Updates: Birthdays
I went on a date with myself and decided to make an update newsletter.
I’m trying something a little new. Just a smidge of new.
Like many of my intelligent (more intelligent) friends, I am trying to break up with social media. I don’t want to get into the semantics of what social media includes, so don’t complain Substack is technically social media. I differentiate this newsletter because you mostly see it in an inbox, which makes it an email. Very different proposition.
I love email so much. And O, the halcyon days of early email when text surfaced in green bits of MS-DOS on a purpose built computer in the media lounge at my college where I created my first intranet account, and external communications were made only through a land line or with permission from the monitors. In those days, my main modes of communication outside conversation, were longform handwritten postmarked letters, and email. I would compare the value of those letters against email. What was more satisfying? What told me more about the sender? A thing about email was its pacing. It was really obvious when it was sent, whereas I had no idea what the relationship between written letters and the point of my receipt was, at least temporally. Someone might have spent a week composing their letter and another week dillydallying to the post box, making their sentiments almost a month old by the time I consumed it; non-urgent. Or the opposite might be true. Was it a manic thought that went straight to the post office before their postmark deadline of 1pm? An email on the other hand, had a time stamp and a clear “real time” advantage. I was just steps away from AIM, mind you, and this was my gateway.
I want to be emailing you all through this newsletter because I love email. Yeah, I saw those articles announcing the return of the email newsletter! I am fully here for it. I was, I’d say, an early proponent of the format as a publicist for a string of worthy and unworthy business enterprises. nails emoji
The difference in my approach to the newsletter now is that I want them to be equal parts “love letter” and general updates. You know, observations from life, plus “here are some shows I’m in, here are some things I’m up to, here I am. I hope we can all leave Instagram soon.” I took a big step in this direction of semi-ludditizing my life, by downloading a “get off your phone you fucking loser” app. It is working, but it feels like a calorie tracking app. I feel unearned superiority for practicing self-restraint, acing “self optimization.” nails emoji
I don’t want any of you to think I’m gloating. Let it be known any information I share is shared in the spirit of sharing information, period. I am trying for as little subtext as possible when I tell you what’s been happening in my life.
My first update, then:
I just turned an age. Birthdays are so funny. Most of my 30s and now 40s were unfortunately celebrated while at work. For years, I would be stuck (I say, most lovingly) on some kind of grueling book tour during my birthday, because of the timing of things like Book Expo, and Toronto Comics Arts Festival (I name most lovingly). And I would be so disappointed that no one planned anything for me, or would sufficiently acknowledge the birthday with a gift or a food. I would have been thrilled with either. I was once regaled with a too-fancy dinner for my birthday by an old restaurateur friend, but an argument between a couple broke out and we were all too intimidated by the food to really relax. I always found something wrong with the way I got to celebrate My Day. Nothing satisfied me until I dropped all expectation.
I’ve mentioned elsewhere that my mother threw a surprise birthday for me when I turned 16. I will never forget how good it felt. How happy it made me. Sixteen was an awful year for me, and Mom knew that. aww i love my mom sniff.
So I just turned an age. I decided to wrest my own destiny. Effectively commanded people to join me. I booked a restaurant, paced myself at work, drank water. I got to celebrate with friends. We had a blast.
Today I have to sit with the boomerang effect of being accountable to my own powerful whims. I feel bad about everyone I didn’t invite. I do not want anybody to feel FOMO, excluded—if you read this, I’m really sorry. I feel bad that I flaunted my wealth by buying out a small restaurant. Many friends left grateful for leftovers. Others were astonished at how much we left behind. I feel bad I’m not going to remember to send thank you notes to everyone who gave me a present—if you’re reading this, thank you so much. I feel bad that I have one gift I value ten times more than the others. If you’re reading this, Lindsey, thank you LOL. But I also do not want this to become some solipsistic moral tale. I’m sorry, everybody. I just got older.
I am back to controlling my destiny after this hangover of emotions. Here is an email newsletters full of updates. Listen, I don’t get how I got from point A to point B exactly, either, but I want you all to know I am just a reply away from friendship.
Some shows:
On May 22, I’m playing at the Perch with my friends Pete and Bryan, who are Special What.
On May 25, I’m playing at Le Comptoir du Vin with Hanna Olivegren and Corey Thuro (this is the closest thing to an artists’ page I got for them) as part of the Peace in the Valley series curated by John Hoegberg.
On May 31, I’m playing in support of The Early and Bent Light at Brickbat Books.
You should check out all of the musicians I just named.
Some things:
I’m on the On the Calculation of Volume bandwagon. What a great book for an age of existential aporia.
I’m reading The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms by NK Jemison in bed. It’s kinda LOL but kinda fun.
That “get off your stupid phone you fucking dumb ass” app is called Freedom.
Chris Rabb won an important congressional seat in PA! How amazing are we.
A conversation I had with Dario this morning after he had a tantrum over doing homework after a couple hours of virtual school which he hates:
Dario: I hate work. I will ruin it.
Me: Can I tell you, I hate work and sometimes ruin it, too. Wanna learn a big word? Sabotage. That’s what we call it when we ruin things we are supposed to do.
Dario: (Indifferent) Do you draw all over your work and rip the paper?
Me: Actually…sometimes I probably do.
Dario: Did you get spanked?
To be crystal clear: we don’t spank our kid but he knows it’s a consequence of misbehavior.
Me: Yeah, sometimes. If I didn’t do what I was supposed to.
Dario: Does Dad spank you?
Me: (laughing) No. He won’t spank either of us.
Dario: Did your mom spank you?
Me: Yeah.
Dario: How many times?
Me: Gosh, I don’t know.
Dario: Did Mima’s mom spank her?
Me: Definitely.
Dario: How many times?
Me: Maybe every day…
Dario: Did her mom spank her?
Me: Listen, no more spanking, but can you tell me why you don’t want to do homework?
Dario: (ignoring the question) Did she die?
Me: Mima’s mom’s mom?
Dario: Yeah. Wait! Does everybody have a mom and dad?
Me: Yeah pretty much.
Dario: Yeah or pretty much?
Me: Yes. Everybody has parents.
Dario: Do they all die?
Me: Yeah, everybody dies.
A conversation I had with Dario last weekend after driving past two cemeteries:
Dario: Those are dead people.
Christian and me: Yeah, those are graves so their families and friends can visit them.
Dario: Some of them were killed. But if they have happy thoughts when they die, it’s ok. They get to go back to the old place.
(We look at each other and tell him that’s a beautiful way to think about death.)
Dario: The stones say “rip” because when they die, you wish you could follow them to the new place and your heart feels like it’s breaking when you can’t follow them.
(We try not to get emotional, and confirm that may be exactly right.)
Dario whispers to himself: The stones say “rip” because our hearts rip.
Maybe that’s why we sabotage our work.
