JAN26 OBSESSIONS

we are so back

I love winter in New York. I experience it as phenomena. It’s like I’ve never seen snow before. I step outside at 2 in the morning, and it’s flurrying. I have no choice but to twirl in the wind chill. In moments like these, I realize that Charli is right, everything is romantic. Even in my deepest hues of blue, I find that it is impossible not to romanticize New York.

I sit with my roommate on the couch perusing the Criterion Collection while it’s freezing outside, and she says, “There’s nothing like New York.” My heart flutters with virginal purity. There’s nothing like New York. Even in my most colossal heartache, I am still able to witness perspective. I usually can’t hold it in my grasp for too long, but I think what cannot be contained is magic. Joy is gossamer, so you have to enjoy it without gripping it too tightly. Joy cannot be held, let alone choked.

Through the cold, miserable, and hopeful month of January, I permitted myself the gift of laughter. This is what I was preoccupied with during this time. This is what made me laugh. This is what made me cry.

Janelle (far right) is Queen!

1. Sister Wives and the Polygamist Lifestyle

I walk into the living room and find my roommate lounging on the sofa with the remote control, or the clicker as she likes to call it. The clicker in question is an Xbox game controller. She is perusing shows that air on TLC.

“What are you going to watch?”

“Sister Wives.”

“Oh.”

I sat down. The show starts. I was immediately transported to Utah shortly after the stock market crash of 2008. I am in heaven. I am in hell.

Three women are “happily” married to the same man. Nineteen children. A blended family in a home specifically designed for polygamist families. They have their own roles. There’s Janelle, who finds her identity in career and work. She is financially savvy. She is intelligent. She isn’t chatty, but when she speaks, every word is to be taken seriously. There’s Christine, the maternal house mother. The dream when it comes to motherhood. She is found cooking dinner in the kitchen and brushing her daughter’s hair before bed. She is compassionate and loving. However, she doesn’t take shit. She is fiery and fights back when she sees wrongdoing. There’s Robyn, the newest wife, who has her finger on her husband’s sexual pulse. Happy husband. Happy … whatever. Then there’s Meri, a woman who struggles to find her identity within the jingle-jangle of the home. She also has bad hair, but that’s neither here nor there.

I watch the insanity unfold, and I find that - it’s fairly sane. I understand the life they are trying to lead. I could never do it, but I have no choice but to support them. They are the embodiment of “it takes a village.” They are the social bastardization of the sanctity of marriage, the keyword: social.

“What do you think?” she asked me. “Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” I ask in return. “I need to become a sister wife.”

I was kind of joking, but at the same time, maybe I’m not? I don’t know. I love having a community. I don’t want to have multiple wives, but I want to be a sister wife. Yes, I’m a gay man, but let’s not get caught up in that. Don’t make it a problem. It’s just a glitch in the system.

Also, this is peak reality television. Not a single plot line can be found. In one episode, they are driving from Salt Lake to Vegas and having car trouble. That’s it. Nothing is happening. Somehow, it captures me, enraptures me. Not just me, but America was watching somewhere between Obama’s inauguration and Occupy Wall Street.

I walk down the street and think of Christine’s tagline constantly: “I like sister wives, I wanted the family, I didn’t just want the man.” I really understand that concept. Who doesn’t want a family - isn’t that what we are all looking for anyway? We all just want a group of people who understand and support what you do. Funny, it’s hard to find - an impossible adventure. Maybe they figured it out, or maybe I am desperate for connection.

2. Marty Supreme Score

I walked into my local coffee shop shortly after having a mental breakdown in my apartment. One of my favorite baristas is a girl my age with Jane Birkin bangs. She is a film nerd, she works in film production, her husband has acted in crime procedurals like Law & Order and Blue Bloods. Needless to say, the woman knows her shit. She knows what’s good and what’s bad, and she usually loves it all. She has a taste for everything.

I hear unfamiliar music, which is rare when the two of us are involved because we share the same musical taste. I ask her what she’s playing before ordering my 20-oz iced coffee.

“Have you seen Marty Supreme?”

“No, not yet.”

“Bitch, you need to run to the theater.”

She was obsessed with the new Safdie film. I didn’t like Uncut Gems, but I loved the score. Apparently, both films share the same composer. I have yet to see the movie, but upon leaving the cafe, I started playing the score from my earbuds. It’s sonically cinematic. I was walking across the street while pretending to be Nicole Kidman in a long coat. Pretending to perform some clandestine and unauthorized act.

