beavers, brisket, and boba

september '24

If you’re a dreamer, America is for you. If you’ve ever been conflicted about your identity and debated which grass is greener, America is for you. America is definitely for you if you want choices in abundance and clowns on a ballot. America is not for the faint of heart; it’s for those who wave at their neighbors and lend meager Chik-fil-A leftovers to the drab folks on street corners. We have a lot of those folks - they are Americans too.

America is a melting pot, but not like the fondue-types you find in European restaurants, rather the evil witchy-types you find in Halloween movies where they just chaotically dump stuff until the pot blows up. That’s America. And I love it. All these random potions and concoctions of cultures - African boys playing elitist sports among billionaires, Bengali brothers bringing chai to the streets of NYC, Malaysian moms serving Nasi Lemak down the street from the Austin capital building.

I was first offered a taste of the American melting pot in 2008-ish, when the Department of State gifted me a little blue booklet, as proof of my belonging here. Since then, it’s been a gradual coming-of-identity, to be an American. I’m still learning the ropes, from visiting oversized gas stations with free brisket samples to craving colorful plastic straws full of tapioca on Tuesday evenings. This letter picks out a handful of these examples - some recent, some old, all American.

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i’m feeling lucky

This month we’ve got some hot names on the playlist: Ravyn Lenae, Jorja Smith, FKJ, Kaytranada, Toro y Moi, and so many more.. And if you’ve seen my recent activity on notes, you’ll know that I’ve had my ears filled with Chappell Roan’s genre blending tracks off late. Where did she come from? Where will she go? Nobody knows, all I know is I’ll be dancing at the Pink Pony Club. (That’s where Americans dance)

[Archive playlist can be found here, and in my spotify bio]

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beavers

Imagine living in Paris for a decade and not catching a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower. Or visiting New York City without tasting a dollar (now $1.50) pizza slice. That's the level of cultural faux pas I've been committing for the past 7+ years living in Texas without ever setting foot in a Buc-ee's. It's like I've been walking around with a "I'm not from around here" sticky note on my forehead, blissfully unaware of the beaver-shaped hole in my Texan experience. But a few weeks ago, that all changed.

Anya and I were on our way to visit family in Dallas over the Labor Day weekend when we decided to make an intentional pit stop at the mythical Buc-ee's. I'd heard whispers of its greatness - tales of tasty sandwiches that could feed a small army, bathrooms so clean you could eat off the floor (though I wouldn't recommend it), and enough gas pumps to fuel a NASCAR race. But how could a mere gas station live up to such Texas-sized hype? If you've ever checked the Google Maps ratings of a random Shell or Exxon, I promise you it won't be over 2-stars.

As someone who treats road trips like a military operation - minimal stops, maximum efficiency, and Waze always on high alert for speed traps - I expected this detour to be nothing more than a 5-minute pee-break and snack-grab. What I did not expect was a 40-minute galavant through the Disneyland of highway rest areas.

Y’all…

Buc-ee’s is the physical, experiential, immersive embodiment of the American Dream. It’s everything you could ask for from a roadside rest stop and so much more. You are surrounded by smiling faces of all colors and races, goodies and snacks of varying temperatures - from XXL Brisket sandwiches to Dr. Pepper ICEEs, and an overwhelming number of toothy, bug-eyed beavers wearing red baseball caps.

In a world where everything seems designed to divide us, Buc-ee's feels like the UN Headquarters. Buc-ee’s might just be the most diverse place in America. You’ve got your typical road-tripping families of 7 falling out of Chevy Suburbans, next to leather-clad biker gangs and awestruck Indian aunties in salwars. Buc-ee’s seemed to unite people of all races and colors in a united pilgrimage to this temple of convenience. It's a place where Republicans and Democrats can agree that the brisket sandwich is life-changing, where vegans and carnivores can bond over the homemade salsa options, and where everyone, regardless of their background, can appreciate the simple pleasure of a clean public restroom.

And the fudge… oh my goodness, the fudge. The generous samples of rocky road and tiger butter instantly transported me back to a childhood of homemade fudge and ice cream in Michigan. I forgot about death and taxes for a quick second - the most pressing issue in my life was which six flavors of fudge I could fit in a $15 box. I half expected to walk into the spotlessly clean bathrooms, look in the mirror, and see my 10-year-old self with a Great Clips haircut and a chocolate-stained grin.

I couldn’t contain myself from keeping that child-like energy alive, so I bought a Buc-ee’s tshirt. Nothing says "I've seen the promised land of convenience stores" quite like a Baja-Blast-colored tee with a grinning beaver plastered across the chest. I just felt so comforted and alive in there. It felt like a haven of abundance and truly an oasis from the idiots on I-35.

As we hit the road again, I couldn’t help but think that maybe what America needs isn’t another political debate or viral Substack post. Maybe we need more Buc-ee’s energy. The energy that screams ‘America’ in more ways that you can imagine.

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through my eyes

This month’s photo comes from a special photoshoot, shot in my dining room. This is the track cover for the upcoming single of Did I Hear Dare? - the college-born band of one of my bestfriends, Anthony. It’s the little projects like this that spur a bit of midweek creativity and force me to create some thing unique. The lampshade is a taped posterboard from Dollar Tree, the wine is the cheapest Anthony could find at Trader Joe’s, and the blurry figure is my dear Anya, who made a last-minute cameo beyond her bedtime on a Tuesday night.

