Kalamazoo, MI is fucking boring. I sleep, I eat, I thinking about sleeping and eating. I watch internet porn on my parents dial-up connection (those video clips take forever to download), and I talk to people about my life in New York. Conversations often go like this:
Midwesterner wearing brown and black: So How NEW YORK CITY!!!!!!!
Me: Its great, I have some really great friends there now.
MWBB: WOW I just cant imagine moving all that way. Weren't you scared?
Me: Yeah but thats why I did it.
MWBB(they cock their head a little): I dont get it.
Me: I left because the idea of leaving was scarry. I did it because I've never left before.
MWBB: OOOOOOOKKKAAAY(looking at me like I'm crazy)
Me: I just had to try something new, ya know?
MWBB(clearly needing to change the subject): So how's school? NYU, right?
Me: Schools great. I'm not going to NYU I'm going to smaller school, Brooklyn College.
MWBB:Oh yeah, sure, sure.
Me:Yeah its really great, Michael Cunningham teaches there, Allen Ginsberg taught there also.
MWBB: Who?
Me: They're writers.
MWBB: oh ok. So do you live in Brooklyn?
Me: Yeh.
MWBB: Wow that must be scary? Like in the ghetto I mean.
Me: I guess it would be if you lived in a ghetto.
MWBB: Dont you live in Brooklyn?
ME: Yeh.
MWBB: Nevermind
I have to drive 20 miles for Starbucks.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Friday, December 22, 2006
The Midwest
In New York I am a boy from the midwest. You all know that, its on the subtitle for the blog. But in the midwest I am a man from the city.
In the midwest my life is exciting to people, my job is exciting, and my relationships are exciting. In New York I'm po-dunk(Spelling?), I work in retail, and I'm single.
Its tough getting used to this drastic juxtaposition(*disclaimer: Juxtaposed is my favorite word.) Its weird thinking that here(currently in MI) I'm somebody and my life is on track. and There I'm just a kid with a shit apartment who makes $8 and hour.
I make more money than anyone I graduated with but because I live in New York I have less to show for it. But I have no regrets. I'm glad that I left Michigan, because I'm not a someone in NYC yet, but I'm well on my way to being something, what ever that is.
I'm not saying that I'm better than peope here. I would never think that I'm better than people here. I'm not, I'm really not. But my life is so different. In New York my friends are museum directors and foremost professors and the guys whose writing the fucking oscars and here is still kids in college getting drunk all the time and learning about how to live in the world.
I wanted the culture shock. I got the culture shock. I've accepted and changed because of it. I'm different now. I was different the day I stepped foot in New York knowing that I wasnt leaving until Thanksgiving.
When I come home I spend the whole time re-adjusting to life in the midwest. And missing the sirens, and the buildings. The fast paced moving. There is no time in Manhattan to be still, everyday is a new day, you cant slow down because there's always someone behind you.
But it would be wrong to say that I didnt like comeing back. I like seeing people I knew so long ago(it seems). The look of suprise when I walk through the door. But I feel like people expect me to tell them something profound, or something exciting; to give a Nora Ephron-esque explanation of what New York is to me. I dont know if I can do that. When I do, I name drop, or talk about album signings, or running into Kevin Spacey, and Sarah Jessica Parker on the street, I feel like a superficial ass.
Its going to take a few days to get into the swing of things. I dont know if it will be an easy 2 weeks. At the moment it feels like 20 years. But it has to get better, right?
In the midwest my life is exciting to people, my job is exciting, and my relationships are exciting. In New York I'm po-dunk(Spelling?), I work in retail, and I'm single.
Its tough getting used to this drastic juxtaposition(*disclaimer: Juxtaposed is my favorite word.) Its weird thinking that here(currently in MI) I'm somebody and my life is on track. and There I'm just a kid with a shit apartment who makes $8 and hour.
I make more money than anyone I graduated with but because I live in New York I have less to show for it. But I have no regrets. I'm glad that I left Michigan, because I'm not a someone in NYC yet, but I'm well on my way to being something, what ever that is.
I'm not saying that I'm better than peope here. I would never think that I'm better than people here. I'm not, I'm really not. But my life is so different. In New York my friends are museum directors and foremost professors and the guys whose writing the fucking oscars and here is still kids in college getting drunk all the time and learning about how to live in the world.
I wanted the culture shock. I got the culture shock. I've accepted and changed because of it. I'm different now. I was different the day I stepped foot in New York knowing that I wasnt leaving until Thanksgiving.
When I come home I spend the whole time re-adjusting to life in the midwest. And missing the sirens, and the buildings. The fast paced moving. There is no time in Manhattan to be still, everyday is a new day, you cant slow down because there's always someone behind you.
