition

I didn't die! (Complimentary)

Welcome to my monthly list of recommendations. It is made up of completely random things/events/moments that made me less of a raging, bitter, hag despite the dumpster fire that is our world. It also includes food-centric suggestions. Enjoy!

Genius artwork by my nephew

Idiosyncratic List of What Made Me Less Cranky

• Moms who be momming even when you’re 41 years old and fly out without a second thought because you’re in the hospital and very scared.

• Childhood nannies who continue to take care of you even though you’re 41 years old and they don’t owe you squat! And yet, their love is abundant, boundless, ongoing.

• Friends who visit you in the ICU, friends who visit you after the ICU, friends who set up calls or Facetimes because they’re too far away to visit, friends who text, friends who DM, friends who Venmo you gifts, friends who send gift cards, friends who send flowers, friends who make sure they get a signed copy of a book from one of your favorite writers, friends who check in even weeks after the fact cause we all have a lot going on but they made the time to make sure you were ok.

• Dreamy doctors who ask you about bowel movements and pull feeding tubes out of your nose.

• Nephews who send you the most artistic and beautiful get-well cards the world has ever seen.

• Clients who chose compassion over the bottom line and are ok with freelancers delaying work while they heal.

• Collective viewing of total solar eclipses.

• Food that requires chewing.

• Low-stakes TV. The New York Times sees it as a problem; I see it as a lifeline. (Also, I coined the term low-stakes TV and defined it weeks before this article came out and chose the term “mid”).

• National Poetry Month.

• Gathering with people at a bar because what is the point of surviving anything if you can’t connect with others? If you can’t have fun?

• Convincing arguments for impulsively buying concert tickets for one of your favorite bands as a teen

• Stretchy pants that don’t hit incisions or loose dresses that barely brush them.

• Daily meditation

• Daily walks

• Bulldogs named Butters

• Student journalists

• Oximeters for those panic attacks when you think you have tachycardia again, because you had tachycardia for most of your time in the hospital, but nah, the little machine says you’re good and it’s all in your head and you’d rather it be in your head than another physical ailment sent to put you in danger

• The “restrict” function on Instagram. After twenty years of social media, I can’t believe I have to say this BUT: arguing with someone in their DMs is the internet equivalent of telling someone to “calm down”. Never, in the history of the world, has it resulted in someone agreeing with you, much like “calm down” has ever resulted in someone actually calming down.

• The unbeatable feeling of knowing you cheated death so you’re protecting your space, babes! Either nothing stresses you out or you swiftly take measures to make sure it doesn’t stress you out.

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Restaurant of the Month: Gertrude’s

My favorite weekend activity lately is testing the limits of my gastrointestinal system. Removing your gallbladder is supposed to make all the piercing, abdominal attacks go away, but it takes a while for your other organs to figure out how the hell to move forward now that the bothersome sack isn’t delegating where bile should go and when. (I KNOW, THIS IS EXACTLY THE KIND OF INFO YOU WANT TO HEAR WHEN SOMEONE RECOMMENDS A RESTAURANT.) A scallion pancake had me writhing in pain for one sleepless night. What would a burger do? I decided that if I was going to consume a big fat patty with a side of fries, it had to be somewhere a little luxe. A place that cared about meat sources and whatnot. Also, I almost died, so my YOLO compass is out of control.

Enter Gertrudes’s, a just-cool-enough-to-make-me-feel-cool-but-not-intimidating buzzy restaurant a few blocks away from my place. I live for a neighborhood restaurant that’s an homage to someone’s grandma and this hits the bill. The juicy burger came on a thick challah role, and my roommate and I split the shoestring fries, satisfyingly salty, and the gluten-free latkes. I ordered the seven-layered chocolate cake for two for me. At the height of my powers, I would have had no problem finishing it but alas—recovery takes time.

My stomach was fine after this! Further evidence that my constitution can only take the finer things in life now

Bar of the Month: The Francis Kite Club

I can’t speak to its cocktails (I had two beers) but I support any bar that hosts cultural events, like my friend Sam’s podcast launch.

Best Thing I Ate: The soft-boiled egg my mom made for me after I was released from the hospital

For several weeks, I subsisted on bland hospital diets and a feeding tube down my nose. No salt, no seasoning, no butter, no fat, no taste, no color, no connection to anything enjoyable or good about eating. I spent days craving a warm, soft-boiled egg, its yolk coating my mouth, its smooth whites hitting my tongue. I’ve never appreciated a meal more in my life.

Best Thing I Drank: Silly Little Fruit Juice

From a nondescript food truck lounging outside the main Brooklyn public library on a bright, warm spring day. Banana, strawberries and mango.

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