Mar 31, 2010

Consistency is always comforting

As long as I can remember, my dad's office has contained various consistent elements. Note the random rock, the framed work from my Early Period, the hieroglyphics on the board, and the strange, anonymous doodle.
And here he is, on the other side of the room, operating the machinery.

Mar 30, 2010

The gloomiest day of the year

The walk started out alright. I find this weather pretty dreary, but Mirabelle seemed to think the wind just provided more things to sniff.
Besides, I was feeling pretty proud of my ingenious (I thought) ability to fix what was essentially a very broken umbrella.
This feeling did not last long.
Have you ever noticed that umbrellas seem to break at exactly the moment you need them most? During the rest of the walk, while awkwardly trying to keep the broken umbrella from flying me into outer space, since it was only at the end that I finally got it to close, I came up with a number of other things that share this unappealing quality: zippers (on overstuffed pieces of luggage), kitchen appliances (when overstressed by preparations for a fancy dinner), and vacuums (overfull with dog hair, say, an hour or so before one of your parents is coming to visit).

Molly and Mirabelle write]

I wrote something about Mary Karr for This Recording. You can find it here."/ ]\ (the slashes and brackets were written by Mirabelle, even the one in the title! I think she was trying to express she was ready for her walk.)

Mar 29, 2010

On everyone being right all the time

I haven't seen that new TV show The Marriage Ref, so I'm just going on my fantasy of what it is, but in my fantasy it's pretty great. So great, in fact, that I would consider going on it, even though there is no specific disagreement that I am feeling particularly driven to debate in front front of a few million viewers (I assume there are many millions of viewers, in fact, because who doesn't get entertained watching couples argue?). I'm sure Matt and I could come up with something. The idea of being able to bring an ongoing debate to a panel and a referee (I think this is how it works) and have them declare a clear winner just sounds so appealingly clear cut. Besides, I am pretty sure that regarding most of our disagreements, were objective onlookers to get involved, there would be one clear winner and that winner would be me.

(I am not, by the way, suggesting this would be true regarding every argument I have ever had. There have been some heartbreaking, dark arguments in my past that only a sicko could have been entertained by, where both of us definitely lost. Luckily, though, that is not how Matt and I argue.)

But of course everyone always assumes that when it comes to arguing their points are the more sensible. That's why people argue in the first place. Matt and I aren't married, so presumably we wouldn't qualify anyway, but later I asked him if he might consider going on the show with me if we were. He was washing the dishes. "Yeah, I guess I would," he said. And when I asked him why, he replied, "Well, because I'd win."

This would have been a good entrance to an argument, if we'd been in arguing frame of mind. Instead, he finished the dishes and I finished reading whatever I was reading and we made fish tacos for dinner and then watched The Lady and the Tramp and went to sleep.

Mar 28, 2010

Miracle cures

Back at the end of January I spent the night at a friend's house engaged in a conversation with three people, one of which I know very well, and two of which I don't. The interaction surprised me both for its lack of lulls and its intimacy. For reasons I don't totally understand, I revealed much more of myself than I normally would in such circumstances, and I left feeling both disencumbered and a little bit embarrassed. Maybe this is the way a flasher feels, relieved at having revealed things normally hidden, and ashamed too, because there's a reason you normally keep private things more private. Although I'm not really sure what motivates flashers.

Ever since then I've been thinking about something one of these people said. It had to do with crutches, and in order to explain how the conversation got there I need to go back a week earlier, to another night when I was talking to a friend of mine who is a devout Muslim. I had told him that the way religion offers such a sureness about the purpose of life and how to live it sounds wonderful, but that I've never felt that's reason enough for me. "You mean that you wouldn't want to use it just as a crutch?" he asked. And I said that I guessed that was what I meant. To which he replied that a long time ago someone else had said the same thing to him, and he had told them that yes, maybe religion was a crutch, but, if so, he had a broken leg.

At some point that night in January the conversation turned to religion, and I mentioned this comment my friend made, and then one of them went off on a tangent and said the thing I keep thinking about. Which is that it is silly to accuse someone of using a crutch when you mean to imply they're doing something they don't actually need to be doing, because no one ever uses crutches if they don't need them. Crutches are uncomfortable, and they leave your armpits sore, and they make it really hard to get up and down stairs. They are sort of a last resort type of situation.

I don't mean that people don't sometimes cover up one problem with another, or go about trying to fix something in ways that won't actually help. Obviously we do this all the time. But I am exactly the kind of person who would get weird about my needing crutches even if I had a severely broken leg. I am hard on myself like this. And I think what my mind has been trying to get to in the way it keeps circling back to that comment is this: that if I could just be a little kinder about the broken things I use crutches for, maybe in the long run that would be a lot more helpful in getting me off those crutches than the nagging accusations I go on and on about instead.

Mar 26, 2010

Oh dear

Ha! (The caption from an article in the New York Times about what life was like for the editor of House & Garden after the magazine closed.) Her bed:
(Just kidding that's not really her bed.)

Mar 25, 2010

Some questions

Question 1: Would the impression one gets of a person through reading his or her blog be further or closer to reality than that of an exhaustively covered celebrity?

Question 2: Are adults less likely to fall down stairs than children because our balance improves, because we learn how to catch ourselves, or because we move less quickly?

Answers: Anyone?

Mar 24, 2010

Internet gold

Aviva Yael's list of the worst band names at SXSW is really funny. Seriously. Don't take my word for it.

Tumblr joining fail

“Hipster” has become the de-facto Big Other for culturally conscious urbanites who are too hip for xenophobia but too weak to resist the latent psychological impulse to villainize people based on nothing more than personal whimsy.

Okay, so I know I really should just join Tumblr already because that would make reposting this a whole lot easier, but this is from Matt Langer, via Emily Gould, and I thought it was a good point.

Mar 23, 2010

A few things

What happens to key lime pie in the refrigerator that makes it so much better the next day? Literally, I mean. Because I made some last night and today it's definitely twice as good, and it's all the same ingredients.

A while ago I had two roommates with whom I often discussed the random chemical mysteries of cooking. What do eggs solidify when you heat them up? And why does heavy cream whip but not half and half? I miss those roommates. Most of our forays into baking ended with the three of us sitting around the kitchen table discussing such questions for a long, long time (we took breaks to discuss the status of various crushes and to smoke cigarettes). While we did make an effort to look up the answers, none of them have stayed with me.

Also, and completely unrelatedly, I have an essay about being unemployed in the Christian Science Monitor. You can find it here.

Mar 22, 2010

Mirabelle, squirrel killer

Mirabelle caught a squirrel today. By the time I got to her, she had dropped it and the squirrel was splayed out on in this awful elongated way, its spine broke, nudging its snout against the grass and unable to move the rest of its body. It made me hate Mirabelle for a moment, who was prancing around as if she'd just won a medal. And then I burst into tears, which took me by surprise. It reminded me of the time in elementary school that some kids killed this bird during recess and I cried about it for hours.

Clearly the squirrel needed to be killed, but how? I considered bashing its head with a stick I saw but wasn't sure that was a good idea. Beyond that all I could think to do was go to the nearest house and knock on the door. I had that little of an idea of how to handle the situation. Which made me feel like a bit of a failure of a human being, since I eat meat, and it seems the least I should be able to do is put an animal out of its misery.

The woman who answered the door was nice about it, but they didn't have a gun or anything and her husband was out and she didn't really know what to do about it either. Something will eat it eventually, she said. She told me a few times she was sorry that had happened to me, which was nice, and she seemed really nice, but at the same time it didn't really make me feel better, cause whatever happened to the squirrel was a whole lot worse than whatever happened to me.

Finally I went home and called my dad, who told me I could get a shovel and use it to cut off its head. But we didn't have a shovel in the garage. Meanwhile it started raining. And now it's a few hours later and all I can think about, still, is that squirrel nudging its snout against the grass, and nothing ahead of it except getting wet and then dying, and how I should be able to do something about it but I don't have a lick of an idea what to do.

Mar 21, 2010

More memoirs

"And even if my mother wouldn't tell me what she wanted, or give any hints, I was sure that she wanted me to stay with her. I took her inscrutability as a concealment of this wish. Later she agreed that this was so, but maybe it wasn't all that simple at the time. She still hoped this marriage would work, was ready to put up with almost anything to make it work. The idea of another failure was abhorrent to her. But she may also have dreamed of flight and freedom—unencumbered, solitary freedom, freedom even from me. Like anyone else, she must have wanted different things at the same time. The human heart is a dark forest."

That's from the section of This Boy's Life where the writer (Tobias Wolff) is explaining why he decided not to move to Paris and let his uncle adopt him. I took the book out of the library recently and discovered that someone of a like mind apparently took it out some time before me and conveniently marked all the passages I would like the best with a small black line. Except for the one above.

