This is not the most flattering photo, but it's the only one I took of him in all the time that I've known him. I remember exactly the position I was sitting and how he looked from my awkward angle. I remember what he did before and after this moment in time. I remember the smile he flashed me immediately after this.
I remember the conversation I had with him before this day, about futures, about how he wished the world for me, and for himself, a lake to fish in.
I can't quite put into words right now everything I'm feeling. I just wished I answered that call, and had the chance to tell him. So I'll tell him.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I'm such a shit friend. I love you. You are the kindest, most beautiful soul I have ever had the privilege to know, and I'm a piece of shit to have just taken that for granted. You have to wait for me. I'm going to do something amazing with my life and you have to be there to see it. You have to design my posters, you have to sit front row center, you have to be there to see it!! I have missed you, more than I was ever able to tell you, and I think about you, more than you could believe. You're always going to be with me now, and you're going to have to wait for me, but you're going to see it. I am going to go on now doing my damnedest to be something, and you're going to be there with me. Wait for me, when I see you next, we're going to talk about it, over a lake with fishing poles. Wait.
There's only a few days left til July 23, which would then be only 70 days til my birthday. Don't ask me what one has to do with the other, just another random piece of trivia I measure my life by.
25. Shit. I'd better start the mental prep now. I know it's not as big a deal, socially, but to me there's always a line marked straight down the mid 20s, separating your real life and what came before it. 24, 23, that's just your early 20s, things haven't begun to take shape yet. Merely drifting through life, taking stabs at things and seeing if they would stick. late 20s always felt like the time for molding. Making a start on creating the life you want with the bits and pieces that solidified over time.
I am definitely not where I thought I'd be 5 years ago. I'm going to put that down as a good thing for now.
I can tell you what I do need though, baking trays, cookie sheets, mixing bowls, a plant that does not require too much of the photo part of photosynthesis.
Today was a beautiful day though ultimately spent in vain. We made extra effort, we thought we were safe. We thought arriving at 4:45am was going to be enough to get us tickets to see Al Pacino act.
Getting to the west side of Central Park well before the sun had risen, debating amongst ourselves all the what ifs of different paths to take. The veterans around us were shaky about it, but quietly confident. The confidence rubbed off on us, when they herded us in like cattle to position us for the next 7 hours, we were encouraged by the sight of the Hope Rock, a little ways behind us. Everything felt optimised for success. The weather never rose above a comfortable summer breeze, we were under the canopy of an expansive tree. Those who have experienced, and were thus better prepared, lent us blankets to sit and take naps on. We shared snacks, jokes, conversation, and a genuinely glorious morning in the park. Only to be stabbed through our eager hearts, repeatedly. To add insult to injury, we were greeted by the numerous scalpers along our defeated exit. All the line cutters, the homeless bums out to turn a buck. We held strong to our beliefs and refused them, as tempting as they were, as our souls cried out "You are not worthy!!"
I'm going to stop complaining that I'm not being productive enough. I'm cooking again, I'm reading again, and sooner or later I'll start writing again. We're planning another park day which would undoubtedly be sublime. I'm seeing friends that I want to see, and spending time how I choose. It's my summer vacation, if I can't even relax for long enough to enjoy my relaxation then I think there's something extremely wrong with me.
I mean to rule the earth,
And he the sky
We really know our worth - the Sun and I.
The next apartment I move to needs to have at least two things. Sunlight, and a gas fire stove.
I'm too smug, I think that's my problem. I need to be slapped around by a decent book or two. I'm starting with the hardcover copy of Shades of Grey that I bought the week it was released only to let it collect dust on my nightstand. I need to ease into things slowly and I'm thinking a bit of Jasper Fforde would be a good ice breaker. I'll need it because piled right underneath it is Gravity's Rainbow. I'm finally going to do it. And now that I've announced it I need to go through with it. I'll report back to the repository with updates on how my mind is faring.
***
As for the theme of this post.
It's an aria about vanity. About the majestic self worth of an incredibly, self indulgently, vain woman.
It's funny because she tries so hard to sound humble. Perhaps that's why I love it. Even more than the yellow face paint and kimono that the pretty white sopranos who sings this is usually in (The character's name in the opera is Yum-Yum, neither tasteful nor Japanese. Don't get me started). I chose this video because it's vocally my favourite out of all the youtube clips of this aria, and she's not in costume. In that order of reasoning. Regardless of its many crimes of racism though, it is beautiful. The words are in themselves quite glorious, which would be why it worked so well performed as poetry by the femme fatal in Brick, serving as an introduction to the manipulative and self assured Laura. Of course she needed to keep up the asianphile theme and wear a cheongsam, which I'm willing to overlook because it was a modern cut and it suited her.
As performed by Nora Zehetner in Brick.
Side note: why are Qipao (read: chi-pao) officially called cheongsam in the western world? I can barely take the Catonese take over of the "Chinese" language worldwide as it is but that's not even the correct word for it. Cheongsam would be the Cantonese pronunciation of Chang Shan which is what the men wore. If you must use Cantonese, at least call it a Keipo, or something equally ridiculous. Just because the early Cantonese immigrants who flooded Hong Kong could not tell the differece between male and female clothing does not mean the rest of the world has to sound ignorant.
Incidentally, Laura's theme from the film, the softly sweet casio toned melody has been popping up in the weirdest places, like at the end of episode 15 of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. This is not to say anything other than, I like it.
