Hellooooo,
A very happy day to you. It’s time for the SWEETIE Weekly, obviously.
When I relaunched SWEETIE on Substack I always intended to do two newsletters a week, with the SWEETIE Weekly being a secondary feature and a weekly essay being the heavy hitter.
The problem is, I’ve been finding it difficult to collect my thoughts in a cohesive manner, and I certainly don’t want to force a two-bit essay about something I’m not sure I care too greatly about. 🚨 Boring alert 🚨
I’ve been trying to exercise patience instead of habitually pulling the trigger too soon — spiritual people call this living in a lack mindset. Essays will be coming soon, when I have solidified my residence in an abundance mindset. Hopefully they’re somewhat worth the wait.
And if they’re not? Too bad hehe. Let’s get it.
🤗 SWEETIE RATES 🤗
Calling people losers
Donald Trump may have been wrong about many, varied things, but there is one thing I can never begrudge him for — his habit of calling dissenters and rivals “losers.'' It’s honestly a flawless insult, perfectly pointed in its juvenile nature, a thousand times more effective than just calling someone the c-word.
There is something so powerful about being a grown adult and wielding the insult “loser.” Humans, at our core, fear being a loser more than almost anything in this world. We live our lives in direct opposition of being labelled a loser. We make friends, we go out when we don’t want to, we pursue higher education, we strive for jobs higher on the corporate ladder. All because we don’t want to be perceived as a loser. Yet here I am, wielding this perfectly crafted insult to condemn those around me.
That guy ghosted you? Loser. Person bumped shoulders with you on the escalator and didn’t apologise? Loser. Went “pspspsps” to a cat and it shirked you? Loser.
This video of Phaedra Parks calling someone a loser not only lives in my head rent free, I should actually be paying her.
Calling someone a loser and truly meaning it is poetry in motion, catharsis in its truest form. Use it sparingly, but use it happily.
The Orange by Wendy Cope
I have made great strides to become a more positive person in recent years, loser sledging aside, and I can tell it’s working, because this poem by Wendy Cope has made me cry at least three times.
At lunchtime I bought a huge orange
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—
They got quarters and I had a half.
And that orange it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.
The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all my jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you, I’m glad I exist.
There is so much beauty to be found in life when you let the mundane become luxurious, when you can hear plainspoken prose profoundly. I’m glad I exist.
A talk by Charlie Kaufman
I feel deeply within my soul that I should be friends with Charlie Kaufman. It’s not so much a parasocial relationship as it is a vibe. I just want to have lunch with him and talk about Terror Management Theory and how much he clearly hates the MCU!
I digress. This 2017 talk by him for the BAFTA Screenwriters’ Lecture Series touches on film and creativity and mass production in a way that makes me feel way smarter and infinitely more interesting by proxy. Bookmark it for when you have 41 minutes and need a little inspo.
🤢 SWEETIE HATES 🤢
TikTok tarot card readings
We need a Royal Commission into why this genre of video not only exists, but also seems to overwhelmingly pervade my FYP.
You might say “Stop watching them, then.” No. I don’t want to. One recently predicted I would soon be rich AND people who wronged me would seek forgiveness and I can’t risk scrolling past such fortuitous predictions.
Moustaches
Much like mullets, the moustache has been ruined due to over-saturation and careless application. I blame every single 23-year old man who watched Top Gun: Maverick.
On the bright side, I do predict a return to form in two to three years.
French Bulldogs
I have always despised French Bulldogs, from their incessant loud breathing, to their gas, from their chode bodies, to the twisted skin around their horrible little faces.
I love dogs, but these musty mf’ers have gotta go. I don’t want anything bad to happen to them, I just think it’s time for them to be phased out in the next few dog generations. Not only is their existence tortuous for me, it’s also terrible for them — they have more health problems than Jair Bolsonaro. Enough!
See ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya 👋
xxxxxx