But it would be wrong to say that I didnt like comeing back. I like seeing people I knew so long ago(it seems). The look of suprise when I walk through the door. But I feel like people expect me to tell them something profound, or something exciting; to give a Nora Ephron-esque explanation of what New York is to me. I dont know if I can do that. When I do, I name drop, or talk about album signings, or running into Kevin Spacey, and Sarah Jessica Parker on the street, I feel like a superficial ass.
Its going to take a few days to get into the swing of things. I dont know if it will be an easy 2 weeks. At the moment it feels like 20 years. But it has to get better, right?
Sunday, December 17, 2006
A thing that turned into my salute to sundays.
I am a collector of many things: Coffee mugs, classic novels, sneakers. I am also a collector of good days. Or maybe good moments. It seems that I am having another one.
I am a lover of Sundays. Easy breezes, and great coffee, the Times Book Review all combine to create a mood.
I sleep until 10. I'm a morning person, so sleeping past 9 makes me feel as though I've ruined my whole day. I drink an unbelievable amount of coffee, and sit on the floor reading Arts & Leisure.
I turn my phone off. Open my windows and watch the sun move across my floor as I curl up, cuddled with a book. Its a sort of bliss I dont know 6 days a week.
I wait, sitting calmly. Listening to NPR on my teeny tiny radio. I feel plugged in, universal.
I know I am a citizen. On Sundays the world, natural as it may be, is one with me.
I am a lover of Sundays. Easy breezes, and great coffee, the Times Book Review all combine to create a mood.
I sleep until 10. I'm a morning person, so sleeping past 9 makes me feel as though I've ruined my whole day. I drink an unbelievable amount of coffee, and sit on the floor reading Arts & Leisure.
I turn my phone off. Open my windows and watch the sun move across my floor as I curl up, cuddled with a book. Its a sort of bliss I dont know 6 days a week.
I wait, sitting calmly. Listening to NPR on my teeny tiny radio. I feel plugged in, universal.
I know I am a citizen. On Sundays the world, natural as it may be, is one with me.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
My mom is kicking herself
My mother is extremely over dramatic. My mother is Mommy dearest in the sense that she intimidates everyone with her drama.
So my brother moved out, and then came back two days later. That in itself is funny, but the thing that really cracks me up is that in those two days my mom went on a rampage. Not only did she tear down all the christmas decorations! she returned ALL of the presents!!!! Luckily all I asked for was a better apartment.
My mom now has to go and buy everything she had already bought, most of it she cant find anymore. And the bittersweet revenge my brother gets is that he has to help her order the rest of the present from Amazon and BN.com.
So my brother moved out, and then came back two days later. That in itself is funny, but the thing that really cracks me up is that in those two days my mom went on a rampage. Not only did she tear down all the christmas decorations! she returned ALL of the presents!!!! Luckily all I asked for was a better apartment.
My mom now has to go and buy everything she had already bought, most of it she cant find anymore. And the bittersweet revenge my brother gets is that he has to help her order the rest of the present from Amazon and BN.com.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Matt
I talked to my mom today, she was very upset. "Did any of your friends ask you to stay in New York for Christmas?" she asked.
"No, of course not. Why?" I asked.
"because there's not much to come back to here." she said, sounding hollow.
"I dont understand."
"Matt moved out today." he voice cracked, just a little bit.
"Explain."
And she did.
Matt is my brother. I am the youngest of five: three girls, two boys. My youngest sister is still 14 years my senior. Matt is my brother, my sister are more like aunts. Shitty, wicked aunts at that. My sister's came over to my house for a visit. A very rare visit. And they did what they usually do, they belittled my brother because they can.
Matt isnt the smartest, or the most handsome, or the most charming. Matt will never be truly successful, maybe not evey truly happy. He knows this, and he hates it. My sister will take this and exploit it, like gangreen in a open sore. "You're worthless" "you're not going to be anything." "you're too fat, no one will hire you." And for the record, my sister's, not skinny.
They started to fight, my brother out numbered, my parents not really helping him out. He'd had enough. He was done. He packed the stuff he knew he'd need, and then he was gone. No phone, no pager. No way to contact him.
I dont know exactly what he's thinking right now. But if he's thinking the same thing I thought when I put my parents into a cab to JFK the day they left me here to live by myself, if its along those lines. He's feeling for the first time, really scared, and really alive.
"No, of course not. Why?" I asked.
"because there's not much to come back to here." she said, sounding hollow.
"I dont understand."
"Matt moved out today." he voice cracked, just a little bit.
"Explain."
And she did.
Matt is my brother. I am the youngest of five: three girls, two boys. My youngest sister is still 14 years my senior. Matt is my brother, my sister are more like aunts. Shitty, wicked aunts at that. My sister's came over to my house for a visit. A very rare visit. And they did what they usually do, they belittled my brother because they can.
Matt isnt the smartest, or the most handsome, or the most charming. Matt will never be truly successful, maybe not evey truly happy. He knows this, and he hates it. My sister will take this and exploit it, like gangreen in a open sore. "You're worthless" "you're not going to be anything." "you're too fat, no one will hire you." And for the record, my sister's, not skinny.
