lundi, novembre 28, 2005

"I really don't think I need to do this. We're only here for a week - we'll be fine. It's kind of expensive too."

I probably looked outside the window. Springbreak in London. At the Rathbone Hotel. I do not recall what we did that day. Maybe we met up with people we knew. People who might've been in London too.

"Look, stop arguing with me," he insisted, sounding obviously annoyed. "Just rent a cellphone. Just in case I need to get in touch with you. Okay?" Dad seemed pretty angry for some reason or other.

"Alright fine." We ended the conversation pissed off at each other. I didn't know. How was I to know?

Just in case I need to get in touch with you.

Did he know? Did he know what was going to happen the day after? I was on break, content to roam the streets, wander through the shops, and drink at the bars. Why the fuck would I need a cellphone? It seemed pretty extravagant to have someone deliver a cellphone to me. For just a week.

And the cellphone rang early the next morning. It was someone I knew. "Your father's had a stroke."

dimanche, novembre 27, 2005

I, do not seem to know what to do with myself tonight.

There's a glass of ice and Dewar's whisky on the dining table. An Annie Proulx book spread open with the cover facing up. Close Range, Wyoming Stories. The Stills are singing through my headphones and I think the Giants just fell to the Seahawks 24-21 in overtime.

Erica and Dan walk down the hallway and disappear. Luke turns around and says something but I can't hear him. I take the headphones off. "Leonard, your phone's ringing."

Caller unknown. I wonder who it is. I wonder if the person will leave a voice message.


"There's a prayer I say most often for Owen. It's one of the little prayers he said for my mother, the night Hester and I found him in the cemetery - where he'd brought the flashlight, because he knew how my mother had hated the darkness. 'Into paradise may the angels lead you,' he'd said over my mother's grave; and so I say that one for him - I know it was one of his favorites. I am always saying prayers for Owen Meany."
- A Prayer for Owen Meany, John Irving.


I am not really sure what I should do with myself tonight.

vendredi, novembre 25, 2005

When I was ten years old my father taught me to assess quite rapidly the shifting probabilities on a craps layout: I could trace a layout in my sleep, the field here and the pass line all around, even money on Big Six or Eight, five-for-one on Any Seven. Always when I play back my father's voice it is with a professional rasp, it goes as it lays, don't do it the hard way. My father advised me that life itself was a crap game: it was one of the two lessons I learned as a child. The other was that overturning a rock was apt to reveal a rattlesnake. As lessons go those two seem to hold up, but not to apply.

- play it as it lays, joan didion.



i think we had a good thanksgiving. israel was here from philly. anna of course accompanied the man. lindsay and george from DC. and then there were the animated girls from minneapolis, emma, orlee, and robin. rich also, hailed from The City From Whence Prince Came. and then there was neil, the brother of luke. and talia, the wife of neil. and obviously luke and i.

we started at five and everyone's just recently shuffled out. bloc party's playing so here we are on the stereo and luke's holding the lighter in his right hand.

"do you want more of this?" he says, motioning to something in his other hand.

sean salisbury is on ESPN. a coors light ad flashes for a few seconds. i don't know who the fuck sean salisbury is.

i think everyone enjoyed meeting each other and screaming objects and phrases and dirty sounding things as we played a charades-like game. 'doggystyle' came up twice. someone put 'Lando Calrissian' in there. "who the fuck is that?" went talia. (he's the black dude from starwars. no not Samuel L Jackson. no i don't know if he was a jedi.)

dave's in vegas. jeff's in florida. dan's in connecticut. pauline's in vermont. snow's in vermont. i wonder where nathan is.

i hear the click and flash of a lighter. i keep getting scared about everything to happen. i know it's okay but somehow i'm not sure if i can deal this time.

mercredi, novembre 23, 2005

it's cold out.

but i can't say for sure because i've not left the apartment yet. oh wait. i have. there's a bagel from bruegger's on my right and i'm sure it had to come from somewhere.

coffee + music = happiness. even if fleeting.

i'm multi-tasking. i'm reading about personalized medicine, market socialism, turducken recipes, and listening to the doves. and let's pretend that i'm not reading about the new ryan reynolds "fat suit" movie. what movie? ryan who?

it looks cold out.

mardi, novembre 22, 2005

today just sucks. because it's shitty raining out and the skies are so unhappy they're hiding and i'm sick and hungover from too many drinks on a monday night and there's an interview at one, a team meeting at two, an in-depth discussion at three about things that i know very little of, and finally a two hour meeting that begins at four and will end with me passed out on the floor from exhaustion and an infinitely foul mood.

i also drunk messaged someone last night and that was utterly, utterly embarrassing.

vendredi, novembre 18, 2005

I hadn't taken the T home in several days. Maybe a week. Walking home is good because sometimes you get to light a cigarette by the Charles with the lights from across the water not really sparkling, but not really there all the time either.

