Monday, September 28, 2015

My Brain Melted and All I Have Now is Goo



I already wrote over 3,000 words today and although that’s not a lot it’s a lot when its for very different things and also when you are/I am recovering from jet lag, drug fueled nights and so much drinking that you think where does it even go. Back in London for two days now and I feel like a wrung out spongy sponge. My limbs and joints and even hair feel limp and ropey. So yeah, I have to plop here and write this thing cause that’s what I apparently set myself to do but my heart’s not in it and instead of pretending otherwise you/readers are just going to have to deal with a blathering blab of blah. But you have been forewarned. Eject yourself now if you desire something else or even if you just have to go to the bathroom. I seriously feel I’m a crazy person just talking to myself on this thing sometimes. Sigh, whateves, here goes a bunch of non-sense thoughts clogged in my brain that I will evacuate for the sake of online amusement.

It would be fun to have someone that you could wear matching outfits with. Like head to toe matching outfits. Guy girl, whateves.

Drummers are sexy but bands aren’t.

Enthusiasm is overrated. Like really, life isn’t that fantastic all the time.

I’m grumpy but pretend to be social but everyone knows I’m grumpy so I just seem bitchy.

Guys who give out drugs free to girls are probably really creepy and bad.

When I tell people I’m from New Jersey they start speaking in a very stupid Jersey accent and I want to punch them but I just smile instead.

Studio spaces seem weird. It’s an office, hangout, refuge that most probably don’t need and the ones who do need them don’t care to show you what’s inside.

I wish I had a lot of money so I wouldn’t have to think of money but I guess I don’t think that much about money so maybe I have money.

Getting a job seems impossible. Working seems important though. Why do I get Linked in alerts so much.

People with difficult to pronounce names are difficult to be around sometimes and they are really hard to introduce to other people. I just mumble sounds that I think are their names and hope they say their names properly.

I want a boyfriend but then when people want to make out with me I’m just like, no, and bored immediately.

I have really good tan lines at the moment but no one will see them and that seems fine.

I wish I knew how to make a lot of things out of origami. I only know how to make a crane.

That feeling when you thought you were in love with someone but in reality you just like being in love.

I post too much on Instagram and then I erase things and then I feel stupid.

Going to see shows in Mayfair is like trying to find fancy crappy shoes for a wedding you don’t want to go to.

Talking to gal pals about sex and love lives is what I do probably 90% of the time when I hang out with gal pals.

I wish someone would cook me food. Why isn’t anyone cooking me food right now?

The idea of making a living off of writing seems comical. Laugh then frown.

The idea of paying back student loans seems looming and abstract. Strong desire to hide money in a shoebox and disappear to some place that likes Americans.

Want to quit smoking but then wake up and think, “life.” And continue to smoke.

Going back to New York seems not fun. But I know it will be okay. I hope I don’t have to move in with my parents or work as a Communications Director. Stab self in eye.

Ignoring people is easy.

White guys who like Asian girls. Laugh then frown.

That feeling when you know you are the most important person to someone else and they are the most important person to you.

Wanting to look pretty and go out but you get tired and take a nap instead.

People who have 1,000+ unread emails makes me realize that some people are just not meant for each other.

Water is probably the best drink ever.

People who like green juices still freak me out.

Wanting to stay young looking seems stressful and will only make you look less young looking.

Guys with interesting names are usually interesting.

Having more female friends then male friends when you are a female seems important.

Knowing a card trick would be nice.

When you are not good at telling stories but you hang out with people who are and make them tell your story for you seems efficient.

When you are a certain age as a women and you talk about it too much it can be annoying but you can’t stop because it is so the truth of things.

I feel that telling white, harmless lies will actually get you more out of life but am unable to do it somehow.

That feeling of being free and liberated because you are single but also feeling scared as fuck that you will be alone forever.

The feeling that you will never ever, ever, ever have sex again and also feeling you will never, ever, ever, miss it. Scary.

When you want to do something crazy with your hair but you just look at yourself and think, ‘who cares.’

When someone offers you weed and you don’t smoke.

Driving is fun when there isn’t any traffic and there is good music.

Trying to think in another language and getting headaches from it.

Calling someone who you shouldn’t just because nothing matters anymore, not even your dignity.

Going to an opening and seeing your crush talking to a younger, prettier girl. Stab self in eye.

Pretending to care what people are talking about. Nod head and smile.

Walking alone at night is the best feeling in the world sometimes.

Tuesday, September 22, 2015

About Love: Guest Post by Holly Hayward and Ed Fornieles




Dear Readers,

I’m in LA. I just realized it was Monday. I have been in the sun and having fun and dining and canoodeling with friends. So with this in mind I have invited my housemates in this city to tell tales of love that have been on their minds the last couple of days.

For dictation clarification: Holly Hayward = HH, Ed Fornieles = EF

HH – Yesterday in Venice I saw love bugs for the first time in my life and I felt love emanating from them and since then I’ve felt loved up.

EF – At the moment I am experimenting with love of geometry. As a numbing mechanism. The best way to talk about love is talking French. The French get away with so much. Versus English when you vocalize subtitles you sound like an idiot.

