Earlier this week, my credit card was stolen by the Dark Web TM. (I assume Experian just gave the number to someone with good energy.) I learned that this had happened because my bank sent me a nice note to ask if I had by any chance intended to purchase $456.36 of clothing from Fashion Nova at midnight my local time. It will shock you to know that I had, in fact, not purchased $456.36 of clothing from Fashion Nova at midnight my local time, not least of all because I was asleep and have never bought anything from Fashion Nova because I am too old to own clothing that is that flammable/ruched/artfully ass-distressed.
I’m American and alive, so of course my credit card info has been stolen before; this is not my first rodeo. (Nor my most traumatic, which absolutely goes to the time I had to pull cash out in an ATM in Dakar before Bank of America turned off my card for good in a situation in which a new one could not be sent to me—memories!)
The process has actually gotten much easier, all things considered; the card took a few days to get here, but the new card number and info was all available in the Capital One app basically instantly so that I could save it to my password manager and bop around updating my various recurring charges on all the services they’d identified for me. I’m no worse for the wear, and now I have a card that I can tap like a fancy bitch/European.
But it was still jarring, in the way that it has continued to be jarring when real life seeps into quarantine, which feels like all I write about anymore. The world is on fire and someone is still stealing my credit card information from somewhere where the engineers lied about bothering to encrypt things. The air in Palm Springs was hazy due to fires and my cat still puked on the rug. Someone shot a protestor in Portland and I’m still sad I got dumped and am being inexplicably texted C- memes. It’s disorienting.
But the physical card is here now, and it’s Wednesday, which means it’s my burrito treat night. (The entirety of burrito treat night is that I buy a burrito. The burrito is the treat.) Things could be worse.
Shit to read
Everyone says this essay about COVID and loss is great and just brutal and they are correct.
The cities are fine.
Hahahahahah fuck these people.
A genuinely horrifying story about the ways in which our medical system obeys the cops.
Fascinating piece on porn and big data.
Quit your jobs, stop working for him.
I like this poem about not always wanting to die.
I am down a plate and like three glasses since this all started.
When the Reductress murders you, it really murders you.
It’s fun when you get to hate the OP.
Absolutely fuck this little shitstain.
Shit to eat
Find some shrimp in your freezer and dump it in a bowl of water to thaw. Shrimp is magic.
Turn the oven to 325. Simmer 4 cups of water on medium-high. You can leave and go somewhere air-conditioned while that’s happening.
When it’s boiling, add a hunk of butter.
While the butte is melting, scoop out a cup of grits and a teaspoon of salt, and let them be.
When the boiling has returned, toss them in and stir. Wait until the boiling comes back and then put them in the oven, covered. The recipe will say to do this for 20 minutes, but you should do 25.
At this point prep the shrimp if you didn’t buy shelled and deveined shrimp, but if you didn’t, just… do that, instead. Who’s buying shell-on shrimp.
Grate a big hunk of cheese, chop up whatever scallions you have waiting around, rinse off a pint of cherry tomatoes, and chop up a bell pepper and a couple of cloves of garlic.
After the grits are done, pop them out of the oven and stir in the cheese. Salt and pepper as needed. If they’re soupy leave them on low heat, otherwise cover and stick on a back burner.
Heat some cast iron on medium-high, and melt whatever bacon fat you have around and a knob of butter. Toss in everything you just chopped.
Stir it around for four or five minutes, and then move heat to high.
Add the rinsed cherry tomatoes. Go until they start to explode, which is fun to watch until you get hot tomato juice splat at your eye. Salt everything.
Toss in your lil shrampy friends. Salt them.
The key here is salting, is what I’m saying.
Once the shrimp are cooked, add a little bit of water and some lemon juice or the weird lemon essence you keep in your pantry for carbonated water; stir things around.
At this point it will be an hour after you meant to eat dinner because you have failed to learn that you cannot keep trying to start making dinner at 7 if in fact you wish to eat dinner at 7. But that’s okay.
Spoon grits into a bowl and top with shramp sauce. Enjoy in front of the TV.
(Adapted from Claire’s shrimp and grits recipe.)
Shit to listen to
I spent a remarkable amount of time today writing support tickets while listening to Alestorm, a bunch of furious Scottish metal dudes who like to sing about being pirates. I am 14 years old and “your pirate ship can eat a bag of dicks” is a funny line.
Is anyone else watching Dicktown? It’s delightful.
Shit to buy