Ann Friedman - 1-800-FUNHOUSE MIRROR

There are many excellent things about hitting middle age, and here's one: It's very fun for me to see modern teens dressed exactly the way my peers and I did when we were in high school. My heart leapt last week when I walked past a teen with bright-yellow eye makeup (I used to do mine with an actual highlighter marker, causing me to now wonder if eyelid cancer is a thing?) and a lettuce-edged tiny tee paired with an oversized flannel. It was a funhouse mirror of intergenerational kinship. I am her, she is me; we are united in space, time, and baby tees. 

In this same spirit, I read about Olivia Rodrigo's contraception free-for-all in Missouri (love this! love her!), which led me to the news that she is teasing new music via a telephone hotline. Much like neon eye makeup, this is not a new idea, but it's a fun and niche one that's worth reviving.

A hotline is public but feels so personal, especially now. These days I either use the phone for the most mundane admin tasks (say, calling the doctor's office) or as a way to intimately catch up with my very nearest and dearest. A personal message recorded by a total stranger lies in the uncanny valley between. Why does this feel so much more fun to me than a podcast, which is essentially the same thing? I think it has to do with dialing a number, which makes the connection feel more direct.

So! I made my own hotline. If you are a paying member, you can call and listen to a 2-minute message I left for you. Dial (323) 909-XXXX and let it ring six times to hear the message, then feel free to leave me one in return. If you're not a paying member, you can fix that between now and midnight on Sunday, and I'll send you the complete number on Monday.

Regardless of your membership status, you can enjoy Dial-a-Poem: (641) 793-8122. In fact, I'm going to go call it right now. What a great use of the hotline format. 

Mariame Kaba on Louise Thompson Patterson and the first-ever march on Washington in 1933. Sometimes I can't believe I'm into my 40s and just now learning critical history.

"It was starting to look like wilderness, which is to say I started to think about Sandra Bland." Morgan Parker on being worn down on the road.

"Photography has long served to trivialize the atrocities of war," writes anthropologist Sophia Goodfriend, and not just in Israel and Gaza but everywhere now that smartphones are commonplace on the battlefield. (Be advised: There are images of violence in this article.)

Hannah Giorgis on how Oprah Winfrey is both a victim of diet culture and an accelerant of its ideals.

"I love this state, it’s the only home I’ve ever known. But Florida doesn’t love me." Sarah Khan on being a trans woman and substitute teacher in a state that treats her like a criminal.

We need a "decentered" history of the world, which would mean "giving up the ambition to tell a single, cohesive, global grand narrative, and instead to embrace a multiplicity of human experiences and perspectives," writes Harry Stopes.

Kelly Dawson explains in super practical terms how to navigate friendships with disabled people.

The women behind the invisible art of film editing. 

I'm not sure I cosign the entire dopamine culture theory, but I'm definitely interested in it.

"Some of us Jews say b'sha'ah tovah when someone shares news of a pregnancy (translates to 'all in the right time') rather than congratulations, which feels premature. That seems fitting given everything you've shared about where you are at. So, b'sha'ah tovah and welcome back to newslettering." - Sarah. I absolutely love this phrase and am thrilled to learn about it!

"Welcome back! It's great to have you home." -Kitty. The newsletter does feel like home. Mostly because you're all here, too.