Tag Archives: new york

Missing Holden Caulfield.

new york city pop art billboard ad underwear

Holden Caulfield, via J.D. Salinger once said,

Don’t ever tell anybody anything.  If you do, you start missing everybody.

This has always stuck with me.

You know how certain songs cause you to time travel? You hear a song and your mind takes you back to where you were where you heard it and what you felt and who was there. When I hear “Thirteen” by Big Star I remember this incredible date this sweet guy took me on in New York. I didn’t have a lot of time and I warned him, trying to convince him that we couldn’t go out because even though I wanted to, I knew it wouldn’t work out. I was just too busy. But he was persistent, and not in a creepy way. In a way that was so sincere that I let my smile take up my entire face. I told him I had, “like, two minutes” — and he took it to heart. He hailed a cab and we went to an Italian restaurant…down the street. We went through three courses in about one minute. Literally. He planned this ahead. We took our leftovers over to a movie…on the sidewalk. He set up a TV to play Manos: Hands Of Fate, the best of the worst films ever made. It’s such a bad film that he was able to condense the entire thing into twenty seconds. Then he asked if we had time for coffee. Well, we had about thirty seconds. We went back to the Italian place that suddenly had coffee and desert set up on the table. It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for me. And somewhere, “Thirteen” by Big Star was playing. And I will forever tie that song to that incredible memory. It didn’t work out between us. I eventually went back to my ex.

Also, none of this happened to me, this happened on How I Met Your Mother.

Ha ha. Got you.

Sorry. I don’t know why I did that.

I got terribly astray from what I was saying, which was that if you let it, anything can remind you of everything. As humans we try to find connections in our lives, where there are none. For example, you’ll tell your friend over lunch about someone you went to high school with, and hours later, you’ll run into that very person on the street. And you’ll say, “My God, what are the odds?!” But if you really thought about it, you’d realize that the odds weren’t that extreme; maybe you were in an area where your former classmate lived, or you only noticed your classmate walking down the street because you had just mentioned them, or your classmate mentioned on Facebook a place they went to for lunch and that’s why you went there; you simply disassociated your classmate from the entire experience because it’s more meaningful to believe that it all happened by some delightful wink of the universe.

don draper wink

Okay, look, I’ll finally get what I’ve been trying to get to. And that is, it’s nearly impossible to forget anybody or anything you’ve ever done that ever meant something, even if it was only slightly. I’ll see a girl wearing fingerless gloves and I’ll think of 14th street in NYC. I’ll hear a Bob Dylan song and have a sudden and brief fervent passion for a boy I had a crush on in college. I’ll smell a certain shampoo and remember my staying with my ex-boyfriend at his house in Rochester. And I do these things — we all do these things — because we want to. Even though it hurts. Because unless you’re a psychopath, you can’t but feel emotion, even if it’s people you think you don’t give a monkey about. It creeps in, but you don’t notice it. To you, it’s like, “Why the hell am I missing Stephanie from elementary school? I haven’t thought about her in years.” It rains and I think about my apartment in New York City. And I think about what a hassel it was — but a great hassel — to move in. I thought about how it would be a ragtag group of me and my friends dragging a couch up a staircase like in Friends. Asking them, hey, can you move for free? I’ll treat you guys to coffee. And then I’m nostalgic for a moment that never even happened.

And that’s why I understand Holden Caulfield, that beloved outcast, so beloved by our generation it’s become cliche. Because nostalgia will fucking kill you if you let it. It’s like alcohol or drugs. Some people can enjoy nostalgia recreationally. Others let it ruin them. The worst thing is that sometimes you don’t even need to talk to someone from your past. All you have to do is see their photo or time travel via a song or memory and you’re right there and by the time you come back, you’re completely hungover with nostalgia.

God, imagine how i’m going to feel when I’m forty.

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FUCK YOU, KOREA MAN.

This post was written last Friday around 10:30 PM.

bob dylanHave you felt that moment when you look up someone you had a crush on and they have a girlfriend and live in fucking KOREA I AM SO FUCKING LONELY? What the hell and why do I ruin everything? This was in college and I had my moment and I didn’t resist the shining adventure and we had sex in my bathroom while my friend was sleeping on the couch, it was a studio apartment, I’m not really sure what you want from me, and it was New York (!) and I was young and blonde, I mean, that’s just going to happen. He wanted me, I wanted him, and then, the way things happen in New York City when you’re on your own for the first time, he became a bisexual drug addict and left school.

AND, BECAUSE HE DELETED HIS FACEBOOK ACCOUNT, I NEVER HEARD OF HIM AGAIN. Until now. Until this sad moment, when I stuffed my face with meat and cheese and chocolate and then almost did Wii fit but stopped to look up this ASSHAT on Google and now I’m sitting here in a push-up bra and sweatpants BECAUSE THAT’S HOW I WORK OUT, FUCK YOU, and I discover that he still exists, has a girlfriend, and lives in Korea. This is the same boy who once adored me. The same boy who once came into class, excited, and said, “Last night was crazy. I slept in an arm chair man,” the same boy who couldn’t afford to buy a GAP shirt so instead he went the a thrift store across the street and bought a GAP shirt from there.

