Welcome! If you scroll down after you've perused the links and pie, you'll find writing fellow Nereya Otieno's meditation on immigrant hospitality. The most common immigration narrative is about whether or not a particular nation and its citizens are hospitable to newcomers. In fact, she writes, immigrants are people who have the most experience in extending hospitality. I love this essay so much.

The deep examination of the role of gas stations in Midwest culture that I didn't know I needed, courtesy of Lyz Lenz. And on the topic of American regionalism, I loved this essay by Becca Andrews about what she lost when she lost her Southern accent.

The first kids to live through the school-shooting era have grown up, and Marin Cogan reports on how they were left alone to process their trauma. Today, a whisper network on TikTok warns students that a shooting might be about to happen—even if no adults are taking it seriously.

Claire L. Evans with the story of early hacker Susy Thunder: "In the ’80s, Susan Headley ran with the best of them—phone phreakers, social engineers, and the most notorious computer hackers of the era. Then she disappeared."

Scientists are planning a return to Biosphere 2, the failed early-'90s experiment in replicating seven of the Earth's biomes within glass bubbles, and Jessica Camille Aguirre's report gave me some new ways of thinking and challenging climate fatalism. On a related note, I love philosopher Achille Mbembe's idea of developing a "planetary consciousness."

Dahlia Lithwick on what the retirement of Justice Stephen Breyer—"an 83-year-old man who believed he was modeling civics and collegiality when he was in fact being rope-a-doped by smiling Trump appointees"—says about the state of the Supreme Court. Related reminder that you are never owed a reason for somebody's abortion.

The power of "inshallah," writes Abdullah Shihipar, is that "it demands a suspension of the ego in the face of cosmic forces and provides a little order to what can be a chaotic life — knowing that you are on the path you are supposed to be on, whether or not it’s what you expected."

This pie chart—and the whole newsletter, really—appears courtesy of my paying member, who each pay $1.25 per month to keep this project afloat. If you read this thing every week, please consider joining the ranks of the paying. If you're already a member, thank you!!

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The Rom-Com Room, a new podcast co-hosted by Mercedes Gonzales-Bazan, who helps keep this newsletter running. She and her co-host Kendra Okereke discuss a different movie each week. "It's all about reclaiming the rom-com genre as a pleasure (and not the guilty kind), so there's a mix of film analysis, pop culture takes, and personal stories in every episode," she says. Subscribe on the podcast platform of your choice!

Also: Sam Sanders and Saeed Jones discuss Andre Leon Talley. Anne Carson lectures on corners. Photos of the indie wrestling scene.

Who let @thisisbaananas into my closet?? And speaking of the sartorial, who will buy me David Horvitz's "John Lennon Broke Up Fluxus" tee?

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This is the 10th in a series of essays in which Nereya Otieno explores her experience with immigration. She's one of this newsletter's writing fellows, a program underwritten by paying members. Usually I excerpt the first few paragraphs of these essays, but today I'm pulling my favorite paragraphs out of the middle. Please do click through and read them in context! -AF

By Nereya Otieno

The number one place to find people who hail from various countries and speak multiple languages is anywhere with a plethora of bottle openers or an alarming amount of knives. Bars and kitchens are welcoming arenas for those who might not be proficient in the national tongue but are fluent in the language of food and beverage. Hospitality is full of people who have traveled the world and are adept at building communities quickly. Folks who know how to extend visas or find the cheapest immigration lawyers. Folks who know what it means to celebrate a birthday in a city where you know no one. Folks who know what it’s like to get a phone call about a family emergency at least 32 hours away. Folks who know how to spot these sensations in others. 

When I started working amidst the sandalwood and candle wax at Kind of Blue, I gained access to this hospitality club. I was a bartender, so I was welcomed throughout Denmark by other bartenders, chefs, line cooks, busboys, servers and service managers. I was getting the nod. Many of them, equally far away from their families, stepped in to help me form a new one. Not as proxy siblings or cousins, no, it was something different. It was a family of recognition, of bearing witness. People I wasn’t supposed to know who  supported my existence in a place I wasn’t supposed to be. It was a defiant, lucky and pure sort of love. We made a pact via our alien status. We built houses of cards and called them foundations. We practiced the ultimate care in knowing the likelihood that we might leave each other but loving with all our might anyway.

Click through to read the whole thing.

You can listen to Nereya read this essay, read the others in this series, and offer her some hospitality by signing up for her newsletter. Her fellowship year is coming to an end soon, and trust me, you want to be able to continue reading her words.