Listen. I celebrate the new. I know the drill of hype and excitement, everyone fighting over the last remaining crumbs of commerce in the attention economy.
You know what else I celebrate? Your friendship, as in the line from the movie "Team America": "I celebrate your friendship." I fact-checked myself and this isn't the line. It's "I treasure your friendship." And that movie was a low point for one of its creators, this quick search tells me, but now I'm just gossiping. One human's low point is another human's oft-quoted (misquoted) line. I am 99 percent certain I'm mashing this up with "Office Space," a highly-quotable movie we own on DVD and VHS: "I celebrate the guy's entire catalog," re: singer with long flowing hair, James...John...Michael! Bolton.
I also celebrate the less-new. I celebrate the worn-with-use thing from the library, the garage sale, my own basement. Coming in a week or two late to the big album release, getting to it when I get to it, in the car last night, in this case. Revisiting a song from decades ago. Rereading an essay collection, trying to get a handle on my own nonfiction project.
We're right on time, friends, whenever we are.
Now reading: The Glimpse Traveler by Marianne Boruch, These Precious Days by Ann Patchett, In Search of Our Mothers' Gardens by Toni Morrison. I'm on an essay bender that knows no bounds.
Now listening: On the turntable, Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, "A Taste of Honey," purchased at a neighbor's garage sale. On my phone, Taylor Swift's "Midnights," downloaded from library app Hoopla. Son Volt's "Drown," on repeat, for some reason, via YouTube. It even sounds like '90s flannel shirts to me.
Now watching: The demise of microblogging platform Twitter in real time. The most recent season of "Never Have I Ever," which is so well-written and hilarious. Recently finished "The Americans," which, midway through, left the streaming platform we subscribe to and moved to one we don't. Finished the last two seasons via DVD from the library. One of the best series finales I've seen.
Cleaning house, digital edition:
Post a Comment