Monthly Archives: December 2008

Poignant

Whenever I hear Wham’s “Last Christmas,” I feel such emotion. Perhaps it was most fully realized one night walking by the Charles Hotel in Cambridge in Harvard Square. They were opening the ice skating rink that night. It was a dinky one about the size of a large room. The mayor was there, I think.

Last Christmas came surging over the speakers, maybe a teen-pop girl cover, the synths chirping brightly, and Harvard’s synchronized skating team, clad in sort of matching skirts from the bargain basement, came out, skating in circles. The rink was too small for the team to be so synchronized. Some girls were better than others. I wasn’t in any place to understand George Michael’s lament, but it was a piercingly sad lament to love lost and how the holidays are linked. Watching Harvard girls fail to ice dance together to a song so melancholy just hit me hard.

File this under Death of Print: One of my treasured hanging out with my parents traditions is waking up and eating breakfast while reading The Boston Globe. These days, the paper is so gutted that it doesn’t even last me five minutes. What’s sad is that the Globe arts section was always fairly robust, but these days, “G” means one feature article, a space for a column (because that hack Alex Beam still needs his job) a smattering of listings, a review or two, but that’s it. It’s shockingly small. It’s getting to be that the sports section is really the only thing that the Globe pays attention to. It’s certainly bigger than the metro/business section! It’s really heartbreaking.

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I win at life

Tonight I have scored: the John Cheever biography coming out in March, a chocolate bar, a cozy room, and The Walkmen’s “In the New Year.” Cheever claims that being from New England gives him duality.

Lou Reed walked by me as I scored this book. Failed to tell him that we have some things in common, a love of Okkervil River and a tendency to fall asleep during movies, but that’s okay. Feeling pretty great.

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The Ice of Boston

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Honestly, I don’t see anything of substance being written here until my wrist feels better. No end of the year wrapups, no meaningful reflections, no hot jams. And that’s okay!

I’m prescribing myself a course of weekly yoga so I feel functional. The first class after nine months, after moving and stressing and starting a job you like but makes you nervous – good lord, I could feel it in my body. Nothing would bend and fold the way I wanted it to.

Some things I learned recently that I would like to reflect on: why Americana photography can read condescending or empathetic, what that means for writing, location, the mystery of location, the tiny little things you have to do so New York is better for your soul and you can function.

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