Seashells, statues, 1981

A few things I did when I wasn't doing nothing

Hi there—

(poem/hopeful inquiry by Richard Brautigan)

Lately I have felt highly motivated to read books, stroll across bridges, people-watch, murmur and sigh, shower twice daily, wear old clothes I’d forgotten about, sample new vices, make future plans, ignore the time, imagine myself older, remember myself younger and over-moisturize.

I have NOT felt very motivated to work. In fact, I just spent a week at the beach, even though the water was too chilly to dip more than ankle-deep:

spf 2000

big old shell (the foot is for scale)

Before that, I spent my birthday at the Statue of Liberty, because I like to do memorable things on my birthday. One year I had a piñata, another I went to Pittsburgh, in 2023 I went to the top of the Empire State Building.

looking up Lady Liberty’s skirt

Bulleted observances:

• I love Michelle Tea’s writing and, if I hadn’t been in North Carolina, it might’ve been ME who mysteriously dropped seashells in her yard. (I hope to say hi to Michelle in person when she stops in NYC on her book tour for SLUTS, the queer ‘n’ sexy new anthology she edited.)

• I had a middle school French teacher who adored Rick Steves and played his TV show when he probably should’ve been teaching us French instead. Natalie B. Compton profiles the travel guru for The Washington Post, and he’s way cooler/badass-ier than one might expect.

• Lucy Sante writes an appreciation of Paul Auster — and though it is smart and sweet, the revelation that stuck with me most is that Salman Rushdie liked Ross on Friends (?!). Lucy’s memoir, I Heard Her Call My Name, is one of the best books I’ve read this year.

• Julia Louis-Dreyfus talked to Patti Smith on her Wiser Than Me podcast this week, Mary Timony played The Best Show, Turned Out a Punk talked to Kathleen Hanna, let’s all raise a fist and cut our hair and maybe listen to slightly fewer podcasts, where do we find the time?

• I just bought The Freaks Came Out to Write, Tricia Romano’s oral history of The Village Voice; and Birthday by César Aira, because I want to experience every world he creates.

This is me, 1981-ish, surrounded by wood paneling and my parents’ record collection. My parents still have the house and the records, but the rest is dust.

And now I must stand. Thanks for reading — I hope you come across something unexpected this weekend.

[insert animal simile],
[insert name of dead ‘70s icon]

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