#44: Meghan Markle, Duchess of Bees
Death By Consumption
3/4/25 - 3/10/25
Not to take it to a place of Covid right off the bat, but today marks, insanely, 5 years since it was declared a pandemic. Doesn't that feel like much longer ago? Surely five years isn't right — we've been in this for 100 years, at least. In some way that's a relief; time isn't passing as quickly as I tend to feel it is. At this rate I'll never grow old, which is wonderful news! But for me, it's also been five years since my dog, my best friend since I was 21 years old, the mysterious, hilarious creature known Bark Antony, died.
It's hard to believe it's been five years, and yet this was the first year I almost let the anniversary pass me by without even noticing. Which is progress, I suppose! I still feel weird, somehow, all these years later, when I talk to other dog owners. They all belong to a club I once belonged to, and when I have a dog story to contribute to the conversation I never know if I should, because it usually results in me absolutely tanking the mood when I have to answer follow-up questions with, "Well, he's actually dead now." I often feel like the Ghost of Christmas Future, lurking in the corner to remind dog owners that it all ends miserably and there's no escaping what's coming. (Invite me to parties, I'm fun!)
But I've finally reached the point where it makes me happy, not miserable, to think about him, where he can visit me in a dream and I find it lovely instead of letting it fuck up my entire day. Which is nice! And, look, if I can speak for a moment as the Ghost of Christmas Future: everyone dies, which includes beloved dogs, sure, but that also includes powerful men who want to destroy the world and everything good in it. So that's optimistic!
This week, I became absolutely consumed with Meghan Markle's insane new Netflix show, I saw the new Bong Joon Ho which I felt fine about, I was let down by Errol Morris, I was one of those clichéd men who love to think about the Roman Empire, and I discovered you can't revisit your favorite restaurants of the past.
"With Love, Meghan", season 1 — on Netflix
I have never seen someone as un-self-aware but so deeply self-conscious as Meghan Markle. (Though, actually, her last name is now Sussex, as she RUDELY corrects her "friend" Mindy Kaling, saying through clenched teeth, "It's so funny how you keep saying 'Meghan Markle.'"). This insane, inane show is a pointless exercise in Meghan's frequent attempts to redefine her position in the public eye, and once again she flops in the funniest way. Meghan has nothing to offer us, no unique homemaking wisdom to impart, no interesting ways of looking at the world, or at least none that she's willing to share with us. This show is an abomination on every level. I loved it.
The first episode starts with Meghan and some long-haired man opening a beehive to retrieve fresh honey. "They're busy... busy bees," Meghan whispers, grinning at her clever turn of phrase. It is at this point, 2 minutes into the first episode, when I first wondered if Prince Harry had lobotomized Meghan. As the beekeeper opens the hive, Meghan stands there, babbling the confused thoughts of an Instagram addict taking her first acid trip: "I'm trying to stay in the calm of it... it's beautiful to be this connected," she gushes, as the bees swarm. With different music, this could be the opening scene of a remake of The Exorcist. A woman possessed by a demon, whom the bees have decided to call mother. In another episode she tells us, "When I think of honey, I think of bees." Same! This woman loves bees. All hail Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, our insectoid queen!
Rather than showing off her famous friends, the first episode desperately attempts to ground Meghan in our reality by featuring her longtime friend Daniel, who she tells us she met 15 years ago when he did her makeup on Suits. (Later, when Daniel brings this up, she acts confused. "Did we meet on Suits?" she asks him. This is one of many signs that leave me worried she actively has an untreated concussion.)
Before Daniel arrives, Meghan makes a gift basket in preparation for his "stay" at her house. (Unfortunately, we never get to see her house — the entire show takes place in a house, but Meghan repeatedly tells us, "this is not my house," and never explains further. At one point in the episode, when she's forcing him to do his fifth craft of the day, Daniel openly wishes he could go back to her real house. It feels as if the producers are holding everyone — including Meghan at times — at gunpoint.)
