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!