FUCK YOU, DUDE. FUCK YOU FOR MOVING ON WITH YOUR LIFE AND BEING HAPPY AND MOVING TO KOREA. Even though I only remembered your existence about 20 minutes ago. How could you do this to me? How could I let you do this to me? What is this? Why am I so sad and lonely and pathetic and undesirable to those I desire? DAMN IT. WHY DO YOU LIVE IN KOREA???

HERE’S A PICTURE OF MAYOR STUBBS, FUCK YOU.

cat mayor

AND FUCK THIS, I’M GOING TO A PARTY.

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You’re in a new town.

empire state building nyc

Photo by me.

I am now certain that I miss New York city, though it’s sweaty as monkeys in a suitcase out here. Before I can even make it outside I’m all balmy and my hair is limp. I love this city, but jeez New York, calm your tits.

Here’s where my inner Patrick Bateman comes out: you’ll know I’ve given up on life if I move to Brooklyn. I do not adore Brooklyn. It’s far and empty and spooky at night and nothing is open and there’s no cabs. And hark, nature’s cruel joke — all of my friends, save one (love you Kelly) have moved to Brooklyn since I was last here. Which was only a year ago. All of them. Just the whole lot, off to Brooklyn. My dad lives in Manhattan. Do you not understand my unyielding pain here? I’m faced with a long subway ride or a $20 cab fare. This is debilitating and even thinking about it makes me want to place one of my childlike chubby fingers to my temple and let a single tear fall from my sweaty cheek.

I get it — Brooklyn is cheaper than Manhattan. At least that’s what you’re all telling me. Though I’m not convinced. But some of you insist that you live in Brooklyn because Brooklyn is better, which is hilarious. That’s like insisting that “Home Alone 3” is the best of all of the “Home Alone” films. Don’t insult me, comrade.

Yes, I am an asshole. I totally get that. But Oh My Kanye I hate having to haul ass to Brooklyn. You’re all worth it, I’m not saying that. But there’s nothing nearly as awesome where you live that we couldn’t do here in Real New York. Trust me, we can find your beloved independent vegan coffee guitar store here in the city. Your homemade soda shop/tattoo parlor. Your 80’s themed organic whiskey bar. We have those here too. I swear. And we have more. And we have transportation that will take you there.

Again, I’m an asshole.

And I live in Silver Lake/Los Feliz so I get it. I get wanting to live in a cool area where you can walk everywhere, where all your friends live, and where rent is cheaper than somewhere else more glamorous. I’m being a dick and a half, because where I live I can rent a one bedroom for half of what you rent in NYC for a studio. New York rent is crazy. So we all do what we can, and we’re all lucky to live in any of these places.

It’s really hot here.

I’m all not all cynical snobbery though. I’ve had some very lovely evenings in Brooklyn since I’ve been here. Very wonderful. Magical, even. Like Truman Capote shit. I love all of you BK friends. I just wished you lived closer. So, literally and figuratively, come at me.

 

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Thoughts from New York.

GUYS: If a girl thinks you’re gay, it means she thinks, “That man dresses well, has exceptional taste and style, looks like he showers, and is actually trying to talk to me instead of grabbing at my boobs.” It’s a compliment.

GIRLS: If you’re with a guy (or girl or anyone), stop getting insecure about their ex-girlfriends. They’re with you know. Sure, there’s curiosity and then there’s angst. I NEED TO GET BETTER AT THIS ONE.

EVERYONE: Can we just be kinder to each other? Being cynical is tired. Try something else.

BEN STILLER: I saw you on Broadway in “House of Blue Leaves” and you are an astonishingly good actor. Can you please cut it the fuck out with this Meet The Parent shit? Do you not have enough money at this point? Do you really need more cars? Boats? Cashmere underwear? I don’t know. Just stop it. This is why no one likes you. Stop it. Be good. Let yourself be good. I believe in you, Ben Stiller. I believe in you.

CAB DRIVER WHO DROVE LIKE THE COPS WERE CHASING US: I undertipped you on PURPOSE. THAT WAS THE SCARIEST RIDE OF MY LIFE. AND WHEN I SAID I’LL GET OUT HERE, YOU KEPT DRIVING. BETWEEN THAT AND YOUR MR. TOAD’S WILD RIDE DRIVING ABILITIES, I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO DIE. WE ALMOST HIT 3 DIFFERENT CARS. THIS WAS NOT AN AVERAGE CAB RIDE, WHERE ONE HITS ALMOST 2 CARS. 3 IS 1 TOO MANY. 3 IS INSANE.

Bonus: Can we not wear backpacks and capris to the theater?

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