novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- i saw someone walk by and i thought it was you for a second i've realized that i don't place as much importance on email correspondence as i do letters, simply due to their presentation. their physicality. if i sent you this housed in an envelope with a bunch of trees and bikes doodled all over it, with maybe a couple of photographs and a satin ribbon tying the letter closed, don't you think you'd find yourself more endeared to [the literal art of] communication? (even if my drawings of trees are interpretive at best.) "I thought I'd send you a little email to let you know that I was thinking of you, hoping you're doing alright. At lunch today I went to the Oakland SPCA (the downtown business bureau gave them a free space, so they have a storefront right near my work) and held kittens. The volunteers there wiped their hands on their blue aprons and solemnly informed me that it is "kitten season." This time of year, so many unfixed cats are having unwanted litters. It's a little heartbreaking, and at the same time a little therapeutic to behold so many baby animals in one room. I held about four today, cuddled up against my neck and sniffing at my nose. Two fell asleep against me, purring. I've always been proud of how I can calm down most animals, especially scared little dislocated kittens. Cages and rotating