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Barbie

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Barbie

Article

Barbie is a recurring film in the Collected Agenda archive, appearing 2 times across 2 issues between October 23, 2024 and December 09, 2024. The archive places it in contexts such as “that look like Beetlejuice and Barbie had a lovechild”; “I saw someone say they like Wicked in the way you like Barbie, but I like Wicked more”. It most often appears alongside New York, 171 Canal, 177 Mulberry.

Metadata

  • Category: Films
  • Mention count: 2
  • Issue count: 2
  • First seen: October 23, 2024
  • Last seen: December 09, 2024

Appears In

Source Context

Recovered passages from the original issue text. When the raw archive preserved outbound links inside the source passage, they are listed directly under the quote.

Collected Agenda with Vivien Lee
October 23, 2024 · Original source
Vivien Lee is a writer and copywriter from Northern Virginia. I invited her to Guest Edit immediately upon first reading her work, mostly because I was struck by her voice – unique in its ability to merge cool elegance with visceral, aesthetic, and physical engagement. Vivien writes a substack titled Lessons for Next Time which is loosely tied to the theme of detachment. She describes the Substack as an exercise in exploring her tendency towards aloofness as a person. She does this vividly with essays such as going to the opera in my red miu miu heels during a storm - emotionally untethered, yet sharp and grounded in its aesthetic pinpoints and moments of vulnerability. Vivien has written for The Cut, Architectural Digest, Family Style, and elsewhere, covering art, sex, love, design, music, books, history, film. Last summer, she taught a writing workshop on speculative fiction at the School of Visual Arts. Lately, she has been quietly exploring fiction and screenwriting. She cites Clarice Lispector, Carl Jung, Simone Veil, and June Jordan as voices she finds timeless. She is drawn to symbolism, abstract concepts, psychology, and the metaphysical… topics that transcend the ordinary. If Vivien Lee was not a writer, she probably would have pursued a career in psychoanalysis. WHAT VIVIEN LEE DID Friday, October 11 It’s my day off and I text Ani, who is back in New York. We meet to get lymphatic drainage massages at Pure Qi, which is like a neti pot for your nervous system. I’m addicted, and need one once a month. At the appointment, she surprises me with a gift — a pair of Betsey Johnson stilettos — that look like Beetlejuice and Barbie had a lovechild. After our massage, we try to get a table at Bernie’s. I’ve heard their burgers are good (I am a burger connoisseur, in case you didn't know) but the wait is 3 hours long, so we opt for Five Leaves. Ani orders a salmon and I ask for the shepherd’s pie. We discuss the play we are working on, along with other things, like the mysteries of vigorous bonding and the embarrassments of “being known”. Ani teaches high school and writes fiction. Most of my close friends, now that I think about it, are either teachers, therapists, artists, or writers. Ani and I get along, I think, because we both understand the value of privacy, and the sense of self that stems from solitude, which often feels lonely at times. With Ani, we can each share our loneliness without drowning the other in it. And that is nice. Sunday, October 12 I spend the morning reading Karmic Traces by Eliot Weinberger. I’m one of those people who will delay finishing a book if I am enjoying it too much. I grab the latest issue of Harper’s and skim through Lauren Oyler’s cover story. I don’t know why everyone hates her. My boyfriend takes me to Duals Natural to go spice shopping. I’ve been curious about white pepper, which is apparently earthier, milder, and more umami than black pepper — usually used in Asian dishes. We restock the staples: cumin, coriander, marsala, ceylon, bay leaves, along with basmati rice and various blends of tea. My grandmother warned me not to buy anything grown in China because of the pollution — unconfirmed, but fine — I decide not to get the pu’erh this time. A few years ago for my 30th birthday, my friend Soraya surprised me with the most perfect parcel of spices, tea, perfume, and wine. Sumac with tinned cod in biscayne sauce is a doomsday prepper’s delicacy. That little canned fish was so precious to me that I ended up hauling it around in my suitcase through three different countries “in case of emergencies”. Gift your loved ones non-perishables… a gesture of