keeping the sacred flame alive: REID #222
plus calves... bananas... and Jess’s gay brother’s cat that is scary and as big as a horse
SHORT:
Florida sucks politically1 and spiritually but at least ur hair also gets to poof up and look bad.
MEDIUM:
I am no longer in The Sunshine State, but I am still recovering (ain’t that the way the hell-hole sizzles)?
Last time I wrote to you, it was pre-Christmas — the glorious day our Airbnb flooded, and we got to live out our collective fantasy of wringing out 100+ towels and all of our underwear on the front porch.
This, of course, went over perfectly. Everyone stayed calm, embraced teamwork, and not a single conniption was had.
(If that sounds believable, I’ve got a timeshare in Tampa to sell you.)
LONG:
Other things that happened in FL:
My teen cousin from Japan showed us videos of him performing One Direction songs at his high school, which prompted my near-30-year-old, recovering Directioner partner (see haunting childhood bedroom wall photo below2) to tearfully thank him for “keeping the sacred flame alive.”
My mom pulled her other calf. Seven years ago, after my brother failed his driver’s test, she pulled her first calf (and had to scoot around on a knee-scooter for weeks). I came home that day to find her flat on the couch while my brother was in the backyard smashing his high school golf trophies with a 9-iron.
(After taking one look at the scene, I did a swift 180, and drove to Starbucks, where I stared blankly at a cake pop until whatever biblical-level meltdown I’d walked in on had resolved itself.)
Anyway, this time it was the other calf.
The injury sidelined her from her annual Christmas Eve pigs-in-a-blanket duty (a tradition that always ends with her frantically blow-drying her hair as the P in B’s burn), so my brother stepped in.
And while she couldn’t handle the pigs, she did rally for Hanukkah the next day, calf brace and all, to light the travel menorah3.
What else…
Shoutout to Aunt Suzy, who told me at Christmas she prints this out and reads it every morning in Japan before work. And shoutout to my cousin Bennett, still workshopping a banana joke for this newsletter—he’s “figuring out the punchline.”
Comment down below with what you think it is…
Shoutout to our hometown neighbor who used my parents’ Ring camera to wish them Happy Holidays. I rewatched it three times and thought, there’s still some small, warm, good in the world.
And finally, shoutout to the old gay4 guy at the beach store in Anna Maria, Florida who trapped Jess at the counter playing his “seductive original 90’s music” over and over again until my brother had to intervene5.
Of course, we were later subjected to worse: three hours of bootleg Christmas covers at the Tampa airport. Jess and I were there long enough to see two Godfather-themed dog pun t-shirts—Pugfather and Dachfather—and a guy wearing a shirt that said, “I am the weapon.”
We then went to Colorado to see Jess’s family and Jess’s gay brother’s cat that is scary and as big as a horse. The horse-cat watched us eat a second Christmas dinner and receive an Elsa From Frozen Pez Dispenser as a gift from Jess’s dad6.
But the real tragedy struck the day after Christmas: Jess’s favorite gator Twitter account announced it was winding down. For the past year, Jess religiously posted its “Flat Fuck Friday” song, featuring a flat gator, to their IG story. This dedication earned recognition from my friends and a public shout from my grandmother, who once loudly asked my parents, “What the hell is a flat f*ck?” The account will be missed, though the admin kindly scheduled the song to post every Friday forever.
This is getting long (and I just landed back in NYC), so I’ll wrap it up…
I watched three movies in Colorado—All We Imagine As Light, The Holdovers, and A Complete Unknown. My main takeaway from the last one? Posting anything online, including this newsletter, is mortifying. People used to gather in Village basements for Joan Baez and Bob Dylan. Now it’s 30 TikTokers singing about clits and butts. We’re doomed (but no worries).
Maybe 2025 will bring less clit-butt content and more meditative folk art. (Am I being sex-negative?)
My 2024 was good: I made a short film, 12 episodes of Late Stage Live, traveled, ran a marathon, did play readings, stand-up, and odd jobs, and wrote 52 of these facacta newsletters.
In 2025, I hope to join the scary gym down the street and surround myself with more nice people who I love and not bother with people that make me mad or frustrated or feel bad about myself7.
C U Then (Next Tuesday)
Thank you for subscribing to this newsletter. Sometimes it’s funny, sometimes it’s not [it’s a lot like when people slip on ice]. If this is your first time reading, pls check out the archives.
Sincerely,
Reid Pope
Bonus Jonas Zone:
Remembered “don’t say gay” on my run and laughed out loud.
If there’s something my moms gonna do it’s bring a menorah thru airport security
Well, hard to know for sure, because… ‘don’t say gay’… but seemed like it
Forcefully throw his hands up and shout “okay, happy holidays!” and push us away from the counter
Perfect, no notes
I’m the first person who has thought of this and it will work
Bennett super pleased with the way you worked him in & cracking up at how good his no punch line banana joke worked.
Definitely sex negative. Shocked, appalled and disappointed. Happy new year!