More proof can be found in Future Jr., the indie artist from Down Under who's been wooing me with his single "Changing." (Also worth listening: "Forget About Me" and "Half Past You")
I binged Season 2 of the brilliant Atlanta and Season 4 of the criminally overlooked You're The Worst.
I gave my MoviePass a run for its money (six movies in June, five in July) before those damn restrictions kicked in.
I attended a wedding in Santa Monica and realized not all wedding bands suck. (Kudos to the singer who pulled off Chaka Khan's "Ain't Nobody" and Whitney's "I Wanna Dance With Somebody.")
I got a little tipsy in Palm Springs during the extra-long 4th of July weekend. (Okay, I got a lot of tipsy.)
In Berlin, I ate schnitzel for the first time. And my God, it was delicious.
My father was soon thereafter diagnosed with prostate cancer, so I flew to Florida to help my parents reach a decision on treatment: he is scheduled to receive radiation treatments this fall. My family is currently doing well. Therefore, #fuckcancer.
I saw The Spy Who Dumped Me. My reaction: NO ONE TOLD ME GILLIAN ANDERSON HAS THREE SCENES IN IT!
I went to the Saved by the Bell-themed pop-up diner, Saved by the Max, in West Hollywood. The food was expectedly...okay. There were plenty of Instagram ops to be had.
I was absolutely floored by Hannah Gadsby's Nanette on Netflix.
In Paris, I ate escargot for the first time. The copious amounts of garlic butter helped.
Oh, and I signed with a lit agent before finishing the first draft of my YA horror novel, Slasher Movie Girl. (To clarify: my agent isn't actually lit; she's a literary agent, someone who reps authors. Duh.) Publishers, keep your eyes peeled this fall...
Richard Newby's recent thinkpiece in The Hollywood Reporter, "What Happens When Fandom Doesn't Grow Up" (read it here), brilliantly discusses how modern nostalgia has presented itself across pop culture and what it means for today's audiences...as well as tomorrow's.
I expressed a similar sentiment a few years ago, basically saying that Hollywood doesn't want me and my friends to grow up. The proof is everywhere you look. Every month there's a familiar title from my childhood or adolescence playing at my local megaplex or unleashing new episodes on the small screen.
This is undoubtedly, as many pundits have argued, a result of the growing number of business-minded (read: less creative) execs at film and TV studios who are averse to high-risk investments (i.e. original content), enabling this rampant reboot fever that is affecting a generation of viewers that may never know what it's like to discover a true, original property they can organically grow to love and cherish.
It's a vicious cycle; as long as we keep consuming these things, the more this industry will keep making them.
Hence why the upcoming TV season is going to feel like 1984, 1992, and 2000 all at once, thanks to new versions of Magnum P.I., Murphy Brown, Charmed, and Roswell-- as well as the continuation of the Roseanne saga, now called The Conners, and the new Will & Grace.
In other words, we have one TV season that will allow me to relive my childhood, adolescence, and college years -- simultaneously -- during any given week. (And that's not all: reboots of Bewitched, The Facts of Life, Designing Women, Rugrats, and Party of Five are currently in development.)
