I’m going to Tulsa tomorrow. On a private plane. I normally wouldn’t brag about that, but that is pretty fucking baller. Who gets to go to Tulsa on a private plane? Basically no one. Except me. And a few other people. Tomorrow. I feel comfortable basking in the glory of this because it will no doubt be the first and only time in my life I will fly anything but coach.
I’m going for the opening of the Philbrook Museum Downtown, a satellite of the city’s main art institution. I’m writing a piece on it for a publication, so you’ll have to wait to hear more on that until it comes out.
One of the most difficult things about being really busy is adjusting to the lull of when you’re not so busy afterwards. For me, this is especially challenging when the lull comes in the middle of the week, while everyone else is working, and I’m just sitting in my apartment in my three-day old workout clothes, catching up on “Game of Thrones” and eating Half Baked ice cream at 1pm in the afternoon. That’s like what people normally do on Saturdays. If they’re fat. And lazy.
Yesterday, in an attempt to ward off the inevitable depression that usually accompanies guilt, I decided to do some challenging reading in my free afternoon. So I picked up Roland Barthes’ “A Lover’s Discourse,” and tried to begin it. “A Lover’s Discourse” is the book that Madeleine, the main female character in Jeffrey Eugenides’ novel “The Marriage Plot,” reads to get over her brilliant bipolar lover, Leonard. She met Leonard in a semiotics class at Brown University, the school I attended in real life.
Walking to the F train, Saturday night.
I have like 20 minutes of dead time between one project and another, so rather than lying down — I’ll never get up — I thought I’d write a post on this stupid fucking blog. I love writing on this stupid fucking blog.
I’m a little bit superstitious. On Saturday morning, I got one disappointing piece of news — a print piece I had written had been pushed online, a fact that the editor assured me was actually good news because it would “get more readers.” For me, bad news comes in threes. So I searched for the other two disappointing events for the rest of the weekend, and found them, willfully.