The Two Most Important Rules of Summer 2024
The Two Most Important Rules of Summer 2024
Plus: The Ozempocolypse, a Summer Music Special, the big Summer Blockbuster bet, and so, so much more.
It’s Friday, June 7th, 2024.
It’s the third Summer Friday of the year, 12 to go until Labor Day.
“Eminence Front” is on the radio.
The French Open women’s singles final will be played on Saturday, men’s singles final is on Sunday. Game 2 of the Boston/Dallas NBA Finals will be played on Sunday.
Around the world today, the weather: New York City: 82/63, sunny • Marseille: 81/64, sunny • Lisbon: 73/62, rain • Roland Garros: 71/51, sunny • Formentera: 76/69, mostly s—
Wait, holy shit, can you believe it?
We’re three weeks in, and you’re all still here. Holy shit. Some of you are just showing up, a lot of you. That’s incredible, too. To everyone who’s written in and said hi, thrown me some kind words, or a tip, or helped validate the existence of all this: Thank you.
Also, seriously, what? Thank you. Thanks to Alison Roman and Ben Dietz, and legendary music writer Philip Sherburne for jumping in the comments last week, and Krista + Zoe the other week. Also, so many others? Carlye Wisel, Tony Tran, Alex Cannon, Doree Shafrir, Kyle Chayka, everyone, and especially the few deranged people who have actually tried to pay me money for this. You’re wild, that’s wild behavior.
For the time being, keep your money, but I’ll take your feedback — anything in the way of tips and ideas, what you’re enjoying, and what you’re skipping past: Put it my way. And also, of course, tell your friends:
Another issue of FOSTERTALK Presents: Summer Fridays, right about…..now:
The Ozempocolypse Is Coming.
By now you might’ve heard that “wellness” startup (read: rubber-stamping telehealth pharmacy mill) Hims recently announced they’ll be offering compounded semaglutide, and if a startup teaching people how to inject themselves with ‘Zempies sounds like a great idea to you, I’ve got an (off-label) bridge to sell you.
The key word there is “compounded,” as in, created in a compounding pharmacy, where various separate elements get compounded into a prescribed drug. If this sounds familiar, it’s because Last Week Tonight did an entire episode on compounding pharmacies four years ago.
The big takeaways:
Compounding pharmacies are an unregulated mess.
The normal failure rate for pharmacy drugs is 2%, but a 2013 FDA study reported a 33% failure rate for compounded pharmacy drugs. John Oliver: “To put that in perspective, compounded drugs have about the same failure rate as the Jonas Brothers.”
A 2012 outbreak of meningitis emerged from contaminated medicine sold by the New England Compounding Center, and it lead to 100 deaths.
Emily Sundberg interviewed a friend from famed NYC apothecary/pharmacy C.O. Bigelow, who mentioned the same incident — and also, put into context why compounding pharmacies are allowed to make these drugs, and the incentives to make them quickly therein:
Pharmacies are only legally allowed to produce compounded versions of these drugs because they are in an official shortage, and the compounded versions are not FDA approved or tested for safety. Once the FDA determines that the drugs are no longer in shortage, it will be illegal for compounding pharmacies to produce them. So inherently these compounding pharmacies are incentivized to make as much money as fast as possible while they still can, since eventually Novo/Eli Lilly will fix the supply. Mass producing injectable medications at warp speed is a recipe for disaster.
Of course: HIMS shares are up 73% over the last month. Someone’s gonna take a short position on them and make a fucking boatload when this all goes terribly wrong.
The Big Takeaway, clearly: Don’t do Fauxzempic. Also, possibly, short the shit out of $HIMS.
RELATED: At a dinner party a few weeks ago, we’re talking about that absolutely insane story re the girl who went to rehab for a cheese addiction (as one does) which she later blamed on Israel/Palestine (lol, why not). She lost a bunch of weight after, and the person I was with explained “of course she did, [the story] said she was on Ozempic.” There was some brief verbal shuffling (“huh,” “of course,” “figures”) and then the conversation quickly — and maybe, to an outsider, oddly — moved on.
When we left in a cab, I explained: “So, that person sitting across from you has lost, like, 20lbs on Ozempic, and maybe half the table knew, I think?” Which made me realize: We’re still learning how to talk about Ozempic.
Hence, a question:
Is it that Ozempic is now so ubiquitous and normalized that discussing its merits and drawbacks is a null proposition? OR
Was it that everyone wanted to talk about it, but we couldn’t, because there was an implicit agreement about not discussing Ozempic based on the implicit knowledge that one person at the table was on it?
Moreover: Have YOU had any kind of conversational awkwardness around TALKING ZEMPIES? Tell me.
The Two Most Important Rules of Summer 2024
A hearty mazel tov to The First Person To Rip A Bong Inside The Sphere, who has now received a letter (or in his words: “a plaque”) with a lifetime ban from the Sphere, and all MSG venues. And they say music journalism is dying: As I wrote this, the Miles Klee-penned Rolling Stone exclusive with the guy went live, and I learned that this person is squarely within the demographic you’d imagine him to be.