Mar 20, 2010

What friends are for

One day when I was in college a good friend and I went running together. Since she speaks German and I speak Spanish, we decided that on the run we would try teaching each other phrases from our respective languages. Maybe we taught each other a whole bunch of stuff, but the only phrase I remember is this: meine Beine sind gemacht aus Metall. In English this means,"My legs are made of metal." This remains the only German phrase I know.

Apparently repeating this over and over, which we did in both languages, louder every time, got us pretty pumped, because I also remember that during that run we eventually started pretending our breasts were machine guns and used them to shoot down many fictional enemies.

Mar 19, 2010

Justin Bieber

So, so confused.

Converation starter

I recently happened upon what turns out to be a really interesting question to think about. Which is this: If you were given the opportunity to create one law, with the intention of changing things at least a little bit for the better in this country, what would it be?

Mine, I decided, would ban lobbyists, especially corporate lobbyists, because I think they are probably at the root of a whole world of stuff I don't like about how things are going in America. While I was at it, I would also stick something into the bill about campaign finance reform, and while I know that's a little bit off-topic, elected officials seem to stick random things into bills all the time, so I don't see why I couldn't, too.

Actually, there is one more thing would want to address in the bill, and while this one would be really off-topic, it would definitely improve my own life, and honestly the things that get stuck into bills seem to generally be of that variety. So here it is. Somewhere deep into the 1,039th page I would also slip in a few lines regarding the use of tapestries, specifically tie-dyed ones with floating "Om" symbols in the middle of them, like the (matching) ones my neighbor just hung in his windows. It would remain perfectly legal to hang these things in the privacy of your own home. However, the bill would stipulate that they would always have to remain shielded from public view.

Mar 18, 2010

Purgatory Chasm

Today I went to meet a friend of mine at a state park halfway between our respective homes. It was about an hour outside of Boston, and called Purgatory Chasm. Here is what it looks like:I did wonder why someone would have given a pleasant place such a miserable sounding name. I also wondered who decided it was a good idea to put this poster up outside the bathroom:

Mar 17, 2010

Sad Gus at the Central Park Zoo

This super annoying cold has kept me from thinking straight for the last three days now. When I take a deep breath in, it's like there's this weird little monster in my lungs, making creepy wheezy noises at the end before I breath out again. I find this slightly disturbing.

Some things that have helped include Netflix, lemon ginger tea, and wandering around the local Goodwill examining amusing articles of clothing and not buying anything. I didn't even go to buy anything. Just wandering around the Goodwill, for some odd reason, gives me this peaceful feeling.

Some things that I think would help, were I to have access to them, include a bath (we only have a shower), a steam room (my gym only has a dry sauna), a better selection of Watch Instantly Netflix movies, and a hug from this guy, as long as he did not kill me:
(When I visited the zoo recently with a friend of mine she told me this poor bear had to be put on antidepressants, and let me tell you, clearly he and I have about the same reaction to those things.)

Mar 16, 2010

More amusing misunderstandings

Two years ago, an older couple moved in downstairs for the summer. They were the parents of one of our landlord's friends, and up from South Carolina, I think, to be near their newest grandchild. We met them right when they moved in, and they seemed extremely nice, but then many weeks went by before we saw them again.

But we heard them, or at least I thought I did. It was a few days later that they started up that first time, screaming at each other and using a whole bunch of epithets I definitely wouldn't have expected from them. It was really nasty, the way they fought, which was all the more surprising because they had just seemed pretty refined. They seemed like the kind of people whose fights might involve long cold silences and nasty glances, but certainly not "You motherf*****, I told your a** I did that sh** already," or stuff of that variety, which was what kept wafting through our open windows.

Finally, there was one night when their fighting went on and on and on into the morning. They just yelled at each other endlessly. I didn't even know how they had the energy for it, to scream at each other for so long. And in the morning I said something to Matt and about just how unexpected it all was, that this nice older couple had such down and dirty fights. At which point he pointed out that the racket was coming from the front yard of the halfway house next door, and most definitely not from the kind elderly couple. I'm not sure why this never occurred to me.

Mar 15, 2010

Dying 4 U

Up until quite recently, I thought the chorus to that Prince song "I Would Die 4 U" went: "I would die for you" (4 u?) "yeah, but that don't make me want me to." Grammatically, this makes no sense. Make me want me to? But whatever, I sang along happily for years. Now, though, now I know that really the chorus goes, "I would die for you, yeah, darling if you want me to."

