There's an album by Mazzy Star from 1996 called Among My Swan. I like to pretend that I'm the only person who has ever heard this album, or that I'm the only person to whom it remains important, or that I'm the only such person who has no interest in shoe-gazer music.
The second track, "Flowers in December," was playing in Chipotle Grill today. Something about burritos and 90s alternative, a demographic. Is salsa made of tomatoes and cilantro, or a sense of belonging?
So I guess it's been since April. In the intervening months, I fell in love, got work visas for 314 people, switched roommates twice, had five lovely friends get married, became the Board President of a (very small) non-profit organization, saw the Chair of my graduate program replaced by another dude, was ravaged by bedbugs (in Florida!), endured flirtation from men with names such as Chuluunbaatar, Zagd-Ochir, and Zinametyr, attended the Clay Buchholz no-hitter at Fenway, and got a library card. This was mostly really good.
I feel bad for leaving you readers in the lurch for so long. For periods of time I find the prospect of accounting for myself really daunting. But I'm glad that people are running around, wondering how each other are, having birthdays. I mean, you are ALL having birthdays. May they all be happy.
Fall is starting, which means that the air is abruptly delicious, and the sky is clear as a bell. Lots of black squirrels in the park. Didn't it feel like a long summer? Last night we lay in bed and listened to Leadbelly. Paul Chan is down in New Orleans producing Waiting for Godot with the Classical Theatre of Harlem. Worth a trip?