I've been trying this relaxation thing. Moving from bed to couch to fridge and back again, but something is not sitting well with me. It helps that I'm doing all this half naked, only pulling on an oversized tshirt when my freshdirect delivery is at the door, but my brain is itching for some stimulants.
I think I'm getting sick again, and I'm pretty sure it's the same pesky sickness that keep peeking it's head out like some meerkat but ducking back down when I try to address it. Coward. Well c'mon motherfucker, come and get me. I've got all the EmergenC and Zinc and Echinacea poised and ready to beat you down like wack'a'mole.
You know what else I've had to relearn today? Can't properly stirfry without a wok, can't use a wok on an electric stove, ergo I can't be culinarily asian in this apartment. Now I have another mess to clean up in the kitchen, and I didn't even have a satisfying meal to placate me or turn me into a willing participant in the clean up process.
A lot of things are bothering me today. Like not wanting to turn on the ac, because ac hurts my soul, but it being just humid enough to warrant some soul hurting. Or running out of dishwashing liquid half way through clean up and being forced to use an old bottle from a year ago that I stopped using because I didn't like the scent. Or not finding anything that I was in the mood to watch RIGHT NOW on netflix. I know, first world problems. I'm just not very pleasant today.
I am restless.
I keep tinkering at this website because it's so damn easy to do. Two people subscribed to my past posts, this confuses me. They do realise there aren't going to be any more past posts, right? I also found out the reason for my year long boost in interest in my Hating Kylie Kwong post.
1. Because people don't like her and when you look it up you get to my blog.
2. Billy over at A Table for Two linked me, a while ago.
He actually runs a beautiful food blog, and his resentment for KK is presented in a classy, satirical manner. Much unlike my head full of steam, completely unstructured and unthinking stream of consciousness diatribe. But I got passion, kid. This makes my tepid culinary adventures today all the more painful.
Still have not read a book in more than a year. Written anything worth a second draft in longer than that. I feel like the white lab mice running this whole thing has made some awkward calculations and cut me out of their big plan. I know that the only way to change it would be to, change it. Don't rush me.
I should just go grab another apricot and try to sleep.
Let's just get right into it. Three welcome posts for one blog would seem a little excessive, and final proof that I'm just too chicken to do anything right.
I've been home 9 days.Although yet to spend a whole day at home doing nothing but pig out and watch netflix like I'd blissfully planned. Tomorrow, I think.
China was fun. I know, I'm as aghast as anyone. On top of meeting someone amazing, I think the biggest positive was being able to walk around Shanghai a bit, instead of looking at it as a chore but being a fully functioning adult living a piece of the life there for once. I may even have wanted to stay on a bit longer if I didn't want to get back to New York as soon as I could. Yet another sliver of myself I want to strip off and live concurrently as my 4 other lives I wish could be out there, gallivanting. I ate some great food, hung out at a jazz club a lot, led a workshop, met some young actors, was spoken to like I was worth something, had a fling, saw a play, felt loved and respected by a great man, all achieved in the gray clouded humidity of Shanghai. Pretty good trip, no? Didn't go to the world expo once, not even close. Just hearing about the lines and how you have to wait all day just to get to one pavillion, I ran the other way. Here are some pictures taken by capable people, which almost makes going there unnecessary.
While I was away I got to meet two young girls, both around the same age (14-15). One being the daughter of my newly adopted god father, the other, the daughter of the president of the biggest development company in China. The first girl is gentle, artistic, intelligent, awkwardly going through puberty the same way I went through it, with a touch of shame and hunger. She was fun, and sweet, and everything about her made her beautiful, she was exactly the age she was. She obviously didn't lack support or love, her paintings are proudly framed and hung in the jazz club her father owns, but she was completely unaffected, unspoiled. The second girl was a beast of another colour altogether. She epitomises the daughter of a new China. Proud, confident, smart and outspoken, just give her a weapon and she's ready to pounce. Within the course of the 3 hour meal I had with her I grew from bemused, to quietly tolerant, to downright distaste. Lacking the grace and manners of any culture, she felt entitled to behave in whatever way she liked. It is clear that debate is promoted in her household and her voice is heard as an equal, which I had always thought was a good thing but I guess it's only a good thing when the child still inherently understands herself to be the child. It wasn't the fact that she had her laptop out on the dinner table at a restaurant where there's guests, many of whom she has not met formally, or the fact that she interrupted every conversation the adults were having about business. Her attitude was cut throat, she wore the compliments anyone throws her proudly like a badge. You know, that quiet belief that we all have, which eventually gets dashed to a bloody pulp, the gleaming thought that "I'm Special!"? Well this is just a matter of fact for this girl. Her father is one of the most powerful men in Shanghai and she knows it, and borrows his glory as her own, and speaks to others in this manner. China is breeding children like this. This is what they want, this is who they hope would build a new China on the world's stage. All the education systems, family structural systems, government policies has led to this, this shiny example of a bubbly teenager. We should all quake in our boots.
Well I came back. Came back with minimal souvenirs, my luggage didn't have the "heavy" tag on it for once. I'm back.
Time to plug my head back in
Miranda July's collection of short stories - "No One Belongs Here More Than You", is still the most sensitive and beautifully observed collection of heartbreaking tales, about very small things. There's nothing epic, except for the exquisite pain of everyday love and loss. I included it in the bag of books I gave that first girl. Maybe I should list that bag of books in the repository. I enjoy the fact that I can personality spam you all without contaminating my journal now. Just click the repository link to watch me being obnoxious.
Monday, July 26, 2010 at 01:33AM 
(1984-2010)