Gmail Drafts

I was inspired by this post to sift through my 194 gmail drafts. Here are a few:

1. Dated Wednesday October 17, 2007:

"I told everything about myself in Speak, Memory, and it was not a very pleasant portrait. I appear as a precious person in that book. All that chess and those butterflies. Not very interesting." (A quote from Vladimir Nabokov that I stored away for myself to reread. Today is the first day I saw it since then.)


2. From over a year ago, addressed to a boy I was dating at the time:

"I got off at the Broadway/Nassau subway station this morning and was greeted by the most pungent smell of shit, literal shit. The floor was covered in at least an inch of brown liquid that oozed from an ajar bathroom door. (This surprised me, because I didn't realize people actually used those bathrooms, let alone took shits in them.) I was forced to walk through it because there was no other way to go, and my point is that my feet probably smell too. So, at least for today, you are not alone in your foot odor ailment."


3. From over two years ago. I transcribed three voicemails left on my phone from a man I used to share a bed with. The plan was to send them to my friends, but I never got around to it:

May 20th:

Hey Karen, it’s ________. I just read your email…if you could call it an email…I don’t know what you modern people call it or what some people call it or what futuristic bone-splitting evangelists call it. I assume that robots don’t eat vegetables, but that’s none of my business. I read your email regardless and it made me sad, kind of, or well, I guess pretty prominently sad and relevantly sad. I was hoping to talk to you as I do every time I punch the button that says your name in front of it, but oh well. My state is a lot less interesting than your state. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t make you laugh a little bit… but apparently the satellite service gave me the choice to elongate my voice to you, which is still pretty funny, but I just feel really funny and confusing at this point. But call me… and straddle…something of mine soon. I’m going to call you later tonight with something in my mouth…it could be a toothbrush or a toothpick or a shark’s tooth or a fang or a vampire’s butt or a witch’s ass, who knows….I miss you and I’m tired of missing you, so talk to you soon.

May 21st:

Hi. It’s me. You should call me back…now or later, presumably something in between. Um, I’m not going to say my name because it would be kind of obvious or maybe it’s not as blatant as it seems. Call me. Call this person that’s talking to you. Which you probably won’t have any idea who it could be. [long, melodramatic sigh.] All right, I’ll see you soon somewhere…or later. Bye.

May 22nd:

Hi Karen. Usually I say Hello or…traditional sensibility tells us not to say the name of the person you’re calling…but Karen, Hi. Anyways…

Yeah, you should call me. I just spent a lot of money on this fashion magazine that I thought was in English…but it’s in Italian. The pictures are pretty…pretty - pretty, pretty, pretty and handsome. All the men are really cute and the girls are really pretty and their dresses are great and their shoes are really perfect and it made me think of you. And I want to draw mustaches on their ankles. Be happy sometime and call me. And call me when you’re at that point because I’m not happy at all. I don’t mean to drag you…I don’t mean to strap hooks to your suspenders but I miss you. And I really like you a lot. So do something about your voice and your fingers and make them find me somehow, if they can.


4. From sometime in the past:

"I just wanted you to know that I did like you, and I was liking getting to know you more too. I kind of took it as a sign that you didn't feel the same way when you stopped communicating and making plans to hang out. But I do remember you telling me you wanted to date, so I was a bit confused. Either way, I just wanted you to know how I felt.

And also, you probably have herpes now."


5. From almost two years ago. I don't recall ever writing this down, but I do remember that cat and the step on which I sat:

"I'm sitting on a single concrete stair in front of a closed coffee shop on a darkened street. It's 8pm on a Friday night. There is a dull cone of light seeping from the lamp post a few sidewalk squares down and a faint neon hum from the whiskey bar two blocks away. A feral cat limps over to where I sit; he circles quickly and lies down on the pavement next to the stair. I'm smoking a cigarette and I watch the smoke make patterns in front of my face, exhaling slowly at first and then blowing a quick stream of smoke to stir it all together, making my own fleeting night art.

It's almost winter. I have a coat on and it's cold, so it might as well be winter. There is no one to tell me it's not winter. Every one would agree that winter has definitely arrived. Even though it is too soon for winter. But things arrive too soon all the time -- packages from FedEx, periods, the wrong job, ejaculate. Winter showed up, arm wrestled autumn, and won. It's only the very beginning of November.

A couple walks by, hand-in-hand, boy and girl. I find the boy very attractive and watch him intently as they pass. But since I am below them, very near the ground, they don't notice my stare. Once they are past me I watch the girl's back. I wonder if she knows that I think her boyfriend is attractive. Maybe they are in a rough patch and he is too doting and she is beginning to question her attraction to him. Maybe if she knew that I thought he was attractive it would rekindle something between them. She would remember what it was that drew her to him in the first place. I consider what it would be like to tell her I am attracted to her boyfriend. I can't think of any way to word it without expecting her to get defensive or jealous. It would be too awkward also. But what if I ran up to them, right then, startling the cat and setting him off in the other direction where he would dart through a small, makeshift hole in a fence, and tapped the girlfriend on the shoulder? "Excuse me." I'd say, looking at only her, obviously afraid to make eye contact with the beautiful boy seconds before I'm to admit to my attraction. "Your boyfriend is very handsome. I just thought you should know." Then I would immediately run away, searching for the hole through which the cat just effortlessly jumped through, so that I may too quickly disappear into the dark.

