I agreed to meet a guy and immediately after realised that he was painfully boring. This is a guy I've conversed with for nearly a month, and the entire conversation pretty much follows a pattern where I make a statement, he either agrees with me or is confused/insecure. If he agrees with me, he hasn't given me anything else to go with, so I try a different statement with a question attached to it. If he's insecure (this happens every time I mention something even a tiny bit outside his comfort zone, which I'm discovering is pretty narrow), I throw him something that's a little nearer on the spectrum to what he might be comfortable with. Repeat. He hasn't really brought anything but his own insecurities to the table. But I didn't notice the pattern until after I agreed we should meet him.
Enjoying and continuing a conversation for its challenges, when the goal is to determine whether you like the person behind the words, is something of a problem. I can talk, indefinitely, about nearly anything, forever. I'm the terrible actor who has forgotten that conversation is subtext, and you only talk because you want something. Talking to me is probably like talking to a sentient search engine. Google doesn't need anything from you, it can find it for itself, all it needs is you to agree to let it look.
I am not buying succulents.
Saturday, August 12, 2017
Tuesday, August 1, 2017
Gentrification
I spend a lot of time documenting a New York that doesn't really feel like my experience. I promised co-workers that I would keep them updated, and send pictures. I had also fixed on the story of me becoming a tour guide, because that felt less crazy to people than theatre. So, to that end, I have an Instagram that I keep updated with... a version of my New York experience.
More and more it feels like someone else's experience of the city. The other day I found myself outside Bryant Park, staring at a building I'd seen back in March and thinking, "Oh, that's the Empire State Building." Then I turned the corner and saw the Chrysler building. I have walked down these streets. I've been all around the park and the library multiple times; I *have* to have seen it without noticing it. So this time, I took the photo and posted it, pretending that I hadn't seen it before.
Beyond that, though, the New York in my photos is shiny. It looks bright, clean, coloured in purple, green, blue and yellow, and friendly. It looks like a tourist would want New York to look. There's one image of Prospect Park, in Brooklyn, that I find particularly funny because it looks beautiful, because you can't really see all the trash on the ground and you definitely can't smell the fact that the entire area smells like pee.
I think if I were to actually photograph the New York I see, it would mostly be concrete and chrome, railings and garbage bags. The dirty once-white of the inside of subway stations and pavement so covered in gum it looks like a Dalmatian are more what my days look like.
I moved, and was worrying about explaining the new place, because it's in a neighbourhood that historically would have made my mother panic to even know existed. I currently live a block from gentrification. The food stamp centre and the job assistance place are juxtaposed with expensive cafes with brunch menus. If I walk two blocks west, places try to identify themselves "not quite the thoroughly gentrified neighbourhood next door." If I walk two blocks east, I can go to a Family Dollar that reminds you every 60 seconds that the premises are being monitored.
I'm not sure how I'd photograph that if I could, but I know I don't really want to share it, yet. They can wait for the hopelessness of winter in the city to set in.
More and more it feels like someone else's experience of the city. The other day I found myself outside Bryant Park, staring at a building I'd seen back in March and thinking, "Oh, that's the Empire State Building." Then I turned the corner and saw the Chrysler building. I have walked down these streets. I've been all around the park and the library multiple times; I *have* to have seen it without noticing it. So this time, I took the photo and posted it, pretending that I hadn't seen it before.
Beyond that, though, the New York in my photos is shiny. It looks bright, clean, coloured in purple, green, blue and yellow, and friendly. It looks like a tourist would want New York to look. There's one image of Prospect Park, in Brooklyn, that I find particularly funny because it looks beautiful, because you can't really see all the trash on the ground and you definitely can't smell the fact that the entire area smells like pee.
I think if I were to actually photograph the New York I see, it would mostly be concrete and chrome, railings and garbage bags. The dirty once-white of the inside of subway stations and pavement so covered in gum it looks like a Dalmatian are more what my days look like.
I moved, and was worrying about explaining the new place, because it's in a neighbourhood that historically would have made my mother panic to even know existed. I currently live a block from gentrification. The food stamp centre and the job assistance place are juxtaposed with expensive cafes with brunch menus. If I walk two blocks west, places try to identify themselves "not quite the thoroughly gentrified neighbourhood next door." If I walk two blocks east, I can go to a Family Dollar that reminds you every 60 seconds that the premises are being monitored.
I'm not sure how I'd photograph that if I could, but I know I don't really want to share it, yet. They can wait for the hopelessness of winter in the city to set in.
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