In my defense, I think my version makes more sense, because just because you would die for someone, it is reasonable to still hope you won't actually have to. However, Prince's version is clearly more romantic.

Mar 14, 2010

Protecting oneself against a carjacking*

Whenever I get in my car at night I invariably check the rear-view mirror to check and see if there might be a psycho in the back seat. When I don't see one (I have never seen one), I often go on to consider whether said psycho might instead be in the trunk of my hatchback, hiding behind the back seat.

It occurred to me tonight that this might actually make me more a psycho than whatever psycho might be hiding in my car.

*Do carjackings still even happen anymore? In America, at least? This fear most definitely derives from some made-for-TV movies from the '80s. I can practically still see the teased hair of the screaming lady in the front seat as the creepy guy that WAS HIDING IN THE BACK SEAT AND YOU SAW HIM WHEN SHE GOT INTO THE CAR AND WHY DIDN'T SHE CHECK IN HER REAR VIEW MIRROR?? held a gun to her head and told her to pull over or give him her money or something like that.


You know that feeling you get when there's something you should be doing but you're not doing it? I feel like I live my life permanently in this condition.

Mar 13, 2010

Crimson and Clover

Remember when it was acceptable in music videos to just show a quick succession of still images? So yeah, I don't know about the video, or the movie either, for that matter, but I sure do wish I could eat something that tasted just like this song.

The Game

A few years ago I worked in Wyoming for the summer. When I got there I didn't have anywhere to live yet, so I ended up crashing with an old friend for a few days. We knew each other from college, when he had become notable in my life as the only person I've ever regularly hooked up with for a while without dating. During the summer that this happened I was actually hooking up with him and another guy, which I've also never done since, but even though he often talked to me about other girls in his life, I didn't tell him about the other guy in mine, since I thought it would hurt his feelings. (This was, obviously, ridiculous.)

But by the time I got to Wyoming we were just friends who hadn't seen each other in a while and who could talk about the weird dirty details of our lives without it seeming strange. He was dating this girl at the time, which he told me all about, until he wasn't. A little while after that I ran into her on this hiking trail near town and she started crying when his name came up. I guess she felt he really did her wrong, which didn't surprise me in the least, although I tried to be sympathetic.

All of this is just to say that when I was staying in his attic for those first few days, it also didn't exactly surprise me to find a copy of The Game, that book about the international society of pick up artists, or whatever it was called, and their supposedly fool-proof secrets for seducing women. I think my friend had it as a joke. That's what he said, at least. But the book took itself really seriously. It even had gold-embossed pages, for crisssakes, just like the bibles you find in cheap motels.

I started reading it one night when I couldn't sleep, and I soon recognized that some of the techniques detailed in it had actually worked on me, especially negging, where a guy puts a girl down in order to make her more into him. This irritated me. But it seemed important to know what might be tried on me in the future in order to be able to avoid it, and so I kept reading the book all the way to the end.

I don't remember being negged that summer in Wyoming. A while later, though, I was out in New York with some friends when a guy came over and started negging us. He was using, in fact, lines I remembered from the book word for word. We all tried to give him some gentle hints that we'd rather he left us alone, but he didn't take them. Finally, after a while he turned to a friend of mine, a girl who I knew to have a fragile sense of self-worth at the time. "Is she always this obnoxious, or just tonight?" he said, looking to the rest of us with this sneer on his face. This was when I lost my patience with him.

"Listen," I said. "I read that stupid book, too. And I'm just gonna let you know straight up, none of us are going to fuck you tonight, so you may as well leave us alone."

Usually I am tongue tied in such moments, so it was odd to discover these words pouring out of my mouth with such ease. Besides, situations like that, out at bars with expensive cocktails in New York, are so filled with pretense that it was also odd to discover that it is actually possible to cut through them, however cruelly.

Since I had never done something like this before, I was curious to see how things would unfold. Here is what happened: the guy slithered away and the women I was with all appeared slightly shocked. Whether they were pleased or irritated with what I had done I never knew.

Mar 12, 2010

Day 5

If I'd had any idea giving up caffeine would be this hard (and alcohol too, but that part has been surprisingly easy), I'm sure I wouldn't have had the guts to do it.

Mar 11, 2010


I know this is sort of creepy, but it's sort of awesome too, right? I think?

Mar 10, 2010

Oh Heathcliff!