I look up the street towards the couple. They round a corner, now arm-in-arm, and all that's left for me to look at is the long sharp corner of a tall gray apartment building."

Things I would do if I were rich

1. buy expensive bourbon

2. live with other rich people who buy expensive bourbon so that there is always an unending abundance of expensive bourbon in the house

3. pay someone to change the litter box every day

4. continue smoking at my present (and desirable) rate and pace

5. see all theatrical 3D releases

6. extensive cable for the television (this should really be number one)

7. build a catio for my cat

8. buy expensive jams and maple syrup

9. laundry drop-off at least once every three months

10. install one of those seats in my shower so I can sit down when I take sips of my coffee and expensive bourbon

11. buy tasty coffee

12. subscribe to the most expensive netflix account

Boy, she calls someone

The auburn fringe that was her bangs dangled in front of her eyes in a way that he found pleasing most of the time. She was aware.

The reflection of her red skirt on the water attracted the minnows swirling in the lake just below her bare feet.

She seemed off to him today. Save for her hair, everything else about her seemed different; he didn't like this.

They soon left the dock and walked down the dirt road back to town.

"How 'bout we stop by Sweeney's for a cone?" He asked hopefully.

"Ice cream sounds good." She said sedately.

Inside the malt shoppe they sat on opposite sides of a red vinyl booth.

He stared at her over the brim of his parfait glass, slurping his milkshake. He watched her take a lick of vanilla ice cream and then blinked, opening his eyes just in time to see her take that first bite of cone.

Well, at least she is eating her ice cream, he thought. That is a good sign.

She looked up from her cone and saw him observing her. He smiled. She was going to smile back, but just then a piece of her red hair got caught in her white ice cream, and when she reached to remove the strand, she dropped her cone on the floor.

What was wrong with her?

After their snack they went to the arcade. He played a game of pinball while she leaned against the side of the machine, dreamily holding her head up with the back of her dainty hand. He broke the record and she smiled at him.

Now it was her turn, and he was watching from behind, peering over her shoulder.

What was going on? She didn't even get the bonus ball. She always got the bonus ball. Hell, she usually got the multi-ball most times.

He reluctantly walked her home after a few more games, as dusk was fast approaching.

Standing on her front porch, she kissed him softly on the cheek and then paused, slightly tilting her head up so her lips were just below his ear. She whispered, "Today, my hair was just a mess."

He walked down the road again, this time alone, towards home.

The four right chords can make me cry

"It’s amazing how she has the power to end things. He didn’t make it easy to, didn’t help but only in slightest ways, even supported her staying casually and with comments like, I adore you. To which she replied, beautifully before walking through the door, not enough." —M.M.S., in a remembrance of the past.

Crabs (not the sexy kind)

When I was fourteen my brother got a fish aquarium in his room. He received a 3.6 or something on his report card, and as a reward my parents bought him a super high-tech fish tank that he kept on his dresser near his water bed (his present from the previous semester's stellar grades. My brother snagged all the good parental rewards. All I ever got for making the honor roll, which was always the silver honor roll, never the gold like my brother, was a stupid land-line flip phone and a 98 degrees Christmas CD. But that's beside the point.)

Though it was to be my brother's aquarium, and it was going to go in his room, I was allowed to buy one fish to keep in the tank. Of course, my brother was vehemently opposed to this, but I think my mother felt guilty that her daughter wasn't as bright as her son, and was trying to encourage me.

One afternoon, the three of us drove down the street to Earl May (an Iowan, perhaps Midwestern, pet / landscape design store that always smelled like damp concrete and stale seeds). As soon as we walked in, I immediately sprinted over to the ferret jungle gym and begged for one of the $300 ferrets. I was refused. One tropical fish was all I was allowed.

I scanned the many tanks packed with mostly ugly fish. I, being the aesthetic child that I was, wanted the beta fish. The fish that was kept in its own cubicle of sorts that was suctioned to the side of a larger tank, separated from the other, normal fish. The beta fish was sophisticated and detailed, its tiny scales were blue, purple, and red; all perfectly blending together in such subtlety it made me think it was all one color—some brilliant color I'd never seen before. I announced that that was the fish I wanted, but the salesman quickly informed my mother that this fish was 'volatile', and not the type that could peacefully coexist with other fish. Upon hearing this my brother whined, and my mother refused to buy me a beta fish. (Why I couldn't have had my own tiny bowl of water with my own fish in my own room was beyond me. But perhaps it had to do with my puny, less than desirable 2.5 G.P.A.)

