OK, so going forward I will 1000% be doing my best to spend all my dining-out dollars at smaller, locally-owned establishments, but if you've ever had the bread basket at The Cheesecake Factory, you know why my children (and, okay, me) chose it for our first restaurant meal in...four months? Twenty years? Several decades?

It's been awhile. I was ready for some food that I did not cook myself.

So for this post, let's answer all your burning questions about what a Cheesecake Factory experience is like in Covid Times.

If you buy one thing I recommend in your entire time reading RG, it should really be this chair. It's so comfortable I literally sleep in it. Like, overnight.

Based on Jamie Stone's rec, I tried LaNeige's Lip Sleeping Mask. I was initially skeptical, because isn't it basically just...lip balm? But it's WONDERFUL. Absolutely the perfect texture, with zero stickiness or gloppiness, and leaves your lips so soft. I see no reason to only wear it to sleep.

If you're looking for a Father's Day gift, these memoirs sound so lovely. (Six Gift-Worthy Memoirs About - and for - Dads, via LA Times.)

A couple of years ago, I got in an unexpected confrontation with a woman at a party. It was during the era right after Trump was elected, when I found myself constantly angry, unable to stop talking about the state of the world even with people who didn't especially want to talk about it themselves - and who certainly did not want to talk about it at a party, when they were theoretically supposed to be having, you know...fun.

Eventually, this woman - I had never met her before; she was an old friend of the party's hosts - and I got to talking. She was the only black woman at the party - not especially surprising; the suburbs outside Silicon Valley aren't exactly known for their diversity. She told me about growing up in the foster care system, and introduced me to her wife. We talked about politics generally, and about the Martin Luther King marches specifically, and then started discussing how to raise the next generation of children with greater awareness. I told the woman about how my son and I had made posters of MLK quotes together to carry at the march, and how I'd framed them on our wall as a reminder to him. I remember feeling all proud of myself, telling her that (ugh, performative; ugh, self-congratulatory, just UGH).

All of a sudden - surprisingly then, unsurprisingly now - everything changed.

Last night, Kendrick and I were talking about Christian Cooper - the man who videotaped a white woman in Central Park flipping her lid and telling the cops that "an African-American man" was "threatening" her, despite the fact that he was demonstrably doing nothing of the sort - and George Floyd, whose story is so heartbreaking it defies description. About how easily the former story could have taken the the turn that the latter's did. Our son overheard us, and started asking questions. We answered as best as we could, while I tried to dance around the parts that sounded too scary for an eight-year-old. I don't know that I should have done that.

I don't know what to do.

How do you explain to a child that systematic racism is a "we" problem, when they may not be old enough to contextualize beyond "me" (e.g. white people did this --> white people are bad --> I am white --> I am bad). I have struggled also to explain the gross injustices suffered by women in this country to my son, a white boy who will one day grow into a white man. He sees t-shirts that say "Girl power" and I try to help him understand why he can't wear a t-shirt that says the same about him. I am trying to raise a nice boy. I also remember the things that the "nice boys" at my liberal arts university did to their female peers.

Anyone else freaking the fuck out about money? Oh hi there! Thanks for coming!

So look: Shopping isn't happening right now. Which is actually probably great in some ways, because the present moment is teaching us just how little we actually *need*. I, for example, have recently taken stock of my not-inconsiderable shoe wardrobe, and discovered that I wear exactly three of the pairs I own. Two of those are pairs of Birkenstocks, and of those two pairs of Birkenstocks, one is a pair of Birkenstocks that my dog is hell-bent on eating, with astonishingly successful results. Never, ever again in my life - and this is a promise that I feel very comfortable making - will I wear four-inch leopard-print stilettos. That ship has sailed, my friends.

Pour one out for the leopard-print stilettos.