5 Things That Could've Been My Favorite In October if Taylor Swift Didn't Exist

First of all, some housekeeping — I have not forgotten about college football, but I haven’t had time to do the job up to my standards over the last couple days while preparing my first couple women’s hoops pieces for The Sporting News and my latest appearance at Her Hoop Stats. Let it be known, though, that I am in no way beholden to the selection committee’s rankings release and may even endeavor to get my Storylines out before their propaganda show because fuck those guys (and because it’s a way to distract myself from anything else that might be happening on Tuesday, November 5).

With that very important disclaimer out of the way, on to the equally important business of telling y’all about the things I loved in October other than her majesty Taylor Alison Swift, who I’m not on speaking terms with because she mashed up “The Black Dog” and “Haunted” without me being there a couple weeks ago. Also because I respect her boundaries as a (mostly) non-psychotic Swiftie. And yes, fine, mostly because she has no idea who I am and would never speak to me.

We Love You, Fat Joe, I Swear

I’ve been blessed to see the Eagles win their only Super Bowl, Villanova win a pair of men’s basketball championships including its first in 31 years (“Gives it to Jenkins for the Championship, YESSSSS!!!!”), and most recently watched the Liberty win their first championship ever. As a New Yorker for the last 26 years and counting who roots for exactly one New York team, this one might’ve been the sweetest championship I’ve witnessed yet, made even more so because I was with Bestie 2 (circa 2005) with whom I share exactly one team.

My favorite part, though, isn’t the elation at the end — this blog is far too silly for a wholly sincere entry like that! No, my favorite part is one of the random memories I’ll cherish from that night forever. The moment I looked around sold out Barclays Center at halftime realized that absolutely no one — not one single fucking soul — was “all the way up” for halftime performer and Celiberty Row staple Fat Joe with the Libs trailing by seven at halftime and playing like absolute shit. It wasn’t you, Joe, it was just really stressful! Anyway, two years in a row now Joe has given me a WNBA Finals halftime memory after he did some surprisingly bangin analysis at halftime of the 2023 clincher for the Aces.

Before the Championship, there were NACHOS

Bestie 2 and I convened a few blocks from Barclays with, we thought, more than enough time to hit up (restaurant I love and am redacting the name of because I’m describing it in less than ideal terms) for some extraordinarily dope (redacted restaurant-identifying food) before Game 5 of our WNBA Finals sporture tipped off. That was, until I got to the door and saw two things that gave me even more pause than the looming specter of winner-take-all basketball: a “no more sandwiches” sign and a long line of people who looked hungry and annoyed. Fuck it, I said, let’s just go to Shake Shack, it’s across the street from Barclays and I don’t wanna be late.

Bestie, being smarter than me, had a better idea. The BBQ place across the street from where we stand is supposed to be good, let’s go there. I was skeptical (I’m always skeptical) but conceded mostly because she’s generally right, except for when it comes to her belief that she can do literally anything successfully three out of five times (and I do mean anything). Maybe they have nachos, I thought, relenting to her wisdom.

I recall that thought confidently weeks later because I’d had it every single time I’d eaten anywhere for the previous two months. I also know confidently when it started because that happened at the precise moment Bestie got some extraordinarily mid nachos at Wembley Stadium during the Eras Tour that gave me an itch that persisted for two months despite being, I reiterate as strongly as I can, as mid as you can possibly imagine a stadium nacho to be.

I’d already tried to scratch the itch a few weeks earlier with some honestly pretty satisfying microwave nachos using the absolute lowest-end ingredients imaginable, but all it had really done was make the craving that much stronger for some really good ass nachos. Reader, wouldn’t you fucking know it, on the menu at the BBQ place across the street from (the redacted other place) were some really good ass brisket nachos. Without those nachos sending me into Game 5 in a zen-like state, I honestly don’t know if I could’ve handled the anxiety of that absolutely brutal basketball. It’s a damn shame I didn’t think to take a picture.