So, instead, I got some stupid kind-of chubby white fish. I can't even remember what type of fish it was, but initially, I hated it. My brother was allowed to buy like five fish, and also, a fucking crab. At first my Mom was hesitant, especially when I let out a tiny shriek at the thought of having a crab in the tank with my fish (suddenly the chubby fish I'd chosen was beloved and needed to be protected by its only defender), but in the end the salesperson told her that a crab could be useful in lieu of a bottom feeder, helping to keep the tank clean of feces and discarded food bits. So, the three of us got back in my mom's mini van with six fish, a tank, some kitschy fake scuba diver and treasure chest set, and a fucking scary iridescent albino crab.

As it turns out, the fish I'd chosen was pregnant. And after a few days, her belly swelled to double its original size. She was huge. I suddenly became infatuated with her in this new state. My fourteen-year-old self identified with her, woman-to-woman. We struggled in all the same ways. She alone in a tank with a fucking crab roaming around on the bottom, and I with a stupid brother bouncing around in his fucking water bed in the room next to my normal boring bed.

I watched dutifully as my fish grew bigger and bigger. I was so excited that she was pregnant. Though, most of my excitement could probably be attributed to my deep hope that the fish would have at least five babies and then, by sheer ownership, I'd suddenly have more fish in my brother's tank than my brother.

About a week later, I went into my brother's room one morning before school to check on my mommy-to-be. She wasn't swimming near the top like she normally was, nor was she idly floating near the wall of the tank, she wasn't stuck in the filter (as I'd heard from someone at school could happen), nor was she inside the fake coral reef playground. I couldn't see her anywhere. I looked down at the tank's lime-green pebble-covered floor (my brother's decision), and saw that fucking crab, sidestepping with its gross claws proudly erect in the air like it was performing for me, mocking me even. Then I saw a glint of white scale slowly fall through the water in front of the crab, followed by another. And, looking more closely at those fucking crab claws, I saw one more piece of white scale clinging to the inside of one of its pinchers. Then I looked to the right and saw my fish, ponderous, floating in the water as lifeless as a discarded candy wrapper. Its abdomen was half-dismembered, its womb ripped open, its insides dangling out of its stomach like the underside of a starfish. I screamed. I'm sure I started crying too. I immediately ran into my mother's room, screaming at her to wake up. My fish was dead, and worse, her children were dead too. It was like my fish was Lacey and the crab was Scott Peterson. "Who kills a pregnant woman?!?!" I screamed to my mom.

Anyways, that was a traumatic experience. And the point of the story is that that one particular instance created in me a deep-rooted fear of crabs. Any size of crab. A great fear that they have the capability of disemboweling my womanhood. Stealing it away, and making me sterile. I hate all crabs.

Another Way to Watch the Sun Set

First you'll need to lie on your bed, or on a couch, or on a pillow-padded floor. You could lie anywhere really, just as long as it's indoors. Also make sure whatever room you are in has at least one window. It's best if the window(s) opens to the West, but honestly, any or all directions are fine. Make sure the curtains that normally cover the window are drawn back, and/or the blinds are tilted appropriately. Natural sunlight needs to permeate the room. No electric light of any sort should be on, nor should a candle be lit. It is also important that you be reading something. This is a key step. A book is a good choice. I suppose a newspaper would also work. Just as long as it's not a magazine article. (Magazine pages, usually, are too shiny.)

Now begin reading. Don't stop reading. Just read and read. Don't stop to look out the window, stare at the wall, write something down, watch your fingers scratch your ankle, or consult a watch for the time. (Which reminds me, this process should begin around 7pm in the summertime, and 4pm in the winter season. Or, if you want to read for longer, start sooner. But other than checking the time before you begin to read, do not glance away from the text in front of you.)

Continue reading. As you read, the sun will begin to set. You will know this because reading will become increasingly difficult. But do not turn on any lights! Just keep reading. About every ten minutes or so, your eyes will lose focus and they will have to take a moment to readjust. This is due to the diminishing natural light, a direct effect of the Earth's slow roll away from the sun. The light will continue to fade for about an hour, with it becoming more difficult to read every ten minutes. As you keep reading, your pace will slow, and your eyes may feel strained. Keep going.

Eventually the light will disappear altogether. Sometimes this will happen when you are in the middle of a sentence, or even worse, during a really suspenseful, climactic part of the story. These things happen. Or perhaps it will be that just as the sun extinguishes, you complete a sentence! Or, in the most fortuitous of circumstances, you just read the last word of an entire paragraph, or even better, just finished a section, or a chapter, or (gasp!) your mind just uttered the very last word at the end of a book!

Take a moment, now, before you turn on a light, to lie in the darkness. Lay the book on your stomach and feel the weight of your accomplishment. Then you may either turn on the light to continue reading (if necessary), or leave the lights off for the rest of the evening (preferable) and either fall asleep and dream or lie awake and think.

Repeat.

Obvious Child on Brooklyn Vegan

Our film screened at IFC Rooftop Summer Film Festival last Friday. Thanks to all who came!

Read Brooklyn Vegan's coverage of the night here.