Far worse things than bongs being ripped happen inside MSG venues (see: JD & the Straight Shot, Knicks postseasons), and who hasn’t seen some weird, wild shit go down all over the Garden, in both steerage and (especially) those VIP suites? People blast cigs in the Garden during Phish shows there — I’m sure they hit (or have hit) bongs, although please bear in mind the absolute lunacy of bringing a bong to a public place in the era of discreet weed-smoking, where vaping and edibles are resplendent?
Rare is the instance in which I’m inclined to agree with any kind of James Dolan-aligned adjudication. In this case, I’ll make an exception: The guy deserved his ban, though not specifically for ripping the bong.
Here’s the thing: A friend who worked her way up from mere bottle girl to Girl Friday for one of the city’s major nightlife impresarios once told me there are only actually two rules that’ll ever get you thrown out of one of his nightclubs:
Don’t set anything on fire, and
Don’t pull your dick out.
That’s it.
Beyond being good rules for most venues, they’re also, more broadly, good rules for Summer Fridays, and, uh, life. But could you get away with fighting? I asked, and sure, she said, if you don’t send anyone to the hospital and you’re running up a big enough bill and you’re not too much of a pain and the other guy started it, and obviously if you have a gun in the club we’ll ask you to take it back outside and leave it in your car, but again, enough money— and so on. There are plenty of exceptions. But if said nightlife impresario’s venues developed a reputation for being places you could set things on fire or pull your dick out, well, that’s not good for business.
Anyway, you can take these two rules at face value, or explore their poetic value, which is where I choose to abide them: By allowing himself to be taped and earning infamy for hitting a bong within the Sphere, alas, this man pulled his (metaphorical) dick out. I say this as (perhaps) the world’s foremost authority where figurative phalli and James Dolan are concerned. I’m not gonna say we’d have world peace if everyone followed these two rules, but they are — as far as these things go — truly excellent guardrails for all situations.
Do you have any other rules (or sets of rules) worth noting? Please advise.
The Best Week of Music in the Entire History of Summer 2024.
News you can use: There’s so, so, so much good new music out this week.
There’s that new Jamie xx which — much like his last single or three — sounds like running through a brick wall high on military-grade MDMA (to collect a three million dollar check in your name). It is extraordinary.
There’s also the second new Zach Bryan song this year, a sweet little duet.
A new star-studded Kaytranada album (feat. Tinashe, Anderson .Paak, Thundercat, PinkPantheress, Channel Tres, et al).
A new Orville Peck song (with Kylie Minogue...and Diplo??).
And somehow, new music from Caribou, Floating Points, and of course, Peggy Gou’s debut album, one summer after she basically owned international radio last year with “(It Goes Like) Nanana.”
That’s all in the same week. Are you kidding? That’s insane. That is insane. Meanwhile, in pop, there’s a surprisingly great new Gracie Abrams single, and an unsurprisingly great new Sabrina Carpenter single, but the pop release everyone will be talking about this week is the new Charli XCX album that dropped today, Brat.
The reviews are — non-shocker — extremely positive. Fun fact: Last year, a writer who once slammed Charli XCX for Pitchfork wrote a piece about regretting the slam, admitting how wrong she was and how ahead of her time Charli was (which some of us saw a decade ago, hi). Of course, it earned almost the precise anti-critic retort it was practically begging for. It’ll be interesting to see how Charli responds (if at all) to this round of praise, or the weird sensation of reading today’s genuflecting Pitchfork review of her new album.
Meanwhile, the leadup to the album involved a savvy press campaign featuring a (now de rigueur) series of edgelordy quotes and nods to some imagined Downtown New York It Girl Dimes Square Whatever Scene (which — as everyone in New York knows — doesn’t actually exist), which also turned up on the album.
She also managed to score a Boiler Room set, and drop by a set at The Lot Radio (which predictably turned into a mob scene). Those are two places an artist can go to demonstrate a certain kind of aptitude and garner a certain kind of respect and make their presence known to a set of people that aren’t all that invested in pop music (let alone pop culture).
Anyway, ‘lotta words to explain that Brat is as much a cultural bellwether as it is an album, and that — in just a single week’s worth of releases — you’ve got a decent swath of what’s happening in music right now covered relatively well, and that music is in a very, very healthy place. Also, listen to that new Jamie xx, seriously, my god.
Did I miss anything? What’re you listening to this weekend? That Charli album, what’d you think? Comments, leave them, music, send it.
Summer Fashion Digest.
I saw a girl on the L wearing a top hat, like Slash — you know the one. Incredible look.
In the news that shook the fashion world this week — though, classic fashion media nonsense, everyone writing about it supposedly “saw it coming” — the brand’s creative director Virginie Viard is out at Chanel. The successor to Karl Lagerfeld and his former right hand, Viard lasted five years on the job, the last of which Chanel did $19.7B in revenue ($6.4B profit). Let the Hunger Games begin: Of all the rumored replacements that are even remotely plausible, Jeremy Scott, Hedi Slimane, and John Galliano seem to be the ones people keep talking about.