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microdosing

[this segment is just a note-to-self… don’t @ me]

A few weeks ago, Anya claimed that she didn’t have a vice. She felt left-out from a world where people resorted to half-a-dozen cold Heinekens or a pack of Zyns on a particularly heavy day. It’s a weird sentiment, but one that felt quite familiar. Especially in a society that runs on the fumes of hyper-productivity, AI-optimized workflows, magical green juice and consultants for every damn niche… it’s easy to feel obedience turn to insanity.

I would agree that we need certain indulgences - spontaneous departures from mundane routines. They don’t have to be wild addictions that ruin lungs or habits that break the bank, but rather simple - and generally, harmless - breaks from monotony. Microdosed vices, if you will.

For example, Anya treats herself to a boba tea approximately once a week, tapping her phone like a modern-day magician summoning sugary pearls and swirly brown sugar. It’s a little act of rebellion that keeps her sane. It’s self-care disguised as a micro-vice, which is very okay! I’d even say that it’s necessary!

It’s necessary to indulge in little bits of "negative" or "regressive" behavior to maintain a sense of stasis. Life isn't a game of rack-up-the-points like they portray in "Black Mirror" or "The Good Place." If it were, we'd all be stuck in the Bad Place, and not the fun one with all the demons and chaos.

I cannot count the number of chocolate-covered pretzels or sour gummies I’ve stolen from the ‘fresh goods’ aisle at grocery stores. And I didn’t steal them out of hunger, but rather a tiny revolt against the tyranny of perfect obedience. This is the equivalent of me giving a middle finger to the universe that demands you stick to your diet, follow all the rules, and color within the lines.

And while America hasn’t solved the opiate crisis or resolved shoplifting misdemeanors, it does a stellar job of handing us these little ‘getaways’ and ‘side-quests’ for the sake of sanity. Take Halloween, for instance. Every year, as predictable as pumpkin spice lattes are in September, Halloween stores pop up out of nowhere. One day it's an empty lot or a defunct Blockbuster, the next it's a wonderland of polyester superhero costumes and rubber masks with that distinct "made in a factory that also produces tires" smell. Are you going to waste time wondering what store used to be there? Or will you indulve in the diverse assortment of deranged masks, neon hairspray, and sexy [insert literally any profession here] costumes. It's like the retail equivalent of a jump scare, but instead of screaming, you find yourself brainstorming ad-hoc costume ideas for prize money that you’ll never win and friends that might question your sanity for years.

Remember when McDonalds teamed up with Travis Scott to make a specialty burger for a week? What a beautiful and utterly useless collaboration; I’ll never get that $5 back, but what a thrill it was to throw money at that little indulgence. But it’s just part of the ever-evolving landscape of capital-hungry corporations that keep us on our toes! Just when you think you’ve seen it all, Starbucks rolls out a Unicorn Frappuccino and Kohl’s drops the craziest Black Friday deals on air fryers! America makes it so easy to return things for free, such that I can shamelessly order 5 pickleball paddles from Amazon, try them all out and return the 4 that I didn’t like. Microdosing vices!

Cynics might argue that this is all part of some grand capitalist scheme to keep us as working peasants, too distracted by shiny objects and sugar rushes to gain dominance over the rest of humanity. But who are we trying to be, Thanos? That’s way too much responsibility and commitment; nobody expects us to balance the universe. America was designed to enhance the ease of being human; why not lean into that? Buy a Costco cake and eat a third of it while binge-watching the most annoying season of Love Island. RSVP “no” to a Shrek party and then show up in a Donkey outfit anyway. These aren’t character flaws or shortcomings, they are microdosed vices.

They’re necessary indulgences. These are little moments that make us feel alive, that remind us we’re not just NPCs in a Gameboy, but rather wonderfully weird, occasionally irresponsible human beings.

I prefaced this segment by saying it’s a note-to-self because I understand that much of what I write in this newsletter is in favor of a life of efficiency and optimized productivity. I’m a product of the system and this society; that’s the only way I know, so forgive my hypocricy. But I’m clearing my cache, and realizing that life is too short to always be on your best behavior.

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link dump

what happens when a tire company praises indian food

maybe the only way to live forever

we’ve got high hopes for the 2028 olympics

the modern day equivalent of Frank Ocean’s ‘Facebook Story’

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My growing energy and dedication to this newsletter has also influenced me to be more of a verbal thinker. It’s interesting to feel that transition, putting words to emotions/visuals/experiences, rather than the other way around. This newlsetter has become something of a lifeline for me; even on the toughest of months, it gives me an outlet for expression.

And August was an especially tough month, with Austin’s sweltering heat, overdue mealprep, and my overly-demanding routines. I hit a couple of mental lows, enough to delay this letter by a week or so - but I promised 24 letters this year and I’m not one to break promises. Thank you for reading Loaf of Thought and keeping up with me through Notes, comments, and DMs. Let me know what bits of vivid imagery you picked up from this month’s letter!

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have a lovely September, folks

If you’re particularly bored, read my last post:

the human hard drive