margarita plz

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I don’t actually like margaritas, but I feel like that’s what you’re supposed to drink when you’re lazing poolside in cat-eye sunglasses.

I spent most of the past week in Maine, battling the ocean and soaking in the unabashed kitsch. I love tacky tourist-trap bullshit, especially the maritime version: I am the kind of person who is easily charmed by, like, dancing lobsters.

Major picdump incoming: these shots were taken by my mom, who was into photography before I was but a twinkle in her eye.

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polka dots & fireworks

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Like any counterculture darling, I’ve always been a little jaded about the Fourth of July. As recently as last year, I was all “okay, but do we really need to celebrate ‘Murica?” I would enjoy the barbecue and fireworks, but only couched in a sufficient layer of irony.

Sometime in the past few months, I’ve turned a corner. And I’m liking it. Yes, America is flawed, deeply so. Yes, some of us are much more free than others. But I’m no longer feeling cognitive dissonance between acknowledging these things and shamelessly adoring good-ol’-fashioned kitsch. I still keep my distance from nationalism, but I don’t think engaging with cheesy cultural symbols is a bad thing.

Everything is problematic. Love the things you love, even (especially) if they’re imperfect. Life is too short for ironic joys.

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