thanksgiving weekend in greenpoint is excellent because there are never crowds at any of the places i like to go and loiter; you get a break from new york without actually leaving. (i'm loitering at the coffeehouse right now—the loitering here is better than ever since they expanded their menu and got wireless internet. way back when, they only served croissants and muffins, and there was no wireless, and so if you hated baked goods and loved the internet, you were totally fucked.) anyway, almost everyone i know here is from someplace else, except one of my roommates, with whom i've been watching the OC season one on DVD. this seems to be a new holiday season tradition, three years running. naturally.
reread Mark Danner's excellent New York Review essay from two summers ago, "Humanism and Terror (What are you going to do with that?),"
pretty much about how difficult it is to confront dread. he quotes the Czeslaw Milosz poem "A Song on the End of the World." the poem is beautiful.
for some reason, the other day i pulled out David Ives's collection of one-acts, All in the Timing. i loved these when i was 15, which says something. it's all very clever-clever winksy lit-snob new yorker "isn't this delightful?" crap. ok, i shouldn't call it crap, it's extremely well executed, but what used to be clever is now sort of grating. like Seinfeld.
the best play in the collection: "the philadelphia," about the metaphysical state of never being able to get what you want, supposedly like the experience of actually being in philadelphia. i think what i really meant to read was John Guare. that's next up.
also think i'm going to read Ulysses over xmas break. so far, i've only read about Ulysses, and been subjected to some insufferable conversations about it. i think it's going to take all five weeks.
and i worked on my Amazon wish list
. still in progress.