Bestie 1 reminded me The Everglow existed

This is the part where, most months, I would tell you about whatever new album I was most obsessed with. I listened to and enjoyed a bunch of new music in October 2024 (namely by Japandroids, Porridge Radio, Katie Gavin and Amyl & the Sniffers), but I don’t think I spent as much time with any of it as I did with an album that’s pretty damn old at this point, Mae’s The Everglow, which came out in March 2005 and blows my ass away every time I rediscover it.

It’s not that I ever actually forgot The Everglow existed, but at some point in transferring my music library from one device to another over the last 20 years, my CD-ripped Everglow files from 2005 disappeared without my realizing. I probably hadn’t heard a single song from it for years because it was no longer on my carefully curated, 3,000+-song “Most Played” playlist…until Bestie 1 (circa 1998) mentioned she was seeing Mae open for Something Corporate (another early 2000’s fave of ours) early last month and, like those infamous Wembley nachos reanimated in human form, gave me an undeniable itch. Can now confirm The Everglow is every bit the masterpiece it was damn near 20 years ago.

Forged in Fire Finally Had a Furious Fucker!

Like pretty much everyone (whether they admit it or not), I have a couple reality shows I really love. One of them is, of course, the unquestioned GOAT of reality television and my second-favorite sport, Top Chef. The other main one for the last few years has been Forged in Fire, which basically takes the model established by Chopped and applies it to making knives and swords. Four smiths enter the Forge and proceed to make a blade which meets very specific parameters in three hours out of anything from a massive ball bearing to steel they have to salvage from a vintage car. After an elimination, a handle-making round, some knife testing and another elimination, the top two smiths go to their home forges and get several days to make another, much larger historical weapon once again to very specific parameters.

It’s a stupid good time and I’ve honestly learned quite a bit about the art of blade smithing watching its 200+ episodes repetitively over the years. Without being able to look up stats the way I would for sports, I’m inclined to say a majority of the eliminations over the years have been because weapons suffered a catastrophic failure during a test, but quite a few of them also happen because people fail to meet parameters, sometimes by the slimmest of margins. Somehow, over all the years and episodes, one of my favorite things about this show was that no matter how nitpicky the parameter failure — and I’m talking about missing by a fraction of an inch, an ounce of weight, or a couple of degrees of curvature on a blade — it seemed like every single eliminated contestant went out saying the same thing. “The judges are 100% right to eliminate me.”

That is, until a couple of weeks ago when a Season 10 contestant thew an absolute temper tantrum after he watched his competitor’s weapon break into three pieces during testing only to be told that his had failed (multiple) parameters and wouldn’t be tested at all, thus losing to a shattered blade. Did the producers perhaps set him up by having him go second in testing when they knew the judges would never actually swing his weapon? Absolutely. Do I respect the hell out of that move as a producer every time they do it? Same answer. What fun is the show if they don’t do any tests and I never get to hear Doug Marcaida tell someone “overall, it will kill?”

Live Music Bookends

This has gotten rather long (I have a brand to uphold!) so I’ll keep this part short, but if I went to any shows in a given month it’s a good bet that they’re all among my favorite things. There were several in October and I loved them all, but the first and last were ultimately the ones that stood out: Bleachers at MSG and MisterWives at Brooklyn Paramount on Halloween. As a quick aside, every show from now on should be at Brooklyn Paramount, which I visited for the first time. That place is fucking gorgeous, has excellent subway access, great sound, and everything else I could want including one of the biggest bars I’ve ever seen in a music venue. No notes. More importantly, shouts to Bleachers (first clip below) and MisterWives (second), two relentlessly positive bands whose work has dragged my ass through a lot of dark times over the many years that I’ve been following them both, perhaps none darker than our current electoral nightmare.

Last But Opposite of Least, Bestie 3 (circa 2019) Got Engaged!

I honestly still don’t know much more than that (and that her betrothed is cool!) because we are bad at making dinner plans and both prefer to catch up on big stuff in person (fingers crossed for our Veterans Day plans). I do know she deserves all the happiness in the world and it is earnestly speaking one of my favorite things that happened last month, or any month.