Once we meet Daniel, it seems as if Meghan is meeting him for the first time as well. They do various tasks around the house, like making a basic pasta they each have a single bite of, brewing tea, decorating a cake, and making candles. Their conversation throughout is some of the stiffest and most painful banter ever caught on camera, and Daniel embarrasses Meghan on her own show by having twice her personality. Some examples of real sentences Meghan says:
Daniel, eating the pasta: "It's so fucking good."
Meghan, Duchess of Sussex: "It's your choice of adjective I love."
Daniel, enjoying the pasta: "It's so cozy."
Meghan, Duchess of Sussex: "It's like that Beyoncé song 'Cozy'."
(So true! When something is cozy it is like that Beyoncé song 'Cozy'.)
At one point, while making candles from beeswax, Meghan helpfully tells us to "get wax from your local beekeeper."
When Meghan stiffly walks over to a cabinet to get Daniel a mug for some tea she brewed "for your allergies"(???) I gasped at the reveal that Meghan was barefoot. The Duchess is showing feet? FOR FREE?
At the end of the episode, a train goes by and we hear its horn in the distance. "Toot toot," Meghan says, giggling like she just said something funny. This woman should not be on camera, she should be in hospital!
As Tina Brown, the queen of royal-bashing, said recently, Meghan is "always brilliantly behind the curve." This woman's brain is perpetually stuck in 2012. (At one point, making a pb&j sandwich, she sings, "Peanut butter jelly time!" and I felt a cold shiver down my aging Millennial spine.) There's no reason for this to exist other than filling Meghan's days. She has no unique point of view, and isn't even sure how to fill time on a basic, TV-making level. When she's mixing a cake, she simply says, "Now add the dry ingredients to the wet," and then we watch her stir in silence. Ina Garten, Martha Stewart, even Giada all had unique perspectives and distinct personalities — as Meghan stirs her lemon honey cake batter in dead silence, with nothing but the sounds of a spoon scraping a bowl, you're desperate for a Martha-esque pop of texture, a simple, "Doesn't that just smell fantastic?" — but Meghan, as always, has nothing of value to contribute. Near the end of the premiere, she is thrilled to reveal her big secret, which is that she uses Ziploc bags sometimes.
It seems as if Meghan sits up every morning in a cold sweat, with one thought jolting her from slumber: am I Rachael Ray or am I Gwyneth Paltrow? And, caught between those two opposites, she flails. Sometimes, she's giving us tips on how to make a balloon arch on a budget(???). Other times, she's inviting her "polo friend" over(!!!). She wants us to experience and envy her fabulous life, but every once in a while she suddenly remembers that everyone watching her is poor as shit, so she guiltily throws us a bone: I'm sure there's a way for you people to get stuff kind of like mine, somewhere. Have you looked on Etsy?
This is an insane show made by an insane person for an insane world, which makes it perfect for the moment. It is a portrait of a woman at the height of her delusion, and, honestly? I wish I could join her.
Mickey 17 (2024) — at Nitehawk Prospect Park
I'm starting to suspect Bong Joon Ho might dislike capitalism! Mickey 17 is significantly wackier than Parasite (it's much more in line with the majority of Bong Joon Ho's films, so it'll surprise and polarize people who only know him from Parasite), but, idk, I enjoyed it. This feels like one of those films people will try to wring discourse out of, and I don't have anything to say more than "it was fun but I'm sure others will disagree and that is okay."
Toni Collette was the star of the film, for me, as woman married to a powerful, possibly evil man, whose sole purpose in life is to consume delicious sauces. (Which is very Duchess of Sussex, actually!) And I, personally, think it's a fantastic thing when big-name directors win an Oscar and then use all that goodwill to make something totally insane. But Danny, I can hear no one asking, If you liked this but hated Poor Things doesn't that make you a hypocrite? No! Poor Things was a director using his blank check after the Oscars to make a stupid, annoying movie that pretended towards enlightened feminism but was mostly just bro humor and SNL-level acting. Mickey 17 was significantly less annoying and less self-satisfied, so I deem it acceptable. Next question!
