I leaned in close to the shopping list on the kitchen counter. My foot tapped the floor as I tried to remember all the random items I wanted to get from the store.
"Trashcan for the main room."
"Storage for sweaters."
"Warm weather clothes."
Suddenly I blinked and leaned back. Looked over my shoulder uneasily and then back at the list. The handwriting was tiny.
After 24 years of knowing one another I've become rather good at noticing the warning signs I give off. I begin to wear my hair long (hiding behind it), I wear makeup more often (mask) and my handwriting becomes tiny (no idea). These stages... There's got to be a name for it. The I-doubt-myself-and-give-others-too-much-power-over-my-self-esteem stage. For the last year or so my confidence has been completely shot. Perhaps it's been longer. It has been awhile since I felt really sure of myself.
Need to get my confidence back. My handwriting depends on it.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
So tell me about throwing a piano in the East River
"I had this old piano to get rid of in my room and I wanted to just leave it on a street corner—it was such a beautiful thing that I wanted it to affect someone else somehow. Then I got this idea to drop it into the water. I was thinking about how people talk about political change as just a drop of water in the ocean, and I wanted to make more than a drop—I wanted to make a big splash. Basically, I went to a friend and said I wanted to do this piece and I would sell it to him for the price of taking care of me if I got busted, lawyer fees and whatever else. If nothing happened, it would be free. I would call it "What The World Needs Now Is A White Piano In The East River." He was into it, and then it just started taking on so much meaning. It felt like if the point of what I had tried to say on Louden Up Now was missed, this could be me making that point again. And part of it was still about rebelliousness, even as a 34-year-old, doing what wasn't expected. I didn't have anything prepared beforehand, but at the moment I just honestly said I thought the world would be a better place if everybody followed their crazy dreams. That's all it had been up until that point: a crazy dream. Then I played a few bars of "What The World Needs Now Is Love," the Burt Bacharach and Hal David song, and pushed it in. It was one of the most incredible feelings I've ever had."
Nic Offer of !!! as interviewed by The A.V. Club
Nic Offer of !!! as interviewed by The A.V. Club
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Saturday, June 09, 2007
an organism's ability to store, retain, and subsequently recall information
I absolutely hate the way my memory functions. I can remember places vividly but not people. I can remember numbers (short term) but not names.
Another designer and I were chatting and he mentioned that we had met before. "Don't you remember? We met by the chalkboard at the portfolio showing." And I can remember the room with the chalkboard, I could tell you where the chairs were facing and how many tables were in the room but I cannot, for the life of me, remember meeting this guy.
I was trying to remember my great grandmother this afternoon and the only moments that came to mind were memories of her house, not her. I can remember her sun porch. It was thickly painted with a warm soldier gray and the wooden slats sloped down toward the front. She had aluminium lawn chairs with thick foam pads. They were pea green vinyl along the sides with a pea green and blue floral pattern on the top. I can remember the way the aluminium arms felt and the way they curved at the end. She had plants hanging throughout the porch with scratchy macrame holders. There was a sort of wind chime on one end of the porch made entirely of shells. It made this beautiful clinking noise when the wind blew through.
But I shouldn't remember her aluminium furniture! I should remember her eyes or what she said to me while she was alive. I wish I could. My mother tells me that she was the kindest, truest soul she's ever known. That she was so energetic and giving. But I can't remember any of this. I just fucking remember some shells and some lawn furniture. It's something but it doesn't feel important.
I wish there were a way to rewire the way one's memory functioned.
Another designer and I were chatting and he mentioned that we had met before. "Don't you remember? We met by the chalkboard at the portfolio showing." And I can remember the room with the chalkboard, I could tell you where the chairs were facing and how many tables were in the room but I cannot, for the life of me, remember meeting this guy.
I was trying to remember my great grandmother this afternoon and the only moments that came to mind were memories of her house, not her. I can remember her sun porch. It was thickly painted with a warm soldier gray and the wooden slats sloped down toward the front. She had aluminium lawn chairs with thick foam pads. They were pea green vinyl along the sides with a pea green and blue floral pattern on the top. I can remember the way the aluminium arms felt and the way they curved at the end. She had plants hanging throughout the porch with scratchy macrame holders. There was a sort of wind chime on one end of the porch made entirely of shells. It made this beautiful clinking noise when the wind blew through.
But I shouldn't remember her aluminium furniture! I should remember her eyes or what she said to me while she was alive. I wish I could. My mother tells me that she was the kindest, truest soul she's ever known. That she was so energetic and giving. But I can't remember any of this. I just fucking remember some shells and some lawn furniture. It's something but it doesn't feel important.
I wish there were a way to rewire the way one's memory functioned.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
unstable
and it's our lives
it's hard to remember
we're alive for the first time
it's hard to remember
we're alive for the last time
it's hard to remember
to live before you die -mm
An acquaintance died the other day. I didn't know him well but his death has been such a blow. K died in Iraq. That was hard but I seemed to be able to understand it better. He was a soldier. J wasn't. His death was random, no purpose. He was just some random kid. He went to college. He filled his brain with thoughts and loves. He had so much potential. His whole life was a forward motion towards something. And suddenly he's just gone. All that potential, saved up, waiting to start. And it just disappeared.
I can't get my head around it.
it's hard to remember
we're alive for the first time
it's hard to remember
we're alive for the last time
it's hard to remember
to live before you die -mm
An acquaintance died the other day. I didn't know him well but his death has been such a blow. K died in Iraq. That was hard but I seemed to be able to understand it better. He was a soldier. J wasn't. His death was random, no purpose. He was just some random kid. He went to college. He filled his brain with thoughts and loves. He had so much potential. His whole life was a forward motion towards something. And suddenly he's just gone. All that potential, saved up, waiting to start. And it just disappeared.
I can't get my head around it.
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