I keep being drawn to these shirts that can only be described as SPACESHIP CASUAL. I very much hope that that my grandchildren will be rocking similar clothes as they hurtle and float through space, as they fall in love / re-invent food / write books just with their brains / wear robots as shoes.
Every playwright fantasizes about her first New York Times Interview. How she’ll breeze two minutes late into the Cobble Hill cafe, a free moment between rehearsals, in 400 dollar jeans but it’s not a thing that’s discussed, just a thing that the journalist notices, order a chardonnay at eleven AM, speak deeply of important things in a way that no one quite ever has.
Yesterday morning I had my first NYT interview over the phone re: the incredible upcoming Women’s playwright’s festival in DC. I will have you all know that I did this interview in my night shirt, which is a thing that I have, not having yet brushed my teeth, shoving string cheese into my face while also trying to get dressed for work, and I can’t fully remember anything I said and there was no glamour or profundity and my greatest hope / wish is that I SPOKE IN SENTENCES AND USED WORDS RIGHT.
Morrison says I have a Christmas demon living inside of me that emerges around the holidays and feeds off lights and joy and wrapping paper and fudge and fresh rolls of scotch tape and the soft tissue around old ornaments and tying bows around candy canes and velour dresses, demon that sleeps deep and wakes early to make hot chocolate and hide things. I REALLY don’t know what he’s talking about and the fact that today I smelled cinnamon and suddenly felt a surge of a maniacal joy and my inner monologue turned to AHHHHH IT’S ALMOST SEPTEMBER WHICH IS ALMOST OCTOBER WHICH IS ALMOST NOVEMBER WHICH IS ALMOST DECEMBER WHICH IS ALMOST CHRISTMAS IS REALLY NOT INDICATIVE OF ANY SORT OF DEMON QUALITY NOT AT ALL WHERE IS THE TREE.
I somehow accidentally got myself a business class seat back from Vancouver, and ohhhhh no, I think I get its appeal. It is a scary feeling when you sense your standards shift slightly up, and your inner poor person / brooklynite winces into her ramen. Business class: First to board, first to de-plane, infinite cocktails, a sort of strange gourmet dinner, little porcelain bowls of nuts, mild feelings of superiority that feel totally gross but right. The guy across from me complained to our servant / stewardess: Since this flight’s delayed, I’m going to miss my connection, which means I’m going to have to get the later flight to New York and FLY COACH. The servant / stewardess replied, with great sincerity: Oh, no. I am so, so sorry. My moral center rolled its eyes as I transcribed this dialogue. I then asked for more warm nuts and stretched my legs out on towards infinity.
I wanna live my life outside. This is a late discovery. I used to hide inside reading Babysitter’s Club until my parents literally had to lock me out of the house until I’d ridden my bike around the neighborhood. And even THEN, I would sit under the swing set in the backyard and play circus, which, from what I recall, just involved sitting underneath the swing set in the backyard, and imagining a circus happening all around me.
But in my adult life, I LOVE OUTSIDE. It’s gorgeous and massive and calm and here for us to play on and explore like a grown up swing set but sturdier most of the time. Today Julien and I hiked the Stawamus Peak Chief and if I’m being real it was more of a TWO MILE TOTALLY UPHILL CLIMB.
I nearly died 9 times partially because of a back injury from something pathetic like lifting something and then like, standing out of a chair too fast, but a bunch of terrifying chains / ladders / stairs / trees / stones / very fast children later:
By far the highest I have ever climbed. The Chief stands 2,000 feet over Squamish, so I’m just going to tell myself I did that.
We rewarded ourselves with something not found in nature but Godly, just the same.
And props to these kids who ALSO <3 the outside and also taking money from tourists who are dying of thirst who thought the hike was 90 minutes ROUND TRIP NOT ONE WAY.
OH HI I’M IN VANCOUVER! For those just tuning, that’s Canada, which is basically America but everyone is just a lot nicer and there seem to be more trees and soup. Each year, by which I mean the last two years, my childhood and grownuphood friend Julien and I pick a place and go there. We selected Vancouver for its food and hikes, as we both like to eat and climb things. The more cities you see, the more they become hybrids of each other. Vancouver is Seattle meets San Fransisco meets Chicago meets the scary shots of the warped future town in the Hunger Games, as its sky line 90 percent high rises. Basically, it’s quite beautiful and pristine, urban without being so ridiculously overpriced like every last US city where people with man buns and juice habits like to live. So far most notable: it’s beaches are accessible, sensical, and clean — values they seem to be very much ABOOT (CANADA JOKE / THE ONLY ONE.)
Sister Carrie turned 32 yesterday, so she flew to LA for 24 hours to stay with her hubs at the Roosevelt hotel, where we plopped poolside and drank Rose for 5 hours with the Russian tourists then ate an ungodly amount of Mexican food to the point of sickness because I MEAN WHY WOULD YOU NOT.
YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!
-Absurd amounts of backsweat
- Back to School by which I mean my most favorite time as a kid, I mean, a new set of colored pencils AND a new pair of second hand corduroy pants, AND a chance to reinvent yourself entirely that is until you get to class and of course realize it’s all exactly the same except maybe someone got their period and there’s a new sort of soccer shoe that everyone is casually wearing that you do not have? FUHGEDDABOUTIT.
- These Calendar drawings: