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Health Gossip

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Health Gossip

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Health Gossip is a recurring publication in the Collected Agenda archive, appearing 5 times across 5 issues between November 19, 2024 and March 06, 2026. The archive places it in contexts such as “My new favorite blog is this - Health Gossip. It’s an old school newsletter”; “I spend multiple hours reading Health Gossip”; “Health Gossip and Hard to Read present Tea Party ; a fundraising event”. It most often appears alongside Hudson River, New York, Night Club 101.

Metadata

  • Category: Publications
  • Mention count: 5
  • Issue count: 5
  • First seen: November 19, 2024
  • Last seen: March 06, 2026

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.

Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence
November 19, 2024 · Original source
WHAT I DID Chloe Pingeon's Substack is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Monday, November 10 It feels very important to parse through things very carefully today. I write down what I value: truth and beauty. mental and physical clarity. But then, there are other things, too. I don't experience life as this ethereal. Making big lists. Having big fun. Making big points. I write down: This is the thing I dislike about myself most; not experiencing things as this ethereal and wanting to make things like big points. I write down: when was the time you felt most transcendent? Remember: I'm not writing auto fiction. I'm writing my diary. It's weird - picking up the pieces of things. I feel disdain when I see people exercising bad habits. You cannot imagine my horror as I self destruct. Picture This: on the Upper West Side, things are quiet. The stone walls on the edge of the park are lined with trimmed hedges in the summer, but the branches are bare now, and so, you see, now, that the skeletons have always been jagged. The subway has been nicer lately, better to step inside when the warm air is a relief and nothing is steaming. I like the uptown F, the cars with the orange seats, the stations where there's no one there so you can hear the doors whoosh. Picture this: you go to The Central Park Zoo, you wear a Christmas dress, you go to Sarabeth's for lunch, pancakes, toast. After, you don't go window shopping but you do walk home. Not your home, it belongs to someone else, but it's familiar. You make tea by big French windows. The trees are bare already, remember, and so picture the precision with which you can watch the people on the street below. They don't look like little ants, you aren't that high up, they just look as they are - little people in and out. People looking for something. It’s like they are on a little treasure hunt. Imagine you would wish them the best. You wouldn't close the windows - not for a while, at least David told me I smelled like winter when I got home today. I didn't. I smelled like eucalyptus. You would too after a few minutes in that steam room in SoHo. I can’t stop spending money the instant that I make it. I can’t stop spending money like I have it. I have stopped purchasing stuff. I like to wear the same thing most days. I like to sort TheRealReal Black Blazers prices low to high and buy five at once, eight dollars each. When they arrive, they are still nice material and still from places like Armani or at least Theory and you spend little and you can sell them for more when it’s time to declutter. It’s been so wonderful to declutter lately. I’ve gotten rid of almost all of it - stuff, I mean. In the new place, there are no closets. I’ve gotten rid of all my storage space. I’ve gotten rid of all my streams of income. My Stuff is still in storage somewhere. Not in New York. I’ll sell it soon. You can have some but not all my earthly possessions if you want them. You can have the ones I’ve packed away. I like this idea – “Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence” Tuesday, November 11 My new favorite blog is this - Health Gossip. It’s an old school newsletter. The health advice is very Pure and True, but more than this, it is beautiful to consume. Health Gossip is my favorite thing on the Internet this week. Very rarely does something in digital form elicit a real sense of calm in me. Usually, things in digital form make me feel kind of manic and bad. I’m not sure why this project strikes me so profoundly. Today, I spend multiple hours reading Health Gossip. A writer texts me after last week's letter - “your writing is always “good” ie flashy/ineffable… but this one bummed me out.” I’m not sure if he’s referring to the happenings of the week, or to the passivity, lethargy, dare I say gluttony and sludge… with which I’ve been diluting my descriptions of it all. I don't ask him to clarify. Regardless, his assessment of the piece in some sense parallels my own, and an attempt to dredge out an opinion from an acquaintance I admire that might placate my own sense of shame does not feel like an endeavor of any significance. “it bummed me out to write… ”, I say. We’re at a large group dinner at Olive Garden Times Square tonight. The host picked this place with a genuine fervor, nothing snidely ironic about it, and so I am more good humored in this venture than would be my usual inclination. It's less kitschy here then I l expected, anyways. Wall to wall carpeting, lots of families, lazy susan’s, the color schemes of muted Americana. I have a healthy appreciation for Times Square Charm. I have a healthy Relationship With Capitalism. I can't really eat the food here but isn't some of it just so fun to look at. I'm drifting in and out of focus at dinner - preoccupied by unrelated concerns of wavering integrity and petty betrayal, not important, not interesting. When I do tune in, a girl across the table is talking about Politics. “My grandma is spending her time so worried about school shooters because it's an obsession of the news,” she says. “It makes me angry and so sad for her. She shouldn't be spending her time thinking about this.” I get her sentiment a little bit. A sensationalist sense of doom that makes my skin crawl at some family dinners. Sometimes, there is frost on the grass just outside the window and when it catches my eye during these conversations - look at the dew, look at the mist, there are fawns in the field - then I just want to scream. But then, I worry sometimes that I am not very empathetic. I am envious, sometimes, of people who become utterly consumed by suffering that for the most part, they could simply look away from. Nihilism is something I am trying to avoid for the main reason of - its been breeding cruelty more than healthy removal, lately. Walking through Times Square after, David asks me if I am ok. I guess my eyes have glazed over. I realize this now, that it's been called to my attention. “Of course,” I say. “I worry that everything in my life is going to very suddenly fall apart,” I say. I am reassured. The night passes peacefully. Thursday, November 14 I take the Q to the end of the line today. It's something I've always wanted to do - take the train until the cars stop and I'm the last one left on board and a voice comes on and says please exit the train for cleaning, this is the last stop on this train, please exit the train so the train can be cleaned. I'm in Bay Ridge to shoot a music video today. To be an extra in a music video, that is. I'm exceptionally bad at acting. I'm bad enough that I am even bad as an extra. I'm not particularly bad at lying, but I am bad at having an expressive face. The neighborhood at the end of the Q is nice. I've been taken to other places in New York like this before. Places where you feel like you're by the seaside, where you're under the bridge, where the architecture is more brick, more limestone, more instances of art deco. The Hudson widens into the open ocean somewhere not too far from here and so of course the air feels different. It's strange, even if anticipated, to take the subway ninety minutes to a place where the air feels different, to walk down strange streets and into an unfamiliar gothic building, to open the door to a room where I have never been, and to find it filled with people I mostly already know. The past few years have given me many instances like this. This is something I am very grateful for. The music video is for DDM / Uncensored New York. It's a cool concept. It's cool to watch things come to life. The shoot is outside, and I am the coldest I have ever been. I'm still having fun. I'm thinking about things like how monks orient their consciousness and focus towards the cause of their suffering, and then I am trying to think only about the cold. I am not able to transcend myself, but even freezing, I don't wish I was elsewhere. In the afternoon, I sit in a warm car and I thaw my hands. I have miso soup, tea, and cheese sticks. There is still a chill in me even once inside, which is simultaneously unpleasant and cozy. I'd been wanting a day like this very badly. Friday, November 15 Beckett's Tense comes together with serendipity. There was a crisis with the headliners, Lucy Sante was sick. Beckett ran into Penny Arcade outside of Madame Matovu on 10th. Now, Penny is the headliner. The unsalvageable is always salvaged. The bar can serve real liquor tonight. There's a lot of people here and it's a different crowd than usual. Tense is back in Manhattan. Penny says she’s here because she wants to see what the new New York is doing. I give Beckett a hug at Sovereign House. I say hi to Chris and Adeline. Chris and Adeline are drawing big Tense bubble letters on the chalkboard. The seats are already mostly full. I climb to the top of a ladder and I sit up there. From up there, I have the best view in the house. Tense is not just a reading series, Tense is a show, and this distinction is important. There is a program, an order of events, a flow of new and old. The serendipity with Penny’s arrival lies in this - she seems to understand exactly what Beckett is doing, and while she didn’t write her piece specifically for TENSE (she describes it as “cultural criticism you can dance to”), it speaks with exaction to the spirit of things. Here are some things that Penny Arcade says: I’d rather put a stick in my eye than go somewhere where everyone is the same age. When I was young, if I went to a party and everyone was under thirty I thought... I'm at the wrong party.”
Inline links: Health Gossip, https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!BqEq!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F8d9f96c9-96e5-4a0b-9813-061226dc9197_3024x3775.jpeg, DDM, Uncensored New York, Beckett's, Tense, Lucy Sante, Penny Arcade, Madame Matovu, Chris, Adeline
Panopticon-ing Everyone
May 13, 2025 · Original source
From 6pm - 9pm — Health Gossip and Hard to Read present Tea Party; a fundraising event for One Love Community Fridge and the COIN program at Callen-Lorde, in honor of the late Cecilia Gentili. Featuring performances from Sotce, K8 Hardy, Cynthia Leung, Cruz Valdez, Rhea Dillon, Precious Okoyomon, plus surprise guests. Water tasting with Amalia Ulman, tea, tinctures, and treats, curated health gossip-y books. Few events excited me more than this one. I absolutely cannot wait, and I wouldn’t miss this for the world.
Inline links: Health Gossip, Hard to Read, Tea Party
The social experiment is now over
December 22, 2025 · Original source
Copies of Nourishing Traditions and Nutrition for Women and The Alice B. Toklas Cook Book (found at the free library one month before Health Gossip affirmed recommendation. Blessings come my way, etc)
Inline links: Nourishing Traditions, Nutrition for Women, Alice B. Toklas Cook Book
Hotel-Life-For-Life
February 04, 2026 · Original source
Monday, January 26 On the first day of the clearest week of the year, I vow to be meticulous about it. As hell and even heaven and all of New York City freezes over in the cold, Olivia keeps on asking if I’m sick of it. Impossible to feel lonely when my opinion on the benchmarks of the weather is demanded at the start of every day. Are you still happy about this? Olivia keeps on asking. It got colder and colder and colder for one week or maybe more. Soon, I expect the cold will break. Soon, there will be something to talk about besides the arctic winds. Although I do find it thrilling and even telling, really, to see how everyone reacts to extremity. I am only being a little bit factious. It is icy and hazy and pale and like playing tetris with myself, finding footholds in the snow banks, this week. Creep past the frozen turtle pond, shut the open window, position my salt stained boots in the divots in ice piles that other passerby’s have left behind. Hidden little trails and maps and loopholes in treacherous places. Exciting places. Game theory in the blizzard. Do you still feel ‘manic’ and ‘energized’ by this, Olivia wants to know. Are you still wearing sheer tights and a-line skirts and enjoying how the wind chill makes everything feel empty? Are you still seeking redemption in the spaces left barren while everyone rushes through tundra streets? Are you still feeling pretentious or maybe just autistic standing stock still and underdressed in courtyards that have never really been yours? This week, I have decided to just say what I really mean. Listening to Dark But Just A Game by Lana del Rey while the sun comes up this morning. Not a new song, but new to me. They are talking about Video Games album anniversary on The Internet this morning. Thank you for my mental illness, girls are saying on the Internet. I tell Olivia that what I remember from this album is before I knew much on the Internet. I remember my mentally ill friend turning on Video Games in a wall to wall carpeted suburban room encased in sunlight and green branches that brushed against wide windows when I was something like thirteen or maybe younger. Turn that stuff off, I remember telling my friend. Turn off those sad and strange songs before we all start to get freaked out. Playing Dark But Just A Game over and over and over again, this morning. Breathing kind of shallow breaths and making calls of confession or maybe complaints. I vowed to be more private about it and then I vowed to make my blog more true. If I cannot speak about something clearly, then I think I will not speak about it at all. In the morning, there is salt stained mirror and la Roche Posay cleanser and peptide moisturizer and mineral sunscreen and amazon tights and a call from Maria saying hotel lobby for lunch, maybe. Rituals like magic. Compulsive documentation. Live-blogging for my live-diary which is mostly just an event calendar plus some but not-so-many lurid life details because I have never been so good at keeping it all so private. The truth of it is, one can return to oneself quite quickly, but this should only have to happen once or maybe twice. In the hotel lobby, a beautiful girl walks in. She is a model, clearly. You are twenty-nine, a horrible man is saying to her, across the table. Good genes, he is saying. He is saying things about a girl like you and you can leave if you want. He is complimenting her grotesquely and it is very understandable why she would feel extremely annoyed. She is very articulate and pretty, though, and seems to know this game. Girls like you have hobbies, the man is saying. Do you have hobbies like art collecting or acoustic music or perhaps even ice skating? The girl is good at modulating her voice, and so my eavesdropping is abruptly cut off. Order: almond milk cappuccino, almond milk matcha, ginger tea, diet coke at Hotel Lobby. Too many beverages . Too many things I want. Discipline is pleasure. Restraint enhances desire. Reading something true on Health Gossip about the things a person must do before they lick the candy wrapper of success and then im thinking o.k perhaps time to cut myself off of this sort of thing for a little bit. Maria wears a red sweater and black pants and orders only two drinks: (1) black coffee and (2) greens juice. I ask Maria to read my diaries and she obliges and then, even highlights the parts she likes best. Too much to say? I ask Maria. No, she says. No and I think your instincts would stop you before you really said anything too uncouth. Too panopticoned? I ask. It’s fine to talk about faux-purity, Maria says. Nightfall in the hotel lobby, where the lights are yellow and glowing and dark and my computer screen is starting to look fluorescent and bright and bad, in contrast to the low-light and well-curated vibe they have fired up in here. A friend group I was eavesdropping on in rather nefarious and uncouth ways have gone silent, now. The man across the couch from me is talking about working on a film pilot in Malaysia and a need-for-speed and also thirty-million-dollars. He could never do what you are doing, two of the girls in the friend group were telling the third, earlier, as she sobbed. Do what you’re doing, being: sobbing in hotel lobby. Radical vulnerability in hotel lobby. I am feeling nefarious and busy body and a little bit mean. We’re your friends so we sure are going to be kind to you, the two girls had been telling the third. Just because our mothers were born in the wrong generation, does not mean they can’t listen-and-learn. Ordered tonic water and avocado and adopted vaguely negative vibe towards; people who did not know they were being panopticoned. Girls whose conversation I could have just let flow around me like water. There’s stagnation in judging harshly, particularly in judging people with whom I am totally uninvolved. No one in the world knows where I am right now, but anyone who wanted to could probably guess. And it’s not that I think it’s particularly good or even beneficial to be cultivating mystique, but once secrets are in the air they swirl around forever, and so one might want to hold some things a bit closer to one’s chest. Pitch black outside, which makes it even more warm or silver in here, depending on where I look. Lily texts me - I would like to spend a day like you did. We can recreate my whole day, I respond. We can recreate the good days. We can eradicate all slush. I can tell you all about what actually happened. Soon, I will walk home in the freezing and sparkling night in my black and soleless ballet flats. I will slip on ice and look at the moon and Washington Square Park archway and the dark and getting even darker sky. I’ve been feeling kind of desperate to chronicle the things that are mine, if I’m being honest about it. Hold onto the things I never lost. This is different from grasping onto things that never were or no longer are, yours. Parties last week, but I don’t really remember. Party last weekend, but full of people I didn’t want to see. Party tonight, and I wear athleisure to the bar and make a friend who shares my name and also my sensibilities. We’re here because of your blog, someone tells me, at the bar. We’re here because we just made a film in Nigeria and now we’re moving to Rome to work for Vatican II. We’re here because of an article that everyone hates. Birthday party. Renaissance themed karaoke. Did you just meet and become best friends, someone asks