thoughtful care and preservation, symbolic of a friendship with no shelf life. For dinner, I make a mille-feuille nabe (nappa cabbage and pork hot pot dish) in a clay pot. It’s simple, yet decadent. Just my taste. All you need is cabbage, thinly sliced pork (or beef if you so desire), ginger, soy sauce, water. I use miso paste in lieu of dashi and a splash of fish sauce. The white pepper adds a nice subtle kick. Thursday, Oct 14 I don’t like to talk about my job because I tend to be precious about things, which is why I love NDAs. I enjoy being in an office again though, and dressing up to start your day for who-knows-what-drama! After work, I make a trip to Eataly, and have my mind blown because I’ve discovered kiwi berries. On my way out, I fill a cellophane bag with an assortment of Italian chocolates (Venchi, the best) and grab a box of lemon amaretti cookies for a friend’s mom’s going away party later in the week. I love shopping for gifts because I’ll be walking around the city with nothing but three different types of dessert and exotic fruit in my purse and nobody knows it. PS. I want to befriend everyone’s moms. When Andrew and I started dating, he was working for WNYC, and we talked about the station’s struggle to survive ever since Giuliani cut funding for public media. On the evening of their 100th anniversary, we turned on the radio, and while listening to the analog tradition, enforced a rule that we would eat dinner together as often as we could. That night, I made us a seaweed omelet with rice, mackerel, and fermented pollock roe... a meal I often had with my family back home, when we still ate together. Tonight, we’re celebrating 7 months (which feels like 2 years in New York time) and for dinner he’s making us chicken meatball soup adapted from this NYT recipe. Saturday, Oct 19 I’d like to contend that today is the last nicest day of the year. I have plans to hit some golf balls at the Chelsea Piers driving range, because I’m feeling a lot of pent up energy from last night’s full moon. On my way over, I walk down 14th and look at what the girls are wearing. Straight black denim over square toe boots. Mini claw clips and messy half pulled ponytails. Sleek shoulder bags. Sporty pullovers and tailored houndstooth pants. Quarter-zip sweaters. Trench coat, trench coat, trench coat. Ralph Lauren is in the air. Next to my favorite burger joint, I have yet to find my favorite Italian restaurant in New York. Coastal elite “European cuisine” is an elusive concept to me. Don’t get me wrong — I love to keep up my inconceivable spending habits on niche and aspirational dining, but I prefer an honest plate of pasta made by someone’s 100-year-old grandmother in their kitchen any day (hello, Pasta Grannies). I do like Bamonte’s, because having angry centenarian waiters throwing plates of mediocre food at you creates the same comforting effect, to a degree. Andrew asks if I want to try Emillio’s Ballato, but I’d remembered my friend Daniel of Alimentari Flaneur told me his favorite Italian spot is Il Buco in NoHo, so we book a reservation. Their menu is technically “Mediterranean” and changes every day. We order the octopus with sweet potato, roasted lamb and broccoli rabe, and the orecchiette with eggplant and sausage. Everything is rich, especially the olive oil. The atmosphere is dark and rustic. Cozy romantic. I need a nap. WHAT VIVIEN LEE THINKS YOU SHOULD DO Visit Family Social activism, by its definition, is the practice of working toward the reform of relations and expectations, however that looks. It doesn’t always have to be about protests or shouting the loudest. Sometimes, it’s more private. One form, for me, has been returning to my family. Our first source of error. As I get older (I need to stop saying that), I find myself craving connections that aren’t so seeded in the economy of validation. Wanting to sit with discomfort and tension without completely losing myself to it. Also, learning to forgive. I mean really forgive. Get a New Scent It’s the next best cure for seasonal depression. These are my current favorites, powerful and sweet with patchouli as their thread-through. YOU KISSED ME IN PARIS by Lazarus
