i’ve heard about you
is that a typewriter? said the guy at the next table and i said, yes, and he said, i’ve heard about you.
this is a true story about my life in brooklyn.
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the blog
I am quitting my life for something new
i am quitting my life for something new in europe.
the one-way ticket is to copenhagen, but i think i will not stay there.
the hope is to get work under the table if not over (visa?), and looking at the little mermaid statue does not present the kind of learning curve i seek in a professional undertaking.
also it’s starting to be baloney that i’m not proficient in a second language, and danish is probably not the one to invest in.
also i have been cold for fifteen years, more or less, since shortly after the arrival of that great letter from princeton, so probably i will make my way south to somewhere sweatier.
somewhere less prevailingly white.
somewhere that it’s okay for me to have a mustache.
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friend-making device
I’ve been thinking about how my typewriter will be a great friend-making device on my impending journey to a strange land, but also, there is a coffee shop in my neighborhood that I have been asked not to come back to and it’s because someone complained on the internet about me — I found the stuff and it was not so nice and used the word “Jurassic” — so I guess also the typewriter is a good way to make enemies.
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prepackaged cinnamon roll
someone several rows up evidently didn’t want the prepackaged cinnamon roll that must have come with the in-flight meal i didn’t order, so i snagged that baby, left alone in her seat, on my way out, free calories YEAH and on that note you guys it’s possible that i’m about to lose a lot of weight without wanting to per se
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Friends with Danish subtitles
The apartment where I will be cat-sitting for the next few days is fabulous, too fabulous, such that now that the owner has left me and it for Paris, instead of exiting into greater Denmark I am hanging out, eating whatever meal-like arrangements I can make from the contents of her larder and being soothed by the Scandinavian design and unimpeachable blondness in every one of the portraits and watching “Friends” with Danish subtitles, trying to pick up a pronoun or two.
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