For some reason, I am really happy about being single right now. Spring is in the air and birds are tweeting at each other, the wind keeps changing. I’ve got a spring in my step and I’m facebookin’ boys, letting myself get distracted. Listening to Jay-Z and painting my nails blackblackred and buying up floral dresses because you can take turns at being whoever you want, and noone’s keeping track.
Picture by Dina Goldstein
Walking home from town last night, I got accosted by a gang of children. Accosted is actually a euphemism. If they weren’t children (like 8 year olds), I would say mildly molested, or assaulted, or something. Walking past them at 1am, I barely had time to think “Sheesh, where do their parents think they are?” before one of them said “Hey, lady!” and grabbed my thigh. Then all the others laughed, and another one grabbed at me too, and they all walked away. I was so taken aback I didn’t even slap or snap at them, just stand for a full second with my mouth open and went on my way.
Seriously, they were like, eight. Normally, when I say “he was like, twelve”, everyone knows what I mean is the guy is 20, just quite skinny and slight, with rumpled boy hair and still technically a little too young for me to be crushing on him without feeling guilty (but it’s not a crime or anything). These guys. Were. EIGHT. Maximum. They grabbed my thigh because they could not reach any higher.
A few blocks down the road, this cute indie couple came over and the guy was all: “Excuse me, did those FIVE year olds just RAPE you?” So I wasn’t exaggerating about the age thing. And apparantly, right after, they head them say “Me like”. Gaaaaaag. There is not enough therapy in the world for me to deal with this, so you have to.
Pictures from the Dushi exhibition by Florentijn Hofman.
Brain pathways are funny, the way you can wear such a groove in a particular track that you can’t even stop it anymore. Habit thoughts. There’s a certain part of my walk to work each morning, across the road and halfway through the park, where I have to mentally check that, yes, I did remember to put all my clothes on and I will be perfectly decent when I pull my coat off at work. Every day! It’s such a banal thing to spend brain-space on.
Also, is it weird that I still daydream? Is that something you’re supposed to grow out of?
Once, when I was around 13, I remember talking with my parents about fear, and saying the thing I was most afraid of was time. And they kind of thought I was being ridiculous – fair call, given that sharks exist – but I wasn’t just being a pretentious emo kid. Because I read. I read J. M. Barrie’s Peter Pan and the last chapter broke my heart, because he forgets Wendy, and when he remembers she has grown up and he doesn’t want her anymore. I just read that part again, here, and it hit me just the same. And every time each of the children learnt they had gotten too old for Narnia.
You can’t go back.
And it’s so weird that the past is absolutely nothing but what we remember of it. Once we forget, it may as well not have happened. We can pull the moments together and turn it into a story, but it’s not the real story.
Anyway. This video asks, what is a moment? It’s vivid and human and resonant, and the soundtrack is beautiful. Reminds me that I want to fit more moments into life.
(Video directed by Will Hoffman, presented by Radi0lab.)
(you guys I am still so scared of getting old)
The Internet is so exciting right now I don’t want to talk about my own life at all! Because how can late night laundry compete with this amazing Jon Rafman picture essay, The Nine Eyes of Google Street View? It just can’t.
The essay’s full of amazing and crazy pictures, scenes that just happened to be caught as the driver did his rounds, houses on fire and people in gutters and beautiful quiet moments that happen every day. Rafman’s commentary is really thoughtful too, about how we’ve become used to this kind of surveillence, how we project stories onto the people caught in the camera, and the detachment of a gaze that wide and silent.
My favourite Google Street view experience was when it first came to New Zealand. After checking out my place, I headed down the road to the Prime Minister’s official residence. And there she was! Standing outside in familiar red jacket, our (now no longer) PM, Helen Clark. Noone’s immune.
My plan for the weekend so far is to dress up from head to heel and hit the playground for a long and leisurely swing. Inspiration?
Also, I can’t believe John Hughes died last week (and that I only just found out). I don’t even like any of the kids in The Breakfast Club, but it sure is some movie. He was a talented guy, mad respect.
Before it get’s too ridiculous, in a get-over-it-already kind of way, here are my last two NYC posts for A Cat On The Wall:
Who Isn’t Afraid of Patrick Wolf – in which I get all gushy over the British bombshell and bitch out the band who opened for him. I actually feel kinda bad about how scatterbrained that post is because Patrick deserves far more attention and kudos than I could muster at 1am when I wrote it. Check out The Magic Position & Wolf Song vids at the bottom of this entry if you wanna see for yourself.
Five Things I’ll Miss From Friday – Just a meandering through a few of the things I’m pining for. If I wanted to wallow in self-pity I’d now add: warm poppyseed bagels with thickly spread cream cheese, the eternal promise of celebrities just around the corner, boys who are not blokes, getting drunk on the proximity of multiple Picassos, buskers on the subway (ok they were annoying at the time), cocktails on rooftops, and summer summer summer. But! People understand what I am saying on the phone here and that makes up for a lot.