Today broke delightfully sunny but heartrendingly windy, and that’s a confounding combination. How I miss civilized weather.
Awoke suddenly this morning to a distinct memory of listening to The Queen is Dead in my room at the farm on the record player my folks gave me when I turned 16. It was an all-in-one type, with dual cassette decks, and followed me to college here in Brooklyn. Was a cohort in the making of many mix tapes, and at least partly responsible for the making of my career, such as it was, in the music biz (by way of design). How many nights of the Disorder Show did I faithfully spend a blank tape on? Lost and gone forever, all— my cassettes were chucked years ago, naturally, but somewhere I’ve stashed a bunch of j-cards* from mix tapes given me in those days.
One of the best things about being so young is how new everything feels— how important every favorite band is; how very urgent everything seems. That’s what Spring feels like, and I’m looking forward to its return; the annual rebirth.
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* Turned the apartment half inside-out in the searching, but haven’t found the j-cards yet (obsolete bit of jargon, that phrase), BUT! found two curling irons I forgot I owned (laughed out loud at those); a set of rather nice shower curtain hooks; a shoe box full of cards and letters; and a long-forgotten Mid-century pink and green fish-themed tablecloth (above), in which I immediately swathed the dining table, despite having long ago abandoned Mid-century as a decor sensibility. (I prefer things that feel like History, which is antithetical to the intent of Mid-century style, despite having inevitably become history itself.)
Johnny Needle the fish seems to like the Smiths, too.
In parting— some silly sketches from last evening:
e daggar art: THE MUSEUM 