Living In A Dreamworld

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I’m foolishly writing this on my balcony as it rains. I have a large amount of work to finish, but here I am writing this. It’s all about discipline (or not having discipline, depending on how you look at it).

I read more this week. I even took a picture about the way we tell stories about our life (Artist Carroll Dunham talking about Terence McKenna):

I had the chance to shed my reclusive lifestyle a few times this week. Brianne made an impromptu visit to Toronto, so I snuck away from my obligations to have dinner with her. She came with good news about her life and the various projects she was excited to begin. We had a heated discussion with Chris on Feminism. He sat silently like a young boy in trouble while Brianne scolded him on what he should do as a man and then apologized for telling him what he should do, and then proceeded to tell him what he should do, again, and then apologized, again.

Saturday was a big day for me because I had TWO outings. The first was for Record Store Day, which I just have to say- is not my thing. For me, record shopping is either about having the whole store to myself to flip through one record after another, usually in the discount section. I like to tune out everything and become hyper-focused on these objects and the mystery of the sound they contain. Otherwise, it’s about talking to the record store owners. The older and grumpier- the better. They tend to be happy to just be speaking to a young(er) girl about music and I am happy to hear about the records that they love. They are the librarians of the music world, they have heard everything and can discriminate easily between what is exceptional and what is borrowed and obvious. Record store day has never done either of these things for me. I think it draws out the extroverted, occasional collectors who think they might want to play some Lana Del Ray on their Crossley suitcase player.

Forgive me, I’m being a dick. I’m tired.

We did stop in for some Brazilian treats! That was outstanding!

I snuck out early and got some much needed work done and then headed to the Hot Docs Theatre to see Fran Lebowitz.

Steve mocked me yesterday saying “What is your blog called again? Live, laugh, love?” I realize that the title may sound like an obnoxious platitude that has been affixed the cover of a scrapbook in italic font, but I promise that was never the intention. It was, for one, the way Chris would make fun of my laugh and two- when I started the blog I was really getting into comedy. Lately, I have missed live stand-up very much, I have even considered taking a trip to New York just to go to the Comedy Cellar.

Going to see Fran Lebowitz (though I did know she is very funny) was unexpectedly exactly what I needed. To me, she is the perfect trifecta of a funny, political commentator who lived through the New York 70’s Andy Warhol art scene. She had many sharply formulated criticisms about Trump (of course) and she repeatedly referred to Bernie Sanders as a narcissist. She said she really did not like Robert Mapplethorpe though she did regret throwing out several photographs that he gave her in the ’70s.

This inspired me to re-buy the book Just Kids by Patti Smith (I had lost it several years ago). In reading it again, I can’t really understand why Lebowitz disliked him so much. It’s hard for me not to relate to both Patti and Mapplethorpe very much, at least as an early- twenty-something-year-old. Patti Smith, trying to make it in a city and having too much pride to ask her family for help. Mapplethorpe trying to identify himself outside of the church and his strict upbringing.

When I purchased the book this week, the young man at the counter told me he was also reading it. “I had never even heard of Patti Smith, but my friend recommended it. It’s so beautifully written, it feels like she is writing about a dream.”

30 Minute Playlist – Living In A Dreamworld