I CAN'T STOP MY ASS: REID #156

On Yom Kippur, cat e*ections, and three years on Substack...

Reid Pope

Sep 26, 2023

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SHORT:

I can’t stop watching this last chunk of Robert Klein’s comedy special where he sings “I can’t stop my leg!”.

I’ve been running around the house, shaking my butt, and belting (a la Klein): “I can’t stop my ass! I can’t stop my ass!”

Treat yourself to the clip (or the whole special, if you have the time).

It’s worth it.

MEDIUM:

I hope all my Jewish REIDers had a reflective Yom Kippur.

For the non-Jews, Yom Kippur is the most important holiday in the Jewish faith – a time when Jews wear white, abstain from eating, and atone for their sins.

Per my family tradition, it’s also a day when you fight with your sister over the hair straightener and sob in the car on the way to temple because you “didn’t get to make the back look right” and “feel so ugly”.

(^u gotta look good for God! … God, of course, being whatever middle school boy sits next to you at the teen service)

This year, I watched my hometown synagogue’s Yom Kippur live-stream while Jess answered work emails, and I tried to not freakout about how, try-and-interview-as-I-might, I still do not have a job.

LONG:

The writer’s strike is over. Which is good! And congrats to every single person who picketed and negotiated and fought/clawed/made it through this period of time. But, I’m not gonna lie, when it was announced, I was struck with an immediate wave of nausea/dread. I also received texts and messages from other people having a similar flavor of panic.

Though I firmly believe in “earthquake theory" (you should have a tiny freakout as often as possible because it will make the impending and inevitable “big one” less severe), I do feel stupid about this one. Why the hell am I having such anxiety in the face of such a positive thing? And on the holiest day of the year!?

I think it’s because, up until this point, everyone in my life has attributed my recent job interview flops, malaise, stasis, lack of direction etc. etc. etc. to the strike. And now it’s done. So the only person to blame for all that stuff from this point on? Is me. Or the universe. Or god (regular one, not middle school boy).

The good news is… today is the 3 year anniversary of this newsletter!

Over the past 156 weeks, I’ve had the FBI come to my apartment, a man in rainbow pants punch me in the face, and a Cinnabon open in my neighborhood. I enrolled in and graduated from my MFA program, traveled to Scotland/Ohio/a farm upstate/Asheville/Florida where my brother sang Avicci’s “Hey Brother” to himself alone in the hot tub on the back porch in the rain. I’ve spent hundreds of nights watching Veep with Jess, changed my name, started hormones, hit a bunch of personal stand-up milestones, recreated 100+ gay thirst traps, lived in 4 different zip codes, survived a pandemic, a bird attacked my mom’s head (“which people don’t talk about enough”), my gay senior citizen pen pal said a bunch of crazy shit to me, and just last week, I got a cat.

(Btw, Jess bought the cat three toys: two bananas and a rainbow, which makes our house feel like freakin’ Provincetown…)

(Max (the cat) seems real ashamed about it, he’s always hiding in the closet… I try to be supportive and sing “Born This Way” every time he comes out, but he rolls his eyes…)

(He also gets so many e*ections… which is adding some… new energy… to our home)

(We’re trying to be sex positive about it… but it majorly disrupts our movie nights… and if we continue to let it fly, he may have a Lauren Boebert-esque incident later in life, which isn’t ideal…)

Anyway, I am extremely thankful for each and every one of you REIDers, old and new.

You put up with me at all times, in all moods, and continue to read this despite the varying levels of quality.

I’m looking forward to another 3 years with you.

Hopefully by then?

I will have a job!

C U Next Tuesday.