And I'm at Kendall Square waiting for the train and the train comes. I'm walking towards the car and someone bumps into me and I'm like what-the-fuck.

Some guy in a dark jacket walks briskly away from me. Fucker.

Someone bumps into me again and I'm like goddamnit and I turn around annoyed, and there she is.

I look at her.

"Hey there," she goes, with a little smile on her face.

"Hey there."

mardi, novembre 15, 2005

well, I dont know about YOU.

BUT,

I am home tout seul, drinking my second glass of J&B,(oh there goes the bottle)
and

HAVING A FUCKING GOOD TIME.

(and obviously missing her and going quite crazy.)


everything is okay.
everything is okay.

lundi, novembre 14, 2005

the sun has almost disappeared and i'm in my room and the window is open and i can hear construction workers loading and unloading an orange crane. i don't know what they're constructing. i don't know which building they're working on. i can also hear cars speeding across the Mass Pike and today all this is somehow comforting.
i do not know where all this is going. this day, this month, this year. what has been done? what are we going to do? i've slept through an entire year. there were dreams, nightmares, and mundane dailies, but maybe nothing really happened.

these days have been intensely beautiful but also fraught with dread and anxiety. i want to pull the office shades up but i'm convinced that the light wants to hurt my eyes.

my heart will not break.

but i suppose that i'm finally getting up. and that is a good thing.

dimanche, novembre 13, 2005

I have a tendency to sign for stuff without looking. Somehow I bought a $50 moisturizer this morning.

mardi, novembre 08, 2005

     "Our own selves make us most unhappy, and that's why we're so anxious to lose them, don't you think? Remember the Erinyes?"

     "The Furies," said Bunny, his eyes dazzled and lost beneath the bang of hair.

     "Exactly. And how did they drive people mad? They turned up the volume of the inner monologue, magnified qualities already present to great excess, made people so much themselves that they couldn't stand it."

- The Secret History, Donna Tartt.


I am starving. But I do not feel like eating. I wonder how long I can last today on coffee and cigarettes and more coffee. And there better be whisky, later.

lundi, novembre 07, 2005

i hate waiting for the phone to ring.
Of course it might have been some other city, had circumstances been different and the time been different and had I been different, might have been Paris or Chicago or even San Francisco, but because I am talking about myself I am talking here about New York. That first night I opened my window on the bus into town and watched for the skyline, but all I could see were the wastes of Queens and the big signs that said MIDTOWN TUNNEL THIS LANE and then a flood of summer rain (even that seemed remarkable and exotic, for I had come out of the West where there was no summer rain), and for the next three days I sat wrapped in blankets in a hotel room air-conditioned to 35 and tried to get over a bad cold and a high fever. It did not occur to me to call a doctor, because I knew none, and although it did occur to me to call the desk and ask that the air conditioner be turned off, I never called, because I did not know how much to tip whoever might come - was anyone ever so young? I am here to tell you that someone was. All I could do during those three days was talk long-distance to the boy I already knew I would never marry in the spring. I would stay in New York, I told him, just six months, and I could see the Brooklyn Bridge from my window. As it turned out the bridge was the Triborough, and I stayed eight years.

- Goodbye to all that, Joan Didion
The world does not revolve around me.
The world does not revolve around me.
The world does not revolve around me.
The world does not revolve around me.
The world does not revolve around me.
The world does not revolve around me.
The world does not revolve around me.
The world does not revolve around me.
The world does not revolve around me.
The world does not revolve around me.
The world does not revolve around me.
The world does not revolve around me.
The world does not revolve around me.

dimanche, novembre 06, 2005

I'm at home drinking a Black Chocolate Stout from the Brooklyn Brewery even though it's about a half hour before mass at Saint Clements which is on Boylston. Snow is at home working. Daniel and Erica are upstairs. Jeff is in New York and Luke is at the lab.

The Magnetic Fields are playing on the stereo and even though it's loud I don't bother to turn it down because I'm lying in bed and the remote is on a blue stool and seemingly out of reach.

Meaningless, you mean it's all been meaningless?

I was going to cook salmon this evening but the plan has changed and I suppose I'll figure something out after church.

Yes yes yes, it was beautifully meaningless.

I was quite a bit anxious earlier on but I think the stout has helped.