me and my new friend. We all go outside to smoke a cigarette. Duh, I respond. This is always how it goes with new and fast friends. In my room, tonight, and I’ve been feeling good and normal. The cleaner my room gets, the more I remember. At the bar tonight, I met someone who lives in a hotel-for-life. Is everything perfect-all-the-time? I asked the hotel-inhabitant. Is everything clean and contained and curated and beautiful and taken care of? Do you order room service for dinner? If you develop a problem, is it immediately fixed? In my room, there is a computer and also a wooden music box that plays Silent Night when opened. Inside the box, there are blue little blue pearls and letters and a ballerina that spins. Above my bed, there are lace white curtains newly pinned over courtyard-facing open windows. The curtains are there to keep out ice and possibly fire-escape intruders. The unearthed music box is the reward for cleaning my room. Thinking about rabbit holes I’d like to really delve into next. Getting texts from friends from online who go by names after celestial objects. Thinking about Saorise’s brand new robot that sends her pilates-training-packets. Thinking about Esoteric Health Book Club. Saint Teresa de Ávila. Thinking about no more vice. Everything has frozen over and hovered and smoothed itself thin in the months that came in between. Descents into madness happen very quickly, my new friend was saying, today, at the bar, where everything was more lovely than I could possibly have imagined. We were talking about cults, because the topic does arise even in beautiful places. Talking about posture. Talking about cult leaders. Matchmakers. Scammers. Beautiful lives. The Places To Be.. Hours later, now. Home, now. Still listening to Jeff Buckley “Forget Her” and Lana del Rey “Dark But Just a Game” on repeat because I love pleasure in excess. So addicted to everything. I can get addicted to good things too, I think. Tomorrow, I will fall asleep in a snowy white house in the woods. We will get vanilla milkshakes on the drive down. Many rooms. Plans to cook dinner. Last summer, I wanted very badly to drive to this house in July. I wanted to find secret waterfalls and secret gardens, too. It’s a house just an hour or so from the city where I used to go often, and I remember the surroundings as very green. I remember fighter jets over Celia’s graduation. I remember Rose writing her social security number up and down her arms in sharpie, last summer, because chaos was kind of the objective everyone was seeking, then. Enough reminiscing. Same songs, over and over and over again. Opening my window because it is time for bed. Tell yourself over and over and over, Jeff Buckley keeps saying. He died early with something to show for it. Addicted to repeating myself. Addicted to new beginnings and no more false starts. Working on getting addicted to continuity now, I think. I will become totally obsessed with continuity. What a relief. WHAT YOU SHOULD DO Wednesday, February 4 From 6pm - 8pm at Latitude Gallery — Unbridled: Horsin Around opens; a salon-style group exhibition celebrating the Year of the Horse.
Inline links: Latitude Gallery, Unbridled: Horsin Around
Humanoid-Robots
March 06, 2026 · Original source
Appendix: Things Brandy Melville depop boatneck long sleeve dress, Zalt electrolyte zyn, Davolls tee-shirt, Angelmoon, Imperfaite, Prada boots, Monroe suede penny loafers, Frye leather riding boot Places Thai Diner, Vince’s Cobbler, The Manhattan Club, The Marlton Hotel, Tartinery, Caffe Reggio, Dr. Clark, Swan Room Read GirlInsides, The Masque of the Read Death, Fatherland (Victoria Shorr, 2026) Watch Pi (1988), The Biggest Sabotage in History (weird documentary youtube), A Place in the Sun (1951) Listen Gregarian Chants (via Health Gossip), Tango In The Night (1987), Drasticism (2026).
Inline links: Brandy Melville depop boatneck long sleeve dress, Zalt electrolyte zyn, Davolls tee-shirt, Angelmoon, Imperfaite, Prada boots, Monroe suede penny loafers, Frye leather riding boot, Thai Diner, Vince’s Cobbler, The Manhattan Club, The Marlton Hotel, Tartinery, Caffe Reggio, Dr. Clark, Swan Room, GirlInsides, The Masque of the Read Death, Fatherland, Pi, The Biggest Sabotage in History, A Place in the Sun, Gregarian Chants, Health Gossip, Tango In The Night, Drasticism

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