Wedges: Gross, don’t do it.
Summer Travel.
Blackbird Spyplane wants to help you find an alternative to Rimowas, like vintage Rimowas, among other ideas. This instinct is good and correct. Full-priced Rimowas — especially in coach — aren’t much more than an ostentatious display of shitty taste and a poor understanding of value propositions. It’s about as much a signal of meaningful wealth, taste, and a seasoned traveler as that Supreme brick is one of someone trained in masonry. [BBSP]
There’s a report going around about the economics of airport lounges that’s fascinating, the best piece of which involves the correlation between how crowded they are, and why people keep coming back to them in droves, despite how much shittier they’re getting, and why. Direct quote(s):
“More wealth among the wealthy,”
“Social media makes us vain and envious,”
“Influencers influence booking behavior,” and
“Airlines are better at retailing, but poorer with service.” Woof!
If you’re getting a credit card to get lounge access in 2024, sorry, you’ve joined the ranks of suckers. This reminds me of something James once told me: If you’ve never missed a flight, you’re spending too much time at airports. Deranged — but somehow, sage! — wisdom. If you’re not on a layover and you’ve got time to wait for a lounge, I’m sorry to tell you: You’re spending too much time at airports. Your mind, body, soul, and net worth would all be far better served just walking around and listening to Music for Airports, anyway.
Studies In Himboism
The Cut continues to enjoy terrorizing the hearts of the 28-40 demo. Last week it was the Millennial Midlife Crisis, this week it’s Is Dating A Total Nightmare Right Now? An informal poll of most of the single women I know would suggest: Yes. Apparently there’s been some kind of backlash to this? [The Cut]
Speaking of the Himbocracy, goddamn, someone is out here living a, um, best life: “So, my friend’s revolutionary system: He dates different girls, and each fulfills a different need.” You know you want to read the rest of this tweet. [Dean Kissick]
Related: “that girl is in DANGER” [Noor]
Finally, there’s a new “highly contagious” sexually transmitted ringworm on the rise, and the first case in America was detected right here in New York (Fuckin’) City. Go with god, all of you. [NY Post]
Summer Blockbusters
In theaters this weekend is Bad Boys: Ride or Die. Apparently, Will Smith gets slapped a bunch in it by his co-star, Martin Lawrence. Here are two different versions of what we refer to as “taking the bait”:
Variety: The scene acts as a kind of pop exorcism. It’s “punishing” Smith, making cruel fun of his transgression, and just maybe, in the process, allowing him to crawl out from under the image of it.
New York Post: The best part of “Bad Boys: Ride or Die” arrives when Martin Lawrence slaps Will Smith in the face and yells “bad boy!” What a shame that it’s fake.
Most reviewers smartly avoided doing this. It’s important to remember what distinguishes Smith v. Rock as different from every other celebrity mess before it, which wasn’t an issue of violence, or race, or toxic masculinity, or misogyny, or public humiliation. It’s that — in situ — the entire thing felt like we experienced a collective minor neurological event.
Do you remember how you felt the first time you watched that? Probably — if you’re at all like the rest of the world — like you had momentarily slipped, and lost your footing in reality. It was weird it was fucking WEIRD, remember? And, now, Smith gets slapped in his own movie as a way to make us all feel okay about it, and that, also, is pretty fucking weird. Imagine if you’re watching Mission Impossible 3 and there’s a scene where Tom Cruise has to repeatedly jump on a couch to advance the plot. That’d be strange.
Anyway, there’s a $100M budget-sized bet and two womp womp outcomes on the line: Either Bad Boys: Ride or Die makes money when Furiosa — which was fantastic — did not (depressing), or Bad Boys: Ride or Die also fails, and Hollywood — which is institutionally slow and dumb — will make even worse movies in their attempts to figure out how to stem the bleeding. Good luck to everyone, and again, go see Furiosa, it (figuratively) slaps.
And that’s it! I know, a “short” one. BUT ALSO: You’ll note, maybe, that there’s no media in this week’s edition. That’s because SUMMER WEDNESDAYS might be the new SUMMER FRIDAYS. More on that soon. Either way, the good news is that after this week, FOSTERTALK Presents: Summer Fridays should be out of beta. It only needs your feedback to get there.
Until then, get outside, wear sunscreen, be kind, go dancing, don’t take compounded semaglutide, avoid the clap, shop your local farmer’s market — the produce is getting good out there — and remember: You are the mountain top, you are the shining sea, you are the black gold of the sun.
As ever,
-f.
what an honor to be name checked in the true paper of record
can i give it up for faith/void, the band of mattie lubchansky, ivy nelson, and tim lee? recommended if you like horror movies and yelling while jumping around https://faithvoid.bandcamp.com/album/weird-chills