What's on your mind?

Half a year since last blog post. Small devices, Facebook, text messages. Career as life; communication through images and songs, constant communication, endless conversation, now it's my train stop. What stop is this? Get off the train and switch from email to iPod and crank it up, humming loudly on the walk home. What's On My Mind? Pizza: Randazzo's, Lazaro's, --Genarro's? My microwave oven must be from 1989. Branding continuity between Earth and Outer Space is a must-have.

Disabling auto-correct actually makes people come off as smarter in emails. I need to remember to do that on Monday. I need to remember to be a better person and try harder. I need to remember to I need to remember wallet, keys, cellphone, tickets, pills. I need to remember wallet, keys, cellphone, tickets, pills, train tokens. I need to remember wallet, keys, cellphone, tickets, pills, train tokens, phone. Wait, I already remembered phone. "Phone" meant something different when I started rattling off that list back in 2000. It's 2011; should I watch 2011?

Am I at summer camp? Moving is exhilarating.

How many people have a year's worth of quippy status updates that they never posted? How many people sit around reading what everybody else says on the internet and silently judges but never says anything themselves? That was bad grammar. How many people, when on a walk through the tree-lined cobblestone streets drenched in the sunlight angles of late afternoon in the end of the summer in some land somewhere, how many people are now trained to think, "What's On My Mind?" Maybe some people felt it harder when they were questioned, and now they have a voice grilling them: "What's On Your Mind?" "WHAT'S ON YOUR MIND?" "WHY ISN'T ANYTHING ON YOUR MIND? SOMETHING IS ON YOUR MIND!!! TELL ME RIGHT NOW!!!" Sure, Facebook has done away with the questioning but you know what, that question is still on my mind.

Too much to take in, too much to put out there. Status? Busy. Availability? "Available for the next 7 hours." I really have to read the Marshall McLuhan book by Douglas Coupland. When will I get my place in the forest where I am able to host glorious week-long bashes for a self-selected clique of intellectual friends to take a break from the bullshit and make some art with me? Should I flee to the forest and latch on to a pre-established clique of exurban intellectuals? Is it possible that I don't actually have something to do tonight, and it's Saturday? This is wonderful news! Thank God.

Got to figure out how to use that Blackberry. When you have a Blackberry, you are not life's passive passenger, your face pasted to the window, watching the mountains pass you by. They give you a Blackberry and everything is all different because they need you now. Maybe a jam band in Nova Scotia needs you too, though. Maybe nothing needs you, Nothing is calling you. A call to do nothing, isn't that a book some hippie wrote in defense of not contributing, arguing that it's all aimless anyway? Is it? I seek enjoyment and delight.

No one from Yardley ever shows up ten years later with a gross body. Everybody from Yardley has the confidence that is necessary to lead a highly desirable lifestyle.

Excellent show at the Whitney; LeDray? Miniature clothing. Miniature drop-ceilings and scaled-down dry-cleaners' hangers: "WE ♥ OUR CUSTOMERS." Bumping into the richest person we know while peering through a vitrine housing thousands of miniature turned pottery vases. Dining in the heavily tiled bar/restaurant at our hotlist boutique hotel, seated at the window bar, watching people walk by who aren't lucky enough to be us, checking us out, and wondering just how enjoyable it is. Negotiated rate for friends and family, because yeah, we're in the in-crowd. Listening to Sunra on vinyl, gulping down oysters and expensive microbeer and rushing off through the jagged cold of New York City to a Phish show at Madison Square Garden. I have friends who have large-format film cameras. I have family members who are going on tour this spring with their new bands. I know this person. I know that person. We all inspire each other. Life is fucking so great!

Previously: art and food, art and food, art and food, where does it get us? What Status does this get me? They sky is yellow. No really- the sky is yellow right now, not a metaphorically yellow sky. I'm listening to a band with a lot of horns right now, and it's almost dusk, it snowed today, and the sky is now yellow. What happened to my harmonica? Maybe that harmonica wasn't mine after all.

Pizza: Randazzo's? They say you always put the option you like best second among the options you present. It always gets picked. Designers take note. Always put the best option second. And suddenly it's snowing again! Really fast at 45 degrees.

2011 Calendar from the Dollar General is made of, like, tissue paper. It barely holds itself up on the nail in the wall. Tropical destination photography depicts warmer climes and mini-yachts: "Starter Yachts," palms, beach bungalows, sunsets. Little yachts, azure waters, cliff-divable rocks, I remember once being on a yacht in similar waters in the Bahamas when my family did comparatively well in the 1980's. The calendar doesn't even name the places pictured each month, because they know that nobody who buys a $1 calendar of tropical places at Dollar General will ever get to go there. I want to be the person who looks up the company that made the calendar, and calls them to ask where a photograph was taken because I intend to go there. DISTRIBUTED BY DOLGENCORP, LLC GOODLETTSVILLE, TN.