So the NBA bubble thing is weird. And the social justice messaging on the jerseys is dumb. So dumb. SO DUMB. But I am also weird and dumb, and I am fascinated by the uncanny valley of the NBA’s reboot. The crowds are computer-generated avatars! Some people in the gyms are wearing masks and some aren’t, which seems not productive at all! Joe Ingles has “Ally” on his jersey. This is strange as fuck, and I love it!
But let’s forget about that right now. Instead let’s talk about brunch! I miss it so much. And no, I don’t give many shits about brunch culture, which is different than brunch. Brunch culture is business cards with too many titles. It’s waiting in a line only because you assume the place must be lit if there’s a line. It’s bottomless. It’s bigen. It’s D.C. niggas, basically.
No, I’m a brunch purist. I like to wear nice clothes to brunch too, but for me brunch is about the food. I don’t give a shit who’s there. I don’t even give a shit about who’s with me. I’ll brunch all by myself. I treat brunch like how female protagonists in Tyler Perry movies treat life. I DON’T NEED NO MAN WITH ME…UNLESS HE’S A GOD-FEARING, LIGHT-SKINNED MECHANIC! Just point me to the waffle station, the omelette station, and the niggas who cut meat and shit station, and I’m good.
Which is why I need to hit whichever brunch spot LeBron James was headed to last night. How do I know he went to brunch somewhere? Because this is the optimal brunch-fit. Fashionable, but breezy and comfortable enough to stuff your stomach with beignets. It is also the walk of someone who just got a text telling him his table is ready. He looks both urgent and UNBOTHERED. And also maybe hungry!
Plus, last summer was the first time I was confident enough to wear above-the-knee shorts in public. And now there’s nowhere to wear above-the-knee shorts anymore! I’m not going to bare my thigh meat in Giant Eagle.
Anyway, I miss brunch food. I miss brunch-fits. I miss post-brunch naps. I need brunch back!