1. Lois Lane
2. Tina Fey
3. An old man
I’m not particularly good at seeing something out of nothing, but I’m exceptionally good at knowing when something has become nothing. I’ve been feeling for a while now that blogging has ceased to have the relevance that I want it to. The sense of continuity and communication now feels clunky and sort of vacuous. I thought maybe I was just being fickle until Neil Gaiman wrote a similar sentiment on his blog today.
It made me wonder if blogs are preparing to transform into the Next Big Thing. As I explained, I don’t have the vision to sense what that is or to start the trend myself, but I can definitely feel that blogs are beginning their decline.
Around 4:00 they all surprised me with an impromptu birthday celebration. We sat around the long silver table with almond cake and coffee and a pile of new books wrapped in green paper. As much as I relished getting away from the city, I’ve also never been happier to be back at work. I think this is the best proof of a well-executed vacation- a renewed energy and enthusiasm for your usual routines.
There’s a heavy snowstorm expected to hit the Northeast this evening and, strangely, the bulk of it is supposed to fall right over Manhattan. I’m already anticipating the pleasure of waking up to snow and wondering just how much it will take to prevent me from getting from Midtown East to Chelsea tomorrow morning.
One of my favorite things about my job is getting Philip Glass’s fan mail.
My camera died before I could capture the view from the left side of the plane- New York laid out like a pristine grid, beautiful as a myth and welcoming me home with big, sloppy kisses.
This morning we sat down for breakfast and I felt like I was in New Orleans, the room open, spacious and sunny with ornate corners and smooth white tablecloths. It was half full, the only other tables crowded with serious-looking men talking business as they sipped their coffee and ate their eggs.
The tactile pleasures of good food and delicate clothing have become almost entirely foreign to me and I find myself admiring my meals and simply wandering through stores, touching everything between my thumb and forefinger. If I could, I would dress like a 1940s businessman every day- a well cut suit and conspicuous cuff links.
We’ve been drinking since breakfast and it makes the entire day feel unreal- velvety and smooth and silly. Breakfast drinks, lunch drinks, afternoon drinks. I’m wearing a dark green dress to dinner tonight and by now my hair is so long it almost kisses my waist and it’s clear that the only way to survive living in New York is to constantly have the means to leave it behind.
A story about hotdogs.
His leather belt, which secretly hid thin folds of twenty dollar bills in the inside lining.
Being reprimanded via a long distance telephone call about my incorrect use of a hyphen.
Knee socks (mine) and Aviator sunglasses (his).