Inline links: Lessons for Next Time, going to the opera in my red miu miu heels during a storm, Ani, Pure Qi, Betsey Johnson, Bernie’s, Five Leaves, Karmic Traces, Lauren Oyler’s cover story, https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!CX7t!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fee318a9e-fb9d-4df4-a793-2afac060ca87_1600x1200.jpeg, Duals Natural, https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!sp4x!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Ff8abf7d2-4d40-43ef-9acf-e33c9c4a382b_1600x1200.jpeg, Eataly, WNYC, recipe, https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!KeRg!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Ffcffcd2f-9edd-4695-80a8-81d300b01e87_1600x1200.jpeg, Chelsea Piers, Ralph Lauren, Pasta Grannies, Bamonte’s, Emillio’s Ballato, Alimentari Flaneur, Il Buco, YOU KISSED ME IN PARIS by Lazarus
kind of a dud socially
December 09, 2024 · Original source
WHAT I DID Monday, December 1 Mental and physical clarity is the thing that is the prerequisite for everything else. This is the thing to which I have returned. It happened suddenly. It happened in a hotel in Western Massachusetts. I'm not enlightened, but now I can breathe. I like to run every day. It doesn't have to be for lengths of times that feel like eternity. Just a few minutes is fine. The uptown B is late. I’m sitting in the subway station with plenty of time to Make Big Plans. I'm going to Be A Hostess. I'm going to Be A Tutor. I'm going to be a Professional Rock Climber. The truth of it is, my stint in bohemia is becoming unsustainable. "If you need money, you should be a pilates instructor," says Shannon. "Oh, true." I say The truth of it is, this idea sounds as good as any. I've tried to stop correlating monetary concerns with any sense of my creative ambitions. In a mirror world, I ghost write letters for my friends. I teach strangers how to scale buildings and to make their limbs long. In New York, I am better. I crave the forest and the snow and the pine trees by the window and particularly the ocean. I crave all this more than anything. When I arrive in the country, the expanse always shocks me. I don't know what to do with all that space. After class, I go to the dermatologist. It’s decorated for Christmas. They tell me everything is fine. This is the part I like the best: where I brace myself for terror, and then they tell me everything is fine. Uptown, I go to my aunt’s office. We have sushi and tea. We go the AMC. I like Wicked. It’s very sweet. I saw someone say they like Wicked in the way you like Barbie, but I like Wicked more. I like the soda machines and the supersized cups and the reclining red seats and the nerd clusters at the AMC. I like uptown. I could live here. I did live here, once. Wicked feels like a movie in the way a movie-in-the-theater should. Afterwards, David asks me three times if I liked Wicked. Yes, I say three times. He asks me if I can give a full review, but I can’t, not really. I liked it, I say. In the car home, I am cruel on a phone call that I made with the express purpose of being kind. I meet David at Cassidy’s house, where a lot of people are watching Spy Kids. Do you want a white claw, someone asks. No, I say. I am crying a little on account of my cruelty in place of kindness. David tells me something I should remember about being kind. I don’t, ultimately, remember what he says, but after this, everything is good. Tuesday, December 2 Riley and I go to Fanelli’s for dinner. Club sandwich and martini. I haven't felt removed from social activity or the desire for extroversion lately. To the contrary, I've been wanting very suddenly to connect very deeply with old friends. I want to go to Florida and drink Virgin Pina Coladas. I did that in college. I had so much fun when I did that in college. Can I come if you go to Florida this year, I ask Riley. Yes, she says I think we should go. I make a vlog with David. It's so much fun. David says I can't post the vlog, but then I edit it with Slavic music and then he says ok fine. I've felt an aversion to parties that place themselves at things like The Intersection Of Culture and Nightlife lately. I don't like when people who immerse themselves in these things express cynicism or borderline disgust towards a Scene. I feel immensely grateful for a community with adjacency to and/or aspirations towards art. I like readings. I like gestures towards intimacy, even false intimacy, even social climbing intimacy. I like that these things stem from something other than voyeurism, despite their tendencies towards voyeuristic or pseudo intellectual descent. But, I can't bring myself to attend. You haven't seen me in weeks. Not that anyone is counting. Not that I'm even counting, except it's hard to find things to comment on outside of Myself when I'm keeping close quarters. So bored by brooding. I could do something like Get Arrested. I could do something like Make A Gift