margate mods

Hello, readers.

It is the end of this particular month of May. We won’t ever see it’s like again.

It’s also a bank holiday. This is what British people call certain days during which banks go on a holiday. Sometimes I wonder what banks do on holiday. After spending all that time housing, or at least pretending to house money, do they enjoy a relaxing afternoon in a hammock? Is there a hammock large enough to support financial situations deemed too large to fail? Or must those banks deemed too large to fail holiday in special YOU ARE SO VERY IMPORTANT TO CAPITALISM resorts for which their size, and significance, are especially accommodated?

Here is a video about a past bank holiday weekend in England, and in particular Margate, which is the name of the place where I currently find myself living. It is an exciting video full of old time announcer voice and that sense of impending doom one feels when hearing an old time announcer voice announce that millions of people haven’t a care in the world.

It is also the sort of video in which people are named UNDESIRABLE and occasional violence is scored by a surprisingly jaunty soundtrack.

Today, on my bank holiday walk along the Margate sands, there were, in fact, many motorcycles and also there were many people. Some of these people arrived by motorcycle. Some did not. You could more or less tell who was who by their habits of leather. I did not see anyone particularly undesirable. I did see many people eating ice cream and one jovial threesome discussing the gravity of speed.

In other news, I read a round-up of Barry Jenkins interviews in which there is much discussion of his 10-episode adaptation of Colson Whitehead’s pulitzer prize winning novel, The Underground Railroad. One interviewer compared Jenkins to Wong Kar-Wai and I love that connection. Both are directors that adventure in, and encourage, sustained attention. I’m excited to see what Jenkins brand of attention brings to Whitehead’s novel. And, as part of that excitement, and in honor of sustained attention, I’ll be taking my time, watching the series one episode per week as God, and broadcast television supported by advertising, intended.

Happy holidays, readers.


reunions of space and time

Hello, readers.

I started taking a contemporary dance class a couple weeks ago. It is in a small church with brightly colored walls. There are eleven or so of us. We stand an appropriate distance apart. And we move and we move and we imagine that we are hugged by a mattress and we imagine that we are very angry and trapped in a tiny greenhouse.

It is wonderful.

Also. This means that people sometimes now talk to me of throwing shapes.

In other news. I hope to be able to travel to Nashville in August and see Wilco and Sleater Kinney. Here is a video about that which made me smile.

I haven’t watched the Friends reunion. I have many feelings about this reunion. I remember watching the show with my mom and dad and sister. I remember being so invested in Ross and Rachel. I remember standing in the rain with Ross outside the coffee shop. I remember seeing, or perhaps modeling, something of my personality on Chandler. I remember the games that Ross and Rachel and Joey and Chandler and Monica and Phoebe played, on the couch in Monica’s room and at Thanksgiving. I remember craving that casual intimacy with a group of people. I remember being uncomfortable with the boy/girlness of it. I remember being baffled by the wall that seemed to separate them. I didn’t have any language at the time for this feeling. I only recognized that the shows I deeply loved were more full of geekery and less reliant on gender-based slapstick.

I remember thinking one day I would meet a girl and she would see that I was not like a guy on tv.

I remember visiting the coffee shop set of Friends during a tour of the WB lot. Plush sofa. Chairs. Coffee bar. All packed tight. There was hardly room for any sort of human to move.

Time. And space.

That’s all we’ve got in the end.