I tried to get through the book on tape of Wuthering Heights, I really did. But after listening to as much as I could handle on a few drives back and forth between Massachusetts and New York and only getting up to the second disc, I started to feel discouraged. Besides, the person narrating the book read everything in this really strong English accent that was already hard to understand, and that made it near impossible to grasp anything that obnoxious Joseph ever had to say. So last night I broke down and watched the Masterpiece Theater version.

I had just been so confused. Why on earth did priggish Catherine care so much about Heathcliff in the first place, when he was such a pig? And wtf, were they having sex or what? (The movie's sex scenes helped clarify both of these questions). Also, what exactly was up with Hareton and little Catherine? And was there really supposed to be a Catherine ghost roaming around? Or was that just a sort of writing "device" that was supposed to show how creepy and crazy Heathcliff was?

Now that I understand things better, I feel more confident making at least one conclusion about the time period in England. Clearly, when it came to romantic partners, these people did not have many options. Cousins married cousins, sets of siblings married other sets of siblings, and sisters even had passionate sex on the moors with their adoptive brothers. Damn. We might have too many options now, but it certainly seems better than not having enough.

Also, I think this is one of those times when that cliche most definitely does not apply and the movie actually was better than the book. At least, it was better than the book on tape.

Mar 9, 2010

Things I think about sometimes

Apparently I'm not very good at having a blank face, because many times when I am thinking about next to nothing I have been told that I look like I'm thinking really seriously about something. Much of the time this is not the case. However, there are also times when I do work hard at figuring something out in my head. For example, if you've seen me in the last week or so, here are some of the things I might have been thinking about when you saw me staring off into space:

What does Lady Gaga really look like?
Do Beyoncé and Jay-Z have a personal chef, and if so, what kind of food does this person cook?
If I was their personal chef, would they like me?
Are things worse than people say, the same, or better?
Do all the recent earthquakes mean End Times are coming? (My dad the scientist tells me no, but then there was that other earthquake in Turkey, and that made me start thinking about this again.)
What was Mirabelle's life like before she came to live with us?
Does she really care about me? Or just like me because I feed her and give her walks.
Are pet psychics for real?
If I had to live off one food for the rest of my life (not nutritionally, but taste-wise) what would it be?

About that last one, at least, I have come up with an answer: peaches and cream.

In case you were maybe having a hard day

Mar 8, 2010

I didn't go to the Armory or the Biennial

Matt and I were down in New York last weekend, but other than going to two openings (the reasons we'd come down in the first place), I didn't see much art. Even if I had, though, I can't imagine I would have seen anything I liked more than this remote-controlled cloud.

(It's by Teddy O'Connor, by the way, who you can find here.)

Mar 6, 2010

On keeping New York classy

We were leaving the Half King last night, standing by the door waiting for the rest of our friends, when we saw her—this tall girl in a very short aqua miniskirt and a tight tank top, talking to her identically outfitted friend. Maybe they were hostesses, just off work. Either that or they had perfectly coordinated their outfits. The place was loud and crowded and dark but my friends and I all noticed the first girl immediately. Pretty much every single person I hang out with regularly has at least one common characteristic, which is an almost obsessive curiosity in random strangers, and we settled down to watch how things might unfold.

The girls were both blond and pretty in a slightly bland way, but none of this really mattered because once anyone noticed the first girl's ass it was hard to look at anything else. She had a really serious situation going on. It was big and bold and tightly covered in stretchy aqua fabric and gradually, as we all stood there looking back and forth between each other and the girl, we noticed that just about everyone else in the place was doing this too—the thing was noticeable, in a sort of astounding and biblical way. And noticing that everyone else was noticing this too was both amusing and slightly horrifying. I mean, what must life be like for this poor girl with the truly perfect ass? Probably good, I guess. But still.

She also happened to be standing in such a way that her ass was sort of head level with this table, and the people crammed into it were all clearly marveling at it as well. Eventually, the inevitable happened. A girl at the table pulled out her camera, and to much excitement and cheering from the rest of their friends, the guy across from her leaned over to the perfect ass, threw up some gang signs and she took his picture. Somehow neither of the aqua mini-skirted girls noticed. Either that or this happens so often they ignored it.

"Keep it classy, New York," Brad said, shaking his head. And I still can't think of any more appropriate way to sum up the situation.

Mar 5, 2010

As I roll out of bed at 11 am

When I was a kid sometimes my dad and I would race to see who could get ready faster in the morning. This was awesomely fun, for reasons that now feel a little lost to me. But it couldn't have just been a kid thing, because it always seemed like my dad was having a lot of fun too.

