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“There is no such thing as nonfiction. There is no such thing as truth. People who really know what happened aren’t talking. And the people who don’t have a clue, you can’t shut them up. It’s the same with your own stories, the ones that circulate around with your family and your friends. We’re all part of the same hypocrisy.” –Tom Waits “We are all capable of believing things which we know to be untrue, and then, when we are finally proved wrong, impudently twisting the facts so as to show that we were right. Intellectually, it is possible to carry on this process for an indefinite time: the only check on it is that sooner or later a false belief bumps up against solid reality, usually on a battlefield.” –George Orwell I haven’t posted all month, and now it’s almost over, so… About five or so weeks ago, and after not nearly as much looking as expected, Franny and I found a home. During our apartment search, we agreed that we’d know the place when we saw it, and when we walked into this place we both knew. It’s a big garden apartment in a Park Slope brownstone (but made of limestone, according to Franny), and it’s just down the street from where I live now. It’s very nice, and it has parquet floors, which I’ve learned is like gingham but with wood. We move in on July 15th, which was also a selling point as it gives me ample time to find a subletter for my current place. When I move, I’ll have lived in this apartment for almost four years, which is longer than I’ve lived in any one place as an adult. I realized that just now, and I’m not sure what it means, except that I am long overdue for a change of habitat. And change is good, especially when it involves being closer to Franny. I’ve been going through my boxes of crap in preparation for the move, and I’ve come to realize that I have a slightly unhealthy sentimental attachment to objects. Books, mostly. People say: “You can’t have too many books,” but I say: “I have too many books, and I can’t throw books away, so I just take them home and put them in a box in my parents’ attic.” The somewhat ironic thing is that I don’t read many books lately, and it’s not because I’ve forgotten how to read, it’s because there’s too much goddamn shit to read in the world now. And I’m contributing to the problem right now, so I can’t really criticize, or maybe I can. The future is very confusing. And finally, I finally (almost) finished the short I made a year ago – I Heart Staten Island – and it is hopefully starting a proper festival run, starting with a screening at the Northside Festival in Brooklyn next month, which you should come to if you’re able. Blood! “When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the Universe.” All are immortal. Everything is immortal. –Andrei Tarkovsky Yes, hello. How are you? I’ve been good, thanks. It’s early April already, and it feels like winter is finally letting up. It’s not spring yet, but it will be soon, and this is (of course) good news. I like open windows at night, except when it’s too hot, then I like windows stuffed with air conditioners at night. But I am good. I’m still in love. With Franny. She rocks my world.
And I’m working most of the time, which is good in terms of money, but not so good in terms of time, and the regularity of it makes me feel a bit squeezed, but it is what it is. I have a lot of student loans that need paying off. It’s also very hard to complain with an 11-7 schedule and a 20 minute commute, so I’ll stop. I went to San Francisco a couple of weeks ago to see my sister and her family. We all drove up to Tahoe to ski, which was fun and beautiful in spite of the slushy snow. On the drive home, Owen (my nephew), who’s at what I assume to be the question asking phase of the mid-2′s, asked lots of questions. Two, really: “What are you doing?” & “Where are we going?” I realize that this is something children do, and I realize that I may be drifting into Bill Cosby territory here, but it wasn’t so much the questions as it was the repetition of said questions that nearly drove me insane. O: Where are we going? Eventually he fell asleep. Don’t misunderstand, I love that boy. I changed one of his horrifically shitty diapers while I was out there, and I’m going to go ahead and say that there’s something strange about changing the diaper of someone who’s talking to you. We also celebrated my mom’s 70th birthday in San Francisco…
And in future news, an old friend (Ryan), who I haven’t seen since college, is coming to town for the weekend. We’ve kept in haphazard touch, so a few months ago I suggested he and his wife come to NYC for a Black Crowes concert this weekend, and they’re driving in tomorrow. I’m excited to see him –– we were really good friends in college, and I’ve missed not knowing him as well in the years since, and I’ve never met his wife, which seems weird but really isn’t all that weird. It will be like a freshman year dorm reunion, except without all the other people who lived there, and in New York City instead of Athens. Maybe. I stayed up past my bedtime writing this post, please keep this in mind when reflecting on what you’ve just read. |
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