(no subject)
I had two evenings recently that were magically nice but also followed an aesthetically cohesive (but spontaneous) trajectory. Max and I have been talknig about this sort of thing regarding xkcd; the thrust of those comics (in addition to nerdy jokes) is the idea that your life will be magical if only you take the correct approach.
I often find myself expecting a dose of magic, because that would be appropriate, given my attitude and general set-up of the situation. At these times, I experience my life remotely, mechanically watching it happen and vaguely waiting for it to be over. Occasionally I jolt back into myself---similar to the feeling of waking up on the train and wondering what stop you're at---and confirm that, yes, this is all that's happening.
Prima facie, the not-magical times are not so different from the magical ones. There are objective differences, but it might be a matter of mood anyway. Either way, it might be a matter of living appropriately---either to cultivate those superior details, or to remain in a proper frame of mind.
Monday. Nick expressing desire to buy me a drink. Having pear vodka and soda in the grass at the park. The bottle matches the color of leaves against the sunny sky, which is mostly why I wanted it (also the use of the phrase "pear thrust" on the description on the bottle). Deciding to watch a movie instead of going back to our respective hanging out with family / sitting around alone. Roasting vegetables, eating half a head of garlic, watching Time Bandits (which is pretty magical). Sitting on a dilapidated couch and enjoying the silent acknowledgement you can get with the right smirk, instead of the tacit avoidance of some previous encounters.
Friday. Alex and I meet in Manhattan in our now-familiar fashion. We go to the Whitney and bypass a block-long line with his corporate pass. There is an exhibit of psychedelic art and a Rudolph Stingel exhibit. Stingel is famous for covering museum rooms in styrofoam and foil, and having guests mark it however they choose. It was so noisily damaged that I couldn't get a mark in edgewise, but made a valliant effort with a brand-new sharpie I found on the street that very afternoon. Stingel's other work gave me some fantastic ideas for Moomers, but ones I don't know that I can pull off. Floor made of mirrors? Panels of those stenciled baroque wallpaper pattens? Giant crystal chandelier??
We went to a set at the Jazz Standard, the Abdullah Ibrahim Trio played. SO GOOD. It was like a dream or trip; I figure I had some revelation in there, but now I can't figure out how to communicate what I experienced. We decided to walk up to our favorite bar (BXL cafe) and got caught in a downpour of cathartic proportions. We were soaked, umbrella both useless and less fun, running around and laughing, and finally getting to the bar looking like drowned rats. He tried to teach me to solve a novelty Bloomberg rubik's cube. We found the best muffin I've ever eaten, and then ate it.
I often find myself expecting a dose of magic, because that would be appropriate, given my attitude and general set-up of the situation. At these times, I experience my life remotely, mechanically watching it happen and vaguely waiting for it to be over. Occasionally I jolt back into myself---similar to the feeling of waking up on the train and wondering what stop you're at---and confirm that, yes, this is all that's happening.
Prima facie, the not-magical times are not so different from the magical ones. There are objective differences, but it might be a matter of mood anyway. Either way, it might be a matter of living appropriately---either to cultivate those superior details, or to remain in a proper frame of mind.
Monday. Nick expressing desire to buy me a drink. Having pear vodka and soda in the grass at the park. The bottle matches the color of leaves against the sunny sky, which is mostly why I wanted it (also the use of the phrase "pear thrust" on the description on the bottle). Deciding to watch a movie instead of going back to our respective hanging out with family / sitting around alone. Roasting vegetables, eating half a head of garlic, watching Time Bandits (which is pretty magical). Sitting on a dilapidated couch and enjoying the silent acknowledgement you can get with the right smirk, instead of the tacit avoidance of some previous encounters.
Friday. Alex and I meet in Manhattan in our now-familiar fashion. We go to the Whitney and bypass a block-long line with his corporate pass. There is an exhibit of psychedelic art and a Rudolph Stingel exhibit. Stingel is famous for covering museum rooms in styrofoam and foil, and having guests mark it however they choose. It was so noisily damaged that I couldn't get a mark in edgewise, but made a valliant effort with a brand-new sharpie I found on the street that very afternoon. Stingel's other work gave me some fantastic ideas for Moomers, but ones I don't know that I can pull off. Floor made of mirrors? Panels of those stenciled baroque wallpaper pattens? Giant crystal chandelier??
We went to a set at the Jazz Standard, the Abdullah Ibrahim Trio played. SO GOOD. It was like a dream or trip; I figure I had some revelation in there, but now I can't figure out how to communicate what I experienced. We decided to walk up to our favorite bar (BXL cafe) and got caught in a downpour of cathartic proportions. We were soaked, umbrella both useless and less fun, running around and laughing, and finally getting to the bar looking like drowned rats. He tried to teach me to solve a novelty Bloomberg rubik's cube. We found the best muffin I've ever eaten, and then ate it.