TO THE TUNE OF MEREDITH MARKS' DJ SET
Revelations at Weho Pride
Hello old friends - and to all the new faces, welcome! Thrilled to have you join the party 🍸
Actually, party feels generous at present. The vibes in LA are rancid right now. Our “government” is picking up real flesh-and-bone people off the streets and disappearing them into thin air (by willing participants, no doubt delighted to finally get paid for their racism). Rays of light have pierced the mood-appropriate marine layer in Venice, but for what? What sort of summer vibes are set by agents hunting down food vendors lining the corners with their tastes of sunshine? Maybe if these ICE agents took a page from their names and chilled out a bit, they wouldn’t feel the need to be such onerous s-c-u-m.
It’s been a heavy few days in Los Angeles in what has been a heavy year for my city. I’ve been getting texts from friends and family around the world, worried about LA turning into a “war zone” when the reality is far from it. These “rioters” are Angelenos aware enough of their privilege to use it to protect their neighbors. As I saw in the weeks following the fires (and have ever since) LA is a city full of love. But make no mistake - LA might not look like she can fight, might not want to mess her beach waves up, but at her core she’s a scrappy, bad bitch.
There really is no graceful way to transition from that, but let’s try! I was in considerably better spirits two Saturdays ago, spending it with one of my dearest friends, Emily, and her three (almost four) year old. He is totally scrumptious, the kind of cherub blessed with insanely long lashes and sunkissed apple cheeks that make me want to give up every vice in hopes of preserving any youthful goodwill left on my visage. He’s also a remarkably good hang - goofy, curious and very sweet. I may be biased but I find my friends’ kids delightful because how fun! A mini version of them!
As someone who has yet to feel maternal stirrings of my own, I treat every outing with my parent-friends like an archeological dig. I’m not a natural with kids and like a lot people my age, have serious qualms about my ability to parent in this increasingly chaotic world. As an only child, I gravitated towards grown ups, pretending I was on their level (to their credit, they usually let me). The truth is, I actually feel more and more like a toddler everyday, less in a whimsical way, more in my constant search for answers (does anyone know what the hell is going on?). Sometimes when someone asks me a serious question, I’m tempted to turn around and see if perhaps there’s another adult (you know, a real one) who could answer instead.
In a way, Chili Padi was born out of this curiosity, an experiment in introspection and sharing how I see the world around me. If you’ve been along for the ride, you’ve probably noticed a lot of my content is about growing up (and the growing older that comes with). I launched the newsletter on my birthday last year. I’ve mused about death here. Yes, this is part culture catch-up, part live-journal, but maybe it’s also an outlet for the ramp up to my midlife (crisis). In absence of doing the thing expected of women in this stage of their lives (having children), I’m throwing myself headfirst into Trying New Things (and some navel-gazing). I’m trying not to crystallize in my thirties, to keep fluid and limber, even if it means sometimes falling on my face. I’m just a woman trying my best to live even if that sometimes means making the wrong choices - like continuing to watch And Just Like That.
Like most millennial woman, I was weaned on a (probably too early) diet of Sex and the City (yes, I do think I’m channeling Carrie when I sit here and type my little words). It is my comfort show and three seasons in, I’ve come to terms that AJLT is nothing like its predecessor - in fact, it helps if you pretend it happens in an entirely different universe, one where the last survivors of an apocalypse are trying to recreate a really great show from distant memory. It is smooth and shiny and utterly devoid of kinks (of any kind), a Barbie vagina. But it is a brain massage, which meant it was perfect for watching prostrate on my couch on a Monday afternoon.
If you’re wondering why I was on said couch on said Monday, it’s because I spent the Sunday evening prior at Weho Pride. I’d tagged along with two friends to Outloud Festival because a joyful outing in the dire dumps of 2025 sounded nice (thanks Avery and Josh!) I don’t take for granted how nice it was to be at Pride. It was joyful and fun and full of the kind of creative and self-expression that seems to be dangerously in peril with each passing day. But I also went because I really wanted to see Real Housewife Meredith Marks’ DJ set.
If that Mad Libs-esque sentence is throwing you for a loop, I’ll assume you’re Bravo-uninitiated. Marks is an original (and current) cast member on the Salt Lake City franchise, a show I initially scoffed at and now acutely miss every week it’s not airing. She is known for a lot of things - being a bathtub aficionado. A caviar connoisseur. The mother of at least two children who possess a monotone cadence identical to hers. One could say she’s unafraid of trying out a bold hairdo. But an aspiring DJ? Not once during the show’s five year run have I ever heard her express her musical aspirations.
