Hello, readers.

Across London, in Soho and Camden and Boomsbury (well, Bloomsbury, if you want to be less explosive) and, perhaps, other places, there is a cafe called Yumchaa. They make a golden, soft, delicious lemon drizzle cake which is gluten free and, well, I suppose I’ve already mentioned its being delicious. Another thing they do is have all of their tea out for to smell. More places should let you smell their tea. I like the couches, too. More places should have couches.

Mike Nichols died this week. Here are things to read about that.

He was, like most of that breed of stylish New Yorkers transplanted from elsewhere, a self-invention.

His version was the man who quipped dryly from behind dark or tinted glasses, perhaps in a turtleneck and perfectly fitted trousers, and surrounded himself with friends and associates who if they couldn’t be witty, were at least gorgeous or rich. I always felt a special, tickling shiver when I saw him in public, where he seemed to stand and speak with the droll finesse you always hope such idols will possess in real life but seldom do. via

When I think of him, I think of Angels in America, The Graduate, and Closer–the first being a thing I’ve still never seen, but should; the second being a film I have seen and adored for its ability to be, in turns, rebellious, absurd, and self-aware; and the last being a film that revealed to me at a still tender age the manner in which honesty might shield within it the deadly thrust of cruelty.

Also. This weekend will feature an absurd amount of sitting on couches, eating pancakes, and drinking coffee in honor of binging Gilmore Girls. If you’ve never seen that show, and you love shows capable of inflicting referential whiplash (seriously, there is an entire wiki devoted to the show’s encyclopaedic wit), as well as shows in which things like this exist, then you should probably watch it. Few shows depict the generational lovestrife of grandmothers, mothers, and daughters, quite so well. If, any. I’m sure there are some. I can’t think of any. Oh, except for this. Still. Very few manage to, as I’ve said, include things like this.

Happy Friday, readers.

I’m pretty sure Lorelai and Rory would’ve loved the hell out of a Mike Nichols marathon. This seems like a good weekend for it. Brew some coffee, or tea. Find a proper couch. Get to work.