HH – Michael is best mates with Lucy Lui and she said "I’m having a baby and I’m picking up in five days time." She was such a bitch to me so I don’t mind.

EF – Sagittarius getting back to the age of Aquarius. You know that song? I’m an Aries. A lot of them are surfacing in my life.

HH – You know what I do love? The Jets. My love for the Jets is growing. Today I was watching the match and after the game one of the guys drop kicked and came back on the pitch with a suit and incredible Italian loafers and I thought that was a good look. I love the Jets. I think they are my new boyfriend.

EE – I love eating after not having food for a long time. Don’t write this down. But this feeling. Leaving so many gaps between meals. Particularly good was a ham sandwich. A special market mustardy loveliness. And a salmon salad. Steamed I would say.

HH – I did really love Michael’s weed vaporizer with the oil. It was a realized high all day. It was pleasantly happy all day. It was great.

EE - I love my addictions and my main addiction is watching films. I’m rocked to bed by some obscure anime.

HH – My first love. Probably trolls. No koalas. I was proud of my troll collection. Also my sticker collection.

EE – My first love. My mind goes to the stickers you got from the dentist. My older sister's best friend I would fantasize about her and sexual role play with her with my friend. Edmund. I was 4.

HH – I’ll tell you what I do love. I’m obsessed with this coconut conditioner. It leaves your hair so silky and smells so nice.

EE – Erratic driving like playful acceleration and driving to the soundtrack of Ratatouille. The soundtrack is fantastic. It turns your commute into an adventure.

Monday, September 14, 2015

On Being a Sports Fan



I am in New York for a quick visit and in that visit there is again a lot of New Jersey. I mention it now as it segways into what I want to quickly discuss today which is sports. Yesterday I went to the Jets opener game against the Cleveland Browns and because of sheer association with one of the luckiest people in the world we got probably some of the best seats in the stadium. Twenty rows back, access to the pitch right behind the Jet’s benches and unlimited food and drink in what was a mix between a cruise buffet and low key wedding lounge. Needless to say it was rarified and fantastic but being there and then watching another football game later that night at the 40/40 Club made me think much about what is means to be a sports fan.

I have two brothers, older, and they are both sports fans although one is more of a fanatic then the other. You will rarely see my eldest brother without head to toe colors of whatever season’s sport is on view. They have always been sports fans and this has been transferred to my nephews who are also fanatical about their love of sports. I have never been so fanatical but growing up with my brothers and the culture of sports that is thick in Jersey suburbs have been background noise to my life and a comforting sound at that.

When one is younger, playing sports is usually standard for exercise, potential measuring and socializing. I played many and was nearly bad at all of them but nonetheless I am glad I was made to do them. As an adult I no longer play sports recreationally but I do watch it and always enjoy seeing something live. The degree of my spectatorship almost always revolves around who I am spending time with them whether they are friends or lovers. If they are really into a team or a sport it is a common activity to watch a few games versus maybe reading a book or watching a movie. Watching sports with someone who is a knowledgeable fan is the best because it is a quick guide into the history recent and distant of the team, player and sport.

Knowing the stories and the history of a team or player is key to having connection and true enthusiasm. These can be quickly built though and many times I judge or relate to a player of team based on its members demeanor, attitude, their something that makes them seem familiar, friendly, or someone I would want to know. The role of the player being a concentration of a story, their own and that of a team has a watered downed heroic quality but it echoes things of the past like warriors and gladiators. It is something that we need as humans in our desire to excel, dominate and to battle.

Sports are this very thing. Mini battles of strength, endurance, athleticism. They are measures that represent personal feats but they are also monetized into  larger representations. Sports players are often interviewed and in these they reply with glazed over trained expressions and phrases for the most part. They have to say certain things and they are forced to many times. It is in a similar way in how the voice is possessed by an external entity that their bodies also are. The player is a piece in a larger structure and no matter how individual they are in their talents they are formatted to fulfill a role and a personification. Their bodies are owned and with an injury or a failure of this it ceases to have capital and influence. It is a bizarre yet unsurprising idea to see an athlete and think about slavery, the ownership of the body, the evolution of genes to create the most ultimate specimen and structure of the body to excel and to break new markers of the body and sport.

Watching sports means to watch this body. It is to see a hyper evolved actualization of genes, history, training and sheer talent. The combination of this can make moments within sports things of pure perfection. There is a level of grace, captivation and awe that strikes within sports that no piece of art could even try to strike. And for those that think that sports don’t possess this or if they ignore it because they oppose it for one reason or another I think that, that is a reflection of closed mindedness of aesthetis capacities that should squarely be called ignorant.

It’s not all fun and cheer though. Sports is a commercial spectacle. The way humans, bodies, and identities are treated within is something to question, criticize and reflect on. But to watch and bare witness to a perfect moment and to be apart of a collective ecstaticism within which such a moment can conjure, it is reductively human and we need to tap into that at least once in a while.

