"Undermining my electoral viability since 2001."

My Favorite Soul Songs From The '70s

It's a big long life. As everyone knows, the art of living is a lot like surfing, and the key is remembering that the ocean is in fact bigger than you. Any illusions of control you may entertain are just that, illusions. But, you can catch a wave, and that's a real thing. You can catch a wave and ride it as far as it will take you, all the way to perfect laughter. This is the greatness, the best of all possible worlds. I don't surf myself, but I can imagine what that feels like, to suddenly harness the power of the sea.

Being back in NYC rekindles all sorts of things in me, ambitions, drives, the hero complex. Not that these have been latent or dead, but being here running the mix with this great world-capital metropolis is like dumping white gas on all those fires. It makes me think I could really be somebody, you know?

Last night I danced my face off at the wedding, helped construct a "who's next" pool afterwords -- something that seemed like a good idea at the time, but which in the grey light of morning feels questionable; who feels great being near the top or the bottom of such a list? -- and made an impulsive move to dance my face off again after I got back to Brooklyn.

Curiosity made me stick my head into Union Pool, which has completed its transformation into uber-scene. However, there was a man selling empanadas out of a cooler in the nice back-bar-with-stage space, and more importantly another guy with a huge stack of Soul 45s. Good times.

As I'd heard, the burg has continued on its trajectory without me. New construction is everywhere, quite obvious towers and a startling number of boxy row-house replacements, some with highly questionable "design". The Kellog Diner looks like something straight out of South Beach.

Enough wealth has congealed to really change things, it seems. No more going to weird secret basement parties on legitimately questionable streets which will feature heartbreakingly beautiful and sophisticated women dancing to French love-pop music from the late 1960s. That scene has been sliced up and divided amongst three separate theme-bars, and the people themselves are long gone.

Or, more likely, I just don't know where to go anymore, consigned to bang it out in public with the rest of the tourists and civilians.

The upswing of late is all about confidence, strength in who I am and what I do, in my personal progress and velocity. As has been suggested, perhaps I should just "let myself go" a bit more. Become the thing I am when I ride the wave.

Pretty words on a Saturday drizzle. We'll see. In the mean time, here's some infographic porn for ya:

Youth Map 2008


Goodness. I thought I was the only one that knew that the art of living is a lot like surfing!

I'm glad to see you caught that.