Seems as though PAM took down the Kline, though. Bummer.
Posted January 29 at 7:34 pm to Dispatches. Titled (Only Slightly) Snobby Adventures in (Only Slightly) High Society. Tags: But Is It Art?, Mystery and Wonder.
The main hook of this is used over the end credits of Museum Hours, and after seeing that film and hearing the guitar riff I wasn’t sure there could be any beauty to add until I heard her sing.
Probably the only thing worse than being in New York right now is being on the internet anywhere else, because everyone in New York (who we traditionally rely on to be interesting) is sitting inside talking about the storm. This storm isn’t even severe and it has a tending #blizzard2015 hashtag; we’re defining events before they happen now, ladies and germs.
So, here’s an interesting tidbit: The last two times I visited my dad in my birthplace of Fairbanks, Alaska, the weather snapped from your average temperatures (around -10) to well below that (around -45) for the duration of my stay.
This is all to say, weather is an ongoing experience. Take what you can from all of it. Tweet about it less.
The bad part about procrastination is when you schedule work days for days when the weather has killer fog scheduled for the morning and killer sun scheduled for the afternoon. As I write this, blue sky is breaking everywhere and it’s supposed to be 60 degrees. And I have so much work to do.
Sarah and I were bumming around New York and doing what people who haven’t seen each other in six months do: checking Instagram. She asked me where I got my handle, and like the sci-fi nerd I am at heart, I tried to bumble around an explanation that began with, “I like space.”
Well, I tried to explain the visual nature of time as it applies to space but really I could have just waited and shown her this, because holy shit that’s so awesome.
They were destroyed, blasted by a supernova that happened 6,000 years ago. With our telescopes, we can see the supernova advancing, unstoppable, destroying everything it touches. From Earth, the shockwave has not reached the Pillars of Creation yet. For our senses, they are still there—intact. (Gizmodo)
Well, at least people in 1,000 years will have really good HD telescopes to be able to see this with, providing humanity survives that long.
A few more from last night.
I’m starting to feel like living in Portland has this fucked up psychic lock on me in that the second I hang out long enough in Brooklyn to think about moving again, I come back to one of the more phenomenally perfect mid-winter kind of nights and remember my rent here is one-third of what it would be there.
Crave, desolate, you dive in, we follow along. I contrive you with whiskey and Sam Cooke songs and we lay on our backs, soaking wet below a static TV set. Conversation flows. Counting shooting stars and catfish. But I’ll never make a wish.
Barefoot, parking lot. Getting high in Portland, Oregon. We echo 17 and we glue it back and poke fun and it gets real quiet, I don’t care. Darting with moonshine, truth or dare. I say just what I’m thinking and second guess instantly and you laugh at me.
We stick to our slow motion memory. It’s one in the morning and 90 degrees and though now it is hovering darkly over me, it’ll look just like heaven when I get up and leave.
You’re a ghost and I can’t breathe.
Had the joy of finally catching the insanely fantastic Katie Crutchfield after missing her last two Portland shows for reasons I can’t explain. But more importantly here is the fact her voice is just so stupidly good and the words she’s singing are pretty great, too.
You used to have to wait a lifetime before earning the right to say, “Back in my day.”
I’ve been flying across the country alone since I was 8. Airports were cool back then; this was 1990 and anyone could really go anywhere up to and including the boarding gate and you needn’t do bullshit like remove your shoes at security checkpoints. But the biggest difference? Personal technology.
There was no real public internet yet and WiFi was certainly unheard of; people didn’t even really have cell phones (except maybe assholes who had those giant shoeboxes with an antenna). Laptops were sometimes seen in public. In-flight entertainment was lucky at best and generally included a hastily-made mix tape (or, later on, CD) from the night before. Creativity was a blank sheet of paper and a pen.
Just twenty-some-odd-years later and I’m posting mid-flight photos for anyone, anywhere to see while designing mobile applications on a laptop between typing paragraphs while my in-flight browser tells me how many more hours (four and change) until I land in PDX. I can choose from the 28 records I have currently on my iPhone and when Clarity is finished I can switch back to (the fabulous) Broad City on Comedy Central.
It’s two o’clock in the morning somewhere, but here and now, this world is weightless, timeless, and our imagination can last forever.
The amazing thing about New York is how unconditional otherwise standard elements of setting seem to be. As the daylight disappeared and the snow returned to a steady drizzle of rain, Sarah and I made our way from the Making of Queer History exhibit to the Leica gallery by way of some more photography exhibits in SoHo. Soon thereafter we were eating with Ilir in Queens and then were carving conversations through the night with some of her friends in the Upper West Side. The train back to Brooklyn was a calm 40 minutes, approaching three in the morning. Everything seemed in place.
Events seem to transcend time here; a city where life allows you to enjoy and endure it when and how you should.
The apprehension of modern life seems to be compounded by the static that surrounds us on a day to day basis; it’s difficult to escape familiarity sometimes. What makes us content can end up being a sick self-induced form of abstract control if we aren’t careful in making sure to experience the world outside our own immediate surroundings we inhabit.
Because the snow gently falling while the horns squeal mercilessly and the guy selling hot dogs smokes a cigarette all just seem to dance in the most amazing fractal of chaos that may be the closest thing to happiness I’ve felt in quite some time.