They started to fight, my brother out numbered, my parents not really helping him out. He'd had enough. He was done. He packed the stuff he knew he'd need, and then he was gone. No phone, no pager. No way to contact him.
I dont know exactly what he's thinking right now. But if he's thinking the same thing I thought when I put my parents into a cab to JFK the day they left me here to live by myself, if its along those lines. He's feeling for the first time, really scared, and really alive.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
(not title worthy)
*Disclaimer: I hate that I need to title every entry. Don't the people at blogger know that its really hard to come up with a title that is both satirical and witty?(or is something satirical automatically witty?)
On to the real topic of discussion.
Things these days seem good. I'm sitting in Universal News eating an apple bran yogurt muffin that tastes like God himself not only baked it, but baked it just for me. I have new books in my green Barnes & Noble bag, along with the New Yorker and the Washington Square literary quarterly. And I'm about to list things for ya'll.
My Favorite book: The Hours By Michael Cunningham
Favorite play: Proof by David Auburn
Favorite movie: Magnolia directed by P.T. Anderson
Favorite poem: four preludes on playthings of the wind by Carl Sandburg
Favorite food: Sushi
Favorite place from my past: Academey st. kalamazoo, MI.
Favorite place from the present: Union Sq. Manhattan.
Favorite restaurant: Miyagi on west 13th and 8th avenue.
Favorite song: "this is the sea" by the waterboys.
Favorite line from a movie: "The price you pay for bringing up my Chinese or American heritage as a negative is: I collect your fucking head. Just like this fucker here. Now if any of you sons of bitches HAVE ANYTHING ELSE TO SAY, NOWS THE FUCKING TIME!!! I didnt think so." --Oren Ishii in Kill Bill V. 1.
On to the real topic of discussion.
Things these days seem good. I'm sitting in Universal News eating an apple bran yogurt muffin that tastes like God himself not only baked it, but baked it just for me. I have new books in my green Barnes & Noble bag, along with the New Yorker and the Washington Square literary quarterly. And I'm about to list things for ya'll.
My Favorite book: The Hours By Michael Cunningham
Favorite play: Proof by David Auburn
Favorite movie: Magnolia directed by P.T. Anderson
Favorite poem: four preludes on playthings of the wind by Carl Sandburg
Favorite food: Sushi
Favorite place from my past: Academey st. kalamazoo, MI.
Favorite place from the present: Union Sq. Manhattan.
Favorite restaurant: Miyagi on west 13th and 8th avenue.
Favorite song: "this is the sea" by the waterboys.
Favorite line from a movie: "The price you pay for bringing up my Chinese or American heritage as a negative is: I collect your fucking head. Just like this fucker here. Now if any of you sons of bitches HAVE ANYTHING ELSE TO SAY, NOWS THE FUCKING TIME!!! I didnt think so." --Oren Ishii in Kill Bill V. 1.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Harsh realities
So I've realized a harsh reality: Gay cinema sucks. I mean really bad. Its always about someone with AIDS, or someone wh0 gets gay bashed, or someone who becomes a circuit boy in Miami or L.A. and is fond of the nickname "K hole". Where have all the cowboys gone?
I think I should write a gay movie. Not to sound full of myself but I certainly wouldnt want people to think that we all have AIDS, Bruises, and Tara Reid's phone number.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I have been to almost every bookstore in Manhattan looking for this fucking book. I'm going nuts. It's "The Page Turner" by David Leavitt. I first heard of it when I was watching previews on a dvd from a terrible gay movie called "200 American". (In its defense it was a no budget film.) There was a film adaptation called "Food of Love" and the movie looks really good. Compelling and well done. Plus the acting seems amazing. So I heard it was adapted from Leavitt's book and took off on a journey across Manhattan. To no avail (insert french qoute from Angel's in America).
So I've basically been on a literary witch hunt(not as fun as the real thing) and I'm almost completely burned out. Almost, I still have enough energy to order it off the internet along with the movie. Merry Christmas to me!
I think I should write a gay movie. Not to sound full of myself but I certainly wouldnt want people to think that we all have AIDS, Bruises, and Tara Reid's phone number.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I have been to almost every bookstore in Manhattan looking for this fucking book. I'm going nuts. It's "The Page Turner" by David Leavitt. I first heard of it when I was watching previews on a dvd from a terrible gay movie called "200 American". (In its defense it was a no budget film.) There was a film adaptation called "Food of Love" and the movie looks really good. Compelling and well done. Plus the acting seems amazing. So I heard it was adapted from Leavitt's book and took off on a journey across Manhattan. To no avail (insert french qoute from Angel's in America).
So I've basically been on a literary witch hunt(not as fun as the real thing) and I'm almost completely burned out. Almost, I still have enough energy to order it off the internet along with the movie. Merry Christmas to me!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