Guide. David's friend calls him. "Do you want to go to KGB," he asks. "No," says David. "I'll go," I say. "Do you want to take Chloe to KGB for me?” David asks. “No,” his friend says, “she's kind of a dud socially." David takes his headphones out. "He says you're kind of a dud socially," "I'll see her six days in a row and it’s just her, and when I finally don’t see her, Chloe has a party with all her beautiful friends," he says. Then he lists out all my beautiful friends. We don't go to KGB. Wednesday, December 3 I stay inside for most of the day, that's what I assume you do when there's a man hunt. I remember the Boston Marathon bombing. I’d canoed there on the Charles River with my dad, and after we left the race safe and sound we learned that no one was allowed outside for days. They eventually found the guy in the hull of someone else's boat. Some different suburb. I assume that it’s the same today, but the UnitedHealthcare Assassin proves to be less of a threat to public safety. I go outside around two pm. SoHo is booming. Back inside, it starts to snow. I can see it through the greenhouse ceiling. David reads me transcripts of conversations he’s overheard in coffee shops. It would be hard to fake real coffee shop gossip, we both agree. There's a strangeness, a nonsense almost, in the overheard familiarity of conversations among people you don't know. The snow has come with wind, and I can see an umbrella on the roof above swinging wildly. I worry it will come crashing through. I worry that wind and icy pebbles of snow and shattered glass and the sphere of the umbrella stick are all about to crash down on me. The snow is thick and icy, but it’s melting as it lands on the glass and so there is no noise. I kind of think the snow looks like nuclear fallout. I almost say this out loud, but then I think that wouldn’t be very pleasant. David gets a text that “It’s snowing!!” and he rolls his eyes. “I don’t find whimsy in snow,” he says. “I do,” I say. Of course I do. Thursday, December 4 It's a strange week. I keep grasping for some concrete sense of how things make sense. I was acting insane last week, but now I am not. I was floating in space last week, but now I have mental and physical clarity. Things are never that simple. Acting Insane tends to happen in waves. The truth of it is, my sense of stagnation comes largely from the fact that I am acting very stagnant. It also stems from my phone and from things like staying up all night. We go to Sarabeth’s for dinner. They have happy hour now. I don't like to eat or drink early, and while I’m quite familiar with the concept of happy hour, I feel like I'm discovering it for myself for the first time. I'd like to order all the eight dollar cocktails, the shrimp, the deviled eggs. We’re sitting at the bar and it's cozy even though it smells slightly like cleaning supplies. Sterile in an old school way. This is not something I hate. The Greenwich Village Sarabeth’s just opened down the street. I like the Upper West Side Sarabeth’s because I would go every year on my half birthday as a child. We would go to The Central Park Zoo and then to Sarabeth’s. It wasn't as spoiled or superfluous as it sounds. It was just a nice tradition. Today, Sarabeth’s is nice until it isn't - a slow crescendo into an unhappy hour as the three to five pm menu is swapped out for normal prices. So, I stay up all night and reconsider if I have rediscovered mental and physical clarity after all. I call my friend and she says I have literally no idea what you mean by that. But I don't think I'm just using buzzwords. Clarity is the prerequisite to everything else. This makes sense to me. Next week is all the holiday parties in the world. I like this time the best. I'll go to the tree at Rockefeller tonight. I'll go to The Central Park Zoo. WHAT YOU SHOULD DO It’s the busiest week of the year… choose your ventures wisely. Monday, December 9 From 7:30pm — The Thing Is returns to Jean’s. This month's show (It’s A Wonderful Life) will star Delaney Rowe, Julia Shiplett, Jake Cornell, and Rebounder.
Inline links: https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!6r7b!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F46b17e6b-abf9-4738-96fe-3836b061abc3_1334x872.png, https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!CEI2!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fe956e9be-2073-42ec-8943-74e226bc24bf_1518x850.png, The Thing Is, Jean’s, It’s A Wonderful Life, Delaney Rowe, Julia Shiplett, Jake Cornell, Rebounder

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