Chaos: The Manson Murders (2024) — on Netflix
Unfortunately, Netflix can make even Errol Morris suck. Chaos the book was a mind-blowing investigative work into all the conspiracies and weirdness surrounding the Manson Family murders, investigation, and conviction. By the end of the book, you're practically overwhelmed by the sheer amount of just strange evidence that makes you feel, simultaneously, that the Manson Murders were part of a larger government conspiracy, and also that you're insane for thinking this. So I was excited to see what Errol Morris would bring to adapting it for a documentary — especially since the book's author, Tom O'Neill, has said since publishing the book he's gotten even more tips and information sent to him, nearly enough to write a second book.
Instead, you get roughly 60 minutes of a simple recounting of the murders, and then about 30 minutes dedicated to vague, ominous statements like, "But there's so much more to the story..." OKAY, SO TELL US??? Occasionally they hint at the weirdness behind the murders — the links between Charles Manson and the government's MK Ultra program to use acid as a mind control tool, most notably — but you barely even touch the surface before we're back into a simple retelling of the basic story. The documentary is almost so bad and so basic that it could make you wonder if Netflix isn't in on the conspiracy, purposely watering down the revelations for the sake of the government......... but I think the safer assumption, as always, is that everything on Netflix is trash.
Emperor of Rome: Ruling the Ancient World, by Mary Beard (2023) — paperback
Mary Beard, I love you so. Forever my favorite Roman historian, Mary Beard excels at writing accessible but deeply informative books on every aspect of Ancient Roman life, and her new book is no exception. This one is focused entirely on the emperors, but with a focus less on specific emperors, and more on the institution of emperor — what it meant and what it took to rule Rome. She covers nearly 250 years of history, jumping from emperor to emperor, but she's a very forgiving historian, telling you up front: "We don’t need to worry if we can’t always tell our Marcus Aureliuses from our Antoninus Piuses. Most ordinary Romans probably couldn’t either.” The stories about the individual emperors are exciting and informative, but what matters most here is the job of the emperor, and what it can tell us about how all Romans probably lived.
What I love most about Mary Beard, and what makes her so exciting to read, is her attempts to get you as close as possible to the real Romans who actually lived. She lingers on any evidence we have to clue us into the real individuals that existed, the breathing, flesh-and-blood people who hoped and dreamed and struggled and made jokes thousands of years ago. She doesn't bore you with endless lists or superfluous facts, but dials in on the most compelling and emotional evidence. Like when she shows us a thrilling piece of graffiti found scratched into the wall of the imperial palace in Rome, seemingly drawn by a slave, depicting Jesus on the cross with a donkey’s head (arguably the oldest depiction of the crucifixion in existence), which she theorizes could have been scratched as a joke at the expense of another slave's belief in Christianity. To think that an unnamed slave scratched a joke about another guy's religion into a wall and his rude trolling reached us 2,000 years later... I simply can't think of anything I love more than shit like this!
Throughout the book, even with its focus on the men at the top of the pyramid, Mary Beard sneers at the classical depictions of Roman buildings as empty, echoing marble spaces. If nothing else, she wants you to understand the rich, lively texture of this world, to bring you as close as you can to being able to smell and hear it. She works tirelessly to fill the rooms in your mind with all the cluttered furniture and artwork, billowing curtains, smoke, incense, and the real breathing, arguing, living people that were actually present.
And, of course, if I'm talking Ancient Rome I have to talk about how GAY everyone was. Mary, the gay icon of historians, always throws us queers a bone or two — one of my favorites, in this book, was the detail that everyone was kissing each other on the lips at all times (except when it was occasionally banned due to massive herpes outbreaks), and that men would obsessively track their social status based on whether the emperor kissed them on the lips or if they got demoted to kissing his hand. (But based on the physical descriptions of the emperors we have from their physicians' surviving reports, I'm not sure you'd want to kiss most Roman emperors on the lips, to be honest. Everyone was nasty!)