Only tangentially related, but Gwyneth Paltrow is hot.

fuck out my way when you see me

3. LGBT by CupcakKe

My ex is driving me home in the snow because he offered and I didn’t want to take the subway. He was going into Chinatown anyway. We are silent on the road as we are stuck at the light at Bartel-Pritchard Square. He is from this neighborhood, reminiscing with nostalgia and a pinch of disdain. I am half-present, heavily focused on the snow with fear that I will die in the front seat if we swerve.

Suddenly, I hear a familiar sound. I can’t place it. It’s something from my twenties. It sounds like vodka, whiskey, tequila, Marlboro Lights, ketamine, laughter, and horror.

“What is this?”

“It’s LGBT by CupcakKe.”

“Hm.”

We listen in silence.

Nothing has ever been funnier. Two people carefully navigating the snow in Brooklyn while CupcakKe raps “Fuck out my way when you see me, I’m rolling with the LGBT.”

I started playing the song on loop, typical George behavior. Washing dishes to LGBT. Taking out the trash to LGBT. Smoking cigarettes to LGBT. Cooking to LGBT. I was quite literally rolling with the LGBT. I still am. I always have; I guess.

Me asking RuPaul to open my DMs

4. Cyberbullying

“George, you have a serious problem,” that’s my friend Chloe after I told her I have the unspeakable urge to cyberbully Lisa Rinna. However, Rinna blocked me on Instagram 3 years ago because I cyberbullied her in the DMs.

I have a history of DMing celebrities and saying unhinged things. I don’t know, I have that troll in me. It started with Taylor Swift in 2015, when I accidentally sent her a meme from the defunct Instagram account @KimsOldFace. My one friend has a very similar name to Swift. Needless to say, I sent the meme to the wrong Taylor S. I suddenly felt a rush of joy as I sent Swift an image of Kim Kardashian before surgery.

Now, my Instagram DMs are filled with different celebrities and me acting insane. I don’t know, I just get a rush. I used to comment on Carnie Wilson’s Instagram lives during the pandemic. I’d try to manipulate her into thinking we knew each other.

“Carnie, we need to hang out again!”

“Carnie! I showed you that cake recipe!”

“Carnie, when can we go to the farmer’s market again?”

My poor manipulation tactics did not work on her. Shocking, I know.

Fast-forward to now. I have relapsed into the world of cyberbullying. I’ve been watching RuPaul this season, not my typical show; however, I have fallen into the world of Michelle Visage commenting on the tucks of drag queens from Minnesota and Georgia.

Mandy Mango, a young drag queen from Philadelphia, was sent home after she outperformed a drunk swan named Briar Blush. It didn’t make sense. Mandy danced circles around Briar. It was clear Ru and the entire team were against Mango. It was a travesty. I unlocked my phone, and before I knew it, I was sending Ru a message.

“You sent Mandy home after the saddest [vocal] performance of your career. Get a vocal coach and some integrity, ya old bag!”

Not the worst, not the best either. More importantly, why am I compelled to cyberbully? It is a tasteless and irrelevant act. Some might say it’s thirsty, but I disagree. I don’t do it for clout; I do it for laughs. The only one laughing is me.

2016. I’m the one staring into the lens.

5. 2016

If you’re an online millennial, you know what I’m talking about. I’m talking about 2016. For a week straight, the entire generation was obsessed with it as if it were a new discovery. As if it were the Slinky toy in 1945. Everyone was posting images of themselves 10 years ago, but it was not just nostalgia. Everyone was talking about it as if the ghost of 2016 had become corporeal in 2026. People were giving “We are so back!” while posting images of themselves 15 pounds thinner and 25 heartbreaks prior.

I joined in, and to be quite honest, I agree. We are so back! It’s 2016. I am seeking the joy before the Trump regime started. Yes, we live in reality - but I have to find joy. Maybe if we all collectively exude 2016 resilience, maybe it will push the fascist regime into the sea. I don’t believe that will happen - but we need joy. We need to feel young. If I am going to fight against the political hellscape of the time, I need to trick my body into thinking I’m 24.

I love you guys. I really do feel like we are a little family here on the internet. I hope you guys enjoyed the silliness. Anyway, what has captured your heart in January 2026? Comment below, DM me, or call me.