After a while I came up with the idea to get up before him, get totally dressed, then get back into bed and under the covers. So when my dad came in to race I would stay in bed and let him think he was winning until I'd throw myself out of bed, completely ready, and win after all. This was even more awesomely fun.

As I was rolling out of bed around 11 this morning I was thinking that maybe it is time to bring both of these moves back into my life. Considering what time we got in last night, I have a bit of an excuse for this morning, but on any given morning it's usually no easier for me. What other adult regularly seems to need over 9 hours of sleep a night? It's definitely weird. Probably even abnormal, in fact.

Mar 4, 2010

Bad choices and good luck

I have been incredibly lucky in my life. In lots of ways, but most specifically in getting out of bad situations. Just the other night I made it all the way from New York to Massachusetts in a blizzardy snow with my car running strangely and the check engine light on. And this example, compared to many other chances I have taken, is like a baby goose to a lion.

For over a decade, in fact, I lived in such a way that an objective observer might have come to the not unreasonable conclusion that I was clearly itching to get myself into some pretty deep trouble. And some bad things happened, but nothing even remotely like what could have, which feels pretty obscenely lucky, thinking back on it, because I'm not sure I could have survived it.

I have not, however, been very lucky regarding my career. Good things have happened (although a year into unemployment, it's sort of hard to remember this), but they have mostly all been the result of a lot of hard work, and not really luck.

Maybe this is the problem, though—that my life had to use all my allotment of luck to get me out of all sorts of situations I never should have gotten myself into in the first place, and there's been a lot less luck left over for other things. Like getting a job.

Mar 3, 2010

Last snow (maybe)

A few of my favorite things:

(Snow, dogs, late night walks, strange photos of Mirabelle, staying warm with whiskey, etc.)

Mar 2, 2010

Husking, surfing, paddling, and fishing

Is it called husking when you pull all that excess stuff out of a magazine before you start reading it (the subscription cards and the unusually thick ads and so on)? Because if not it should be.

Also, while I'm on the subject of appropriate word choice, I don't think it should be called "surfing" the web. I have never surfed—I mean, I have body-surfed but it is obviously not the same—but if I ever do I can't imagine I will think to myself, Oh! This is just like what I do on the Internet. It's not like I catch waves online. Most of the time I'm just cycling through the same few sites, hoping to find new content to distract me from whatever I'm procrastinating doing in the first place. Which I imagine is more like paddling around a shallow pond, maybe while sitting on top of your surf board, peering into the same little formations of algae-covered rocks, over and over, hoping maybe this time you'll catch sight of a crab. Am I taking this metaphor too far? I think I am taking this metaphor too far. And obviously it would be stupid to say that you "paddle" the web.

Maybe "fishing" the web would work a little better. Because fishing (which I have also never done, so obviously I'm completely out of my area of expertise) at least involves patience and a lot of sitting still and hoping that something bites. And a lot of times nothing (I imagine) ever does.

Mar 1, 2010

On the grass always being so much greener

Whenever I am busy I fantasize about long, free days of nothing. But today, by far the longest, emptiest day I've had since late October, I was hit by a wave of aimlessness the likes of which I have not seen in months. And apparently my mind, when faced with all this empty space, judges the best way to fill it to be worrying. About that unpaid doctor's bill, and the strange way my car started running right as the check engine light went on last week, and the fact that my unemployment checks are probably about to stop coming much sooner than anticipated, and my complete lack of a job or any prospects of one. Etcetera. You get the idea.

Maybe the problem isn't just all this wasteland of free time, though. Because even this morning, when I was busy running errands, I was already in a completely wretched mood. After cursing off (in my head) the fifth undeserving thing/person (freaking Vogue magazine, and the teapot that won't pour without spilling, and the stupid computer at the library with the space bar that doesn't work) I realized I must be in a pretty foul mood. (Although I did find it sort of funny that it took me doing this five times to realize this, so I guess I do still have my sense of humor.)

It is possible, though, now that I'm thinking about it, that this mood was actually just a result of my having spent most of the early morning being held hostage by this horrible incestuous family, trying to smuggle a note about my situation to my parents, who thought I was dead. It really wasn't the best way to start off the day.

Just Kids

Feeling a deep Patti Smith obsession coming on. My only regret is that it didn't happen when I was 16. That could have changed a lot of things.

(The photo's by Gerard Malanga.)