6 Jun
It’s ironic that we’re all so busy chattering away about Anthony Weiner’s penis right now. Don’t we have more important things to talk about than a sexless sex scandal, say for example the two world leader recently accused of sexual assault? It seems in no small way related that we are obsessed with crotch shots and all too forgiving of those who commit sexual assault.
3 Jun
Last night’s Moby Awards featured some of the best book trailers in town. Where was I? Around. I totally should have gone, but I thought my time was better spent writing and reading books than watching mini-films about books I’ve read. Anyway. I was wrong. Inspiration is good for the soul. Here’s my personal favorite for The Instructions by none other than my literary crush Adam Levin.
26 May
Reading: Why freelancing basically stinks (and yet I wouldn’t have it any other way)
The case against the em-dash: I frequently use —and abuse—this now standard form of punctuation.
Watching: Forgotten Cave of Dreams, Herzog’s beautiful documentary on pristine cave paintings (and what it means to be human)
Pregnant in Heels: I can’t explain it, but I’m obsessed. Ob-sessed.
Viewing: Alexander McQueen at the Met. No, you don’t have to be into fashion to appreciate his genius. I was standing behind two old ladies who exclaimed, “That’s that bondage” in response to a leather-clad manequin with a face mask. Yes, his clothes are slightly sadistic-looking. So what? I want bring back the feathered hats and wear a dress made of oyster shells now.
5 May
March 18th, 2003 was the day the U.S. invaded Iraq. That evening, I went riding around Los Angeles in the back of a van and illegally putting up posters on bus stops and mailboxes. “It’s a globe, not an empire” they read beneath a large mother earth. Even then I wasn’t naive enough to believe Washington would listen. There was just an aching, urgent need to be heard.
27 Apr
I’m doing this again. Apartment hunting. I’m already sick of it. Rather than actually scour the depths of the Internet for suitable accommodations, I thought I’d simply describe what’s out there. There’s a lot out there, I’m just not quite sure what’s out there for me.
I’ve identified a few different prototypes that advertise on Craigslist’s sublets/temporary section:
The creepy scammer: Usually everything is in caps and TOTALLY UNBELIEVABLE, but few actual details about the apartment are made clear. Sometimes these are downright obvious ploys for cute girls to live with sleazy guys (“Submissive girl needed to clean my Williamsburg apartment”). There’s nothing wrong fetishes (mostly) but they have their own section.
10 Oct
Last June, I wrote the following review of New York’s Movement Research Festival for a publication that shall remain nameless. Thought the article was never published, I left the festival’s performances and workshops feeling inspired and determined to use language in innovative and unexpected ways. Experimentation in any art form is both frightening and exhilarating, and I wanted to “publish” this article regardless of circumstances because it is a reminder that the only goal to strive for as an artist is to becoming closer to ones true self.
Artist K8 Hardy spent last Saturday night grooving and gyrating at FAÇADE/FASAD, a Red Hook performance space, in nothing but her underwear, a blond wig and old-school sneakers. She moved with such infectious joy and lack of inhibition – at one point, she got into plank position and repeatedly thrust her pelvis toward the floor – that a rabid audience could barely contain its cheers.
12 May
I’ve wanted to see Hair for ages, long before I donned long skirts and dabbled in hippiedom for a few years in college. I knew I’d love the music, the costumes, the astral-projection- groovy- can you dig it style of the entire thing, but I didn’t know I’d be slammed with one of the most powerful and moving pieces of theater and social commentary I’ve ever seen.
3 May
When a pigeon almost flew in my window, I remained nonplussed. The rat with wings sat in my windowsill and stared at me. I stared back. So what if I contract avian flew? What’s the worst it can do, poke my eyes out? It flew away, and I considered myself victorious.
28 Apr
What'chu lookin' at?
Ravel’s Bolero is the song I listen to when I’m gearing up to work. Its measured tempo, predictable and steady, suggests forward motion and productivity. This is exactly what I need to enter the fray of my own mind before I turn amorphous thoughts into concrete ideas. It was also the song Courtney Love chose accompany her lackluster entrance during her concert at Midtown’s Terminal 5 last night.
31 Mar
I don’t know Cameron Dabaghi , but I’m going to imagine who he was for a few moments. I’m first going to think about why people choose to take their own lives. I know all the psych book answers, but they don’t seem sufficient. Then I’m going to think about why someone so young would choose such a dramatic, visible way to die. Then I’ll ask myself the obvious question: of all the ways to go, what would prompt someone to choose to plummet 86 floors from the Empire State Building?
Then I’m going to wonder what it looked like on the way down, who might have seen him falling, if he ever had a moment of unfettered freedom before splattering on the pavement, and when, precisely, he actually died.
It doesn’t seem fair to speculate on the life of a total stranger, but I’m doing it anyway. It is facile to stay that suicide is an escape, and that for some, it seems the only option when hopelessness and desperation take hold. Once one decides to die, how does one decide to go? The living never get to hear the stories. Some likely go the way of least resistance, at least pain-wise. Others, however, think of the impact on others. I imagine that Cameron didn’t feel heard, because he didn’t go quietly or privately. Had he overdosed in his dorm room at Yale, we likely would never have know his name. A tale of torment and anguish needs a dramatic finish, and I wonder if he jumped simply because he wanted a powerful ending to his story.
