“We haven’t had time to talk about the world going ‘Handmaid’s Tale…'”
It’s a perfect summer Saturday night on the steps of the Cleveland Museum of Art. It’s been two years since the last Summer Solstice — one of those “must attend” events for the city’s bourgeois and bourgeois-adjacent — and when I see all the “Solstice was amazing!!!” photos Sunday morning, I will frown in confusion because the party I attended was pretty, but pretty forgettable.
I don’t want to talk about this here. To be honest, I don’t want to talk about it at all. But this is a thing my BFF and I do. It’s what happens when a bond is forged in four years of Mass Media Communications courses. Sharpening our mental blades with each other is a love language.
Back in the day, before everything was terrible, I wrote about politics. Often. If the 2008 iteration of The Skinny Black Girl still existed, you’d see my gushing Millennial love letters to Barack Obama and the world he wanted to build. He caught me at just the right time. Twenty-five. The granddaughter of a Selma, Alabama native who moved to Cleveland in the 1940s for a better life. A recent graduate of one of the oldest HBCUs in the nation, raised on A Different World and The Fresh Prince, with a full-throated belief in Black Excellence. I’d seen Roots. Watched hours of PBS’s Eyes on the Prize in freshman lit class (taught by a real life Freedom Rider). Sat stunned and wrecked in the weeks following Hurricane Katrina as the U.S. government abandoned people who looked like me.
As I write this, I have not used Twitter in 170 days.
My blog is more active, I catch up with friends more often, either over the phone or in person over drinks — and let me tell you, hot takes are better shared with friends than millions of strangers, and I’m exposed to a lot less non-sense hidden behind Intro to Sociology terms.