Monday, September 7, 2015

On The Provincial



I am in Nancy France visiting relatives and will return to London for two days and then I will be off to New York, LA and possibly Mexico City for two weeks. I tell you this because being in Nancy in contrast to these other places has made me think a lot about the word “provincial” and what that might mean and reflect. On first glance provincial has a seemingly negative connotation. By definition it means a person who lives or is from a place that is far away from a large city. It is usually used to describe people that lack something; education, class, worldliness etc. This is all true to some extent but I have been thinking about both the upsides and the downsides of what is provincial and who that person might be.

So I fib a little. I am not in the center of Nancy proper but a bit outside of it in the heart of Lorraine and its many horses. My relatives say they are from Nancy though as it is the closest city to them. Nancy is not itself small but it has that small city feel which can be both charming and defensive. I know this feeling well as I grew up in a suburb in New Jersey and the contrast of how Philadelphia feels in comparison to New York is palpable. I think growing up in New Jersey leaves one more attuned to what being provincial means. Yes, of course in the grand scheme of things New Jersey is not an isolated country backwater but the distance between it and a place like New York or even Philadelphia can feel light years away. New Jersey lacks its own proper metropolis so one can’t even be vague and pretend to be from this place or that by proximity. Meaning, so many people I know who grew up an hour plus away from a larger city hub for the sake of ease or alliance will say they are from this or that place when in reality they grew up in a field or suburban sprawl more then a commute away. Anyways enough of Jersey. What I’m trying to touch upon is that proximity doesn’t necessarily reduce what or who is provincial. It is rather a mindset that is produced by geography but is nurtured by other factors.

One of these factors is of course family. Family, family, family is the tie that binds. It can be the center of nurture but it can also be the black hole of self-actualization. Either way you swing it, it defines and I think that one’s past, youth, growing up, is the thing that makes or breaks you. What I have experienced in provincial sort of settings goes both ways. One is the renunciation of small town life, which in a few years or few decades time later may possibly be reflected with nostalgia. The other is submersion and replication of provincial living. I have reflected on this before, the issues around travel and why and who does this, and this is true of living in one place or another. Most humans stayed in one place and this tendency continues still. Moving down the street or to a town or two over seems to be the trend for most that stick around where they grew up. This can be very sweet in a way though. This is how community, history, and the reassurance of longevity can sculpt a town and neighborhoods. Within this there can be a special type of openness but also a specific type of isolation and privacy.

The sense of nosey privacy is something that the provincial has total knack and training in. It is like miniature politics and the focus and energy spent on it is astounding for those not involved. This ability is of course inherent in everyone regardless of city living or not but in the small town there is a certain focus and drama that is fascinating to witness and must be captivating to be a part of. To talk of one’s neighbor is almost always to refer to oneself. To measure oneself in contrast and comparison seems addictive but the openness in which provincial people do it is actually refreshing. The desire for illusion and discretion seems to run so deep that there is complete transparency to it.

The measuring of oneself against another seems to be the modus opperandi in provincial places. The appendices of wealth get deferred into buyable and showable objects such as cars, houses, and furniture. But it is not just these basic things. The way to flex wealth the most is through little things like the certain type of light, coffee maker, sink fixtures. Most people have the same exact things, or near to it, so the difference is measured in the little things. The extension, the new gadget, the extra trip out of the blue. This is most drearily and also stunningly done through children, if one has them. The desire for near replication of progress yet the animal desire for prominence through one’s offspring is probably the most rudimentary impulse and seeing it reveals so much about human nature.

Quickly back to material objects as I think it is very related to aesthetics. What one surrounds themselves with is a reflection of oneself. It is about style, taste, station in life, interest and abilities in financial and other ways. For one who is provincial this is the maximum way in which to present and to orientate who they are and where they stand in proximity to others. Most décor for these homes fulfill a certain type. They recall an era, theme, decade, and reference that to them is an epitome in one form or another. City dwellers of course do this as well but the provincial has more time, space and energy to spend on this then most. They are fixed and many of what they possess is inherited. If it is new there is a whole other context of possibility in replicating nostalgia or an ideal. There is possibly something amazingly sincere about this gesture though. To be surrounded by irony free tackiness or misinterpretation can be refreshing and charming. I know this tone seems to be patronizing but I swear it isn’t. I have grown up and been surrounded by this type of replication and there is something so unaware about it that in looking at it and being around it in 2015, after all these years of blah-de-blah art-insiderness, I can honestly say there is something sweet to it albeit it can also make one cringe.

Being provincial, being from a provincial place, and loving and knowing those that are provincial doesn’t change much but it is defining. It is a separation of certain things. Things that are big like art, culture, open-mindedness, pursuit and curiosity but when it comes down to it it’s not that big of a difference. There are those that live in little places that have the most complex minds and hearts and as cultural hub livers know there are those who inhabit what is considered cosmopolitan with the most basic of personalities and interests. Although the provincial has its obvious positives I must lastly say that it is something to recognize in yourself and others. Provinciality can be fine if you are open and invested in one thing or another but it can be awful as well. The saddest thing to me is seeing the maintained façade of dysfunction or the aimlessness of energy and potential. Being in Nancy (or nearby) has been a breath of fresh air as my relatives are generous, are aware of the world and have hearts more open and pure then most I have encountered. It also makes it very clear to me that I have always been and will always be a city mouse.