I’ll spare you the details but between an extended brunch, a wine pitstop and raiding a trailer backstage for lukewarm tequila, we only made it to the last fifteen minutes of her set. Marks was in her usual semi-fugue state, sunglasses on while her son Brooks shimmied next to her to the tune of Jojo’s seminal hit “Get Out” remixed with her much-memed reaction from E3S4 (the season’s annual girls’ trip, this time to the Trixie Motel in Palm Springs):
If this is all sounding very low-hanging fruit, it might be - but I’m short! (and Iove fruit!) I’ll leave critique of her actual DJ skills to the experts but standing there watching a 53 year old woman play to a not-insignificant sized crowd, her gay son dancing next to her in a silver sequin-ed button down, clearly dazzled by his mother, I felt profound affection for her. Actually, I found it beautiful, aspirational even! I grew up with messaging that suggested women accept that the best parts of their lives are over well before mid-life - that 30 should feel like a cataclysmic event - so in its own way, this felt like a revelation (plus she closed her set with “Waiting for Tonight”). As my friend Mariel would point out the next day as I texted her my recap, “[Meredith] probably never would have thought [she’d DJ Pride] in her early 40s.” I can’t speak for Big Mere, but it’s likely true!
I recently read Less, Andrew Sean Greer’s Pulitzer-winning novel (sounds daunting but is actually a breezy, fun read) and there’s a scene that’s been rattling around in my head since I finished. Our hero Arthur Less, a somewhat-successful, somewhat-failed novelist decides to outrun his impending fiftieth birthday (and ex’s wedding) by fleeing town. His spiral turns literal as he circles the globe. The scene in question: Less is at a dinner party in Paris, flirting with a new possible paramour, when he recounts running into a (different) ex. This once vital, handsome, rugged man who’d shared his bed was now unrecognizable - and bald.
Less has the realization that anyone he meets at that moment will only know him as he is then - they will never know him as he was as a child, a teen, in the youthful bloom of his twenties and so on. They will only learn about those chapters through the stories he tells, and he isn’t sure he’ll be the most reliable narrator (are we ever about ourselves?). There’s something jarring about the thought that this moment—right now—is the youngest you’ll ever be again. That all your potential, everything that might still unfold, resides in who you are today. And yet, there’s a strange kind of freedom in that too: this moment could be the first step toward something entirely unexpected. Your next Big New Thing might be just days, months, or even years away. Who knows what your “Meredith Marks DJ-ing Pride” moment might be?
Alright y’all, an inelegant ending but I promised myself I’d get this out today. Sometimes incoherent times call for incoherent ramblings, c’est la vie :)
WHO’S THAT GIRL
Looks like Princess Frostine got a glow-up. As my friend Jo pointed out, “[I don’t] remember Candy Land being so sassy!”
Andy Cohen, give this diva a ring!
AND?
I finally made my much-anticipated sojourn to Mexico City which was as delightful and delicious as hoped. Peter and I went with my parents, breaking out of our usual Santa Barbara/Ojai routine and I totally get the hype - as tempted as I am to tease everyone who’s utterly charmed by their CDMX jaunts, I think more Americans need to get out and see the world. Please, cross more borders - it will only make you a more informed, empathetic and open-minded person!!!
Some highlights:
Stayed at Ignacia Guest House. If traveling in a group, opt for the Terrazza rooms on the top floor that share a terrace + fire pits.
Masala Y Maiz - Sublime. I’m still thinking about that perfect mango martini (big congrats on their recently-acquired Michelin star).
De rigueur Contramar leisurely lunch. Yes we got the strawberry cake.
Picked up a beautiful Spanish gold necklace (a gift from my dad to “remember the trip”) at the Saturday flea market.
Mezcalita count - that’s between me and g-o-d :)
That’s all I got for ya this week. I hemmed and hawed on hitting send because I couldn’t surmise what value I’d be adding to all the noise, but if I made you giggle even a bit, then it was worth it. It’s funny how we feel the need to justify carrying on with our lives as evil lurks when said evil goes about its business, seeking no validation! 2025 has been a messy year, but we only get out of this mess by taking care of one another, by caring for our community - don’t let the bullies tell you otherwise! <3
🥹😘❤️
I’m here for the revelations