There was a thought-provoking comment on one of my blog entries this week. There aren’t many I can allude to, so you can easily find it if you’re curious. What it boiled down to was this: Compliment + pointing out how much I’ve changed in such a way as to suggest that it’s a bad thing + somewhat affectionate parting words.
The sum of it all was, well, I scratched my head. I was bleary-eyed, because I spend way too much time in front of computers these days. Understanding of tone and context and all that flies out the window after a certain hour, too. But I always enjoy a comment to validate my online presence. I am, because I blog? Hardly. You are when you get readers, and you are cool when you get comments that make sense. Or comments that maybe don’t make sense, but in a good way.
I have certainly changed. Yesterday, I found a picture of me in the bottom of a drawer and I barely recognized myself. Granted, it was from a few years ago, but wow, I no longer possess any material thing I had in that picture. Much more, I am not in any of the same situations the picture conveys. Well, minus breathing and digestion and other trivialities.
On behalf of Bumble and Bumble, I’d like to say my hair was really damaged, too.
Everything is much busier now, but you know what? I’m in some shade of happy in every facet of my life. I earn a living by reading and writing. There are a few great people I interact with almost everyday. I live in a stimulating place that would kick me in the shins if I refused to grow.
And I have an iPhone.
A chalk Barack and hilly Hillary.
This girl is a rude tourist. She put her drink and later, food on my bench in the park during my rushed lunch break. Has she no idea that I have one hour during the workday to sit in the fresh air, eat fruit, and silently judge people? I don’t want to do all of this while some stranger is messing around with crap a foot away from me. That’s called work and commuting, not break. She should have asked to use my bench. I’m reasonable; I’d have said yes. But consent is everything, and she didn’t seek it.
This is one of my favorite ways to be a (noisiest) passenger - sun shining on my bare feet as they tap on a dashboard.
Peaches to gorge on. Was the typo intentional?
When Mike and I were walking to the Dunkin’ Donuts/KFC for lunch (because we hate ourselves), we spied a couple at the bar next door sitting outdoors to take in the gorgeous view. Those fume belching trucks, they just show the wonder of God’s creation. The couple was gone by the time we ordered lunch, so Mike is a stand-in.
I stumbled across your blog quite by accident and was pleased to find something so intelligently written. I’ve spent a fair bit of time in NYC and enjoy seeing the city through different eyes. Keep blogging!
you’re obviously talented and obviously undiscovered, magnifying your charm and putting into question just how masturbatory blogging is. ordinarily, a new yorker new to the scene, a disgruntled former urban school teacher no less, would just agitate to no end. but you’re so goddamn readable, you’re so goddamn vulnerable, it’s almost as if you should be granted the rarest of rare: the right to blog. shoot me if i’m wrong blogging gods, but ms. adventures has proven her mettle.
for the record, the fact that you’re good doesn’t bother me. many are good. what strikes deep and throbbing pangs of jealousy is how prolific you are.