Even more gay, there's a fun moment when Mary details the letters between Marcus Aurelius and his tutor, discovered in the 18th century, in which they write very dramatically and homosexually to each other: “Goodbye, breath of my life,” Marcus Aurelius ends one letter. “Should I not burn with love for you, when you have written to me like this?” As Mary points out, because so few letters actually written by Romans — let alone letters written by Roman Emperors — have survived, it’s hard to know what to take from these examples. Were these two men lovers, or was this simply how all Roman men spoke to each other? (After all, they were all kissing each other.) Or was this a fussy upper-class thing? Or was it how emperors showed affection to their closest subjects? Or, the theory I found most charming, Mary Beard wonders if this style was particular to these two specific men's personalities — maybe Marcus Aurelius and his tutor were just silly billies together, who enjoyed signing off letters with campy proclamations of love. It's this thoughtfulness, open-mindedness, and almost desperate need to get as close as possible to the real people that will keep me loving Mary Beard for the next 2,000 years.
Liars, by Sarah Manguso (2024) — library ebook
For some people, this book will probably resonate deeply. For me, it fell a little flat. It's a short, angry book in which a woman details her disastrous marriage to a man who may or may not be emotionally abusive — but, as the title suggests, we aren't ever really sure how much to trust the narrator. The husband does seem particularly awful, but the narrator is devastated to lose him, and it's left up to the reader to fill in the gaps as to why. When I started the book, I couldn't figure out who it was for — as someone who doesn't have kids, reading pages and pages that detail the drudgery and misery and self-annihilation of giving up your life to care for a child is a brutal slog, but also a bit of, like... yep! That's kind of how I imagined it would be! And if you do have kids, I'm not sure you'd want to spend your precious solitary reading time reading someone else complaining about feeling exhausted every day, crying, wondering where her friends are, etc. And that's all before the husband really starts treating her bad. And then covid hits! It's a lot, but ultimately there is something clarifying about a book this short, fast, and angry. It was a book I didn't really enjoy, but one that somehow got under my skin by the end.
Chongqing chicken wings and the Phil Khallins cocktail — at Mission Chinese Food, Manhattan
Mission Chinese was, for a time, my favorite restaurant in NYC, and if you visited me during that stretch of time I'm sure I brought you there. The food was electric, and even back then it felt refreshing to be able to get into a popular restaurant without a reservation and without too much hassle — typically, you would just show up, lightly flirt with the genderless hosts to try to move up to the waitlist, and then drink PBRs next door until they called you. When they shut down due to a combo of the pandemic and some allegations of workplace abuse, I was bummed, but, as depressingly noted in my intro to this email, life moves on!
But maybe life doesn't move on, because Mission Chinese has reopened in a new, smaller spot in Chinatown, with a fairly similar menu to the old one. The mouth-numbing chongqing chicken wings are back, as are other favorites like the kung pao pastrami, alongside new dishes that have the same vibe as the old menu, like cold noodles made with Sprite. Even more shocking was the discovery that they had brought back my favorite cocktail on the old menu — one of my favorite cocktails in the world — the Phil Khallins, a gin cocktail with coconut milk, kaffir leaves, and chilis, that somehow tastes like Tom Kha soup (why it isn't called the Tom Khallins instead has driven me absolutely insane for a decade now).
I don't know if it was the much tamer space (the original Mission Chinese sometimes felt more nightclub than restaurant) or if the menu had changed more than I thought, or maybe it was just a product of time's miserable effects, but we left the new Mission Chinese somewhat disappointed. The wings made me drip sweat as they used to, but my mouth felt less numb and tingly, like a punch had been pulled somewhere. The thrice-cooked bacon and rice cakes were oil-logged and also less spicy than we remembered. And, even more disappointing, the Phil Khallins was even, somehow, off. It tasted more like any old gin cocktail, rather than the original, unholy mixture of booze and soup. We had been excited to nab a last-minute reservation, until we saw the three tables surrounding us sit empty for most of the night. We left Mission Chinese feeling only somewhat satisfied, and mostly sadder and older. I started this email writing about the passage of time, and here we are at the end, once again learning the unfortunate lesson that you can't ever return to your youth. But there are hundreds of new restaurants to love, so, really, why should I even want to go back? There's too much to look forward to.
HOT TIP: did you know you can reply to this? Or even forward it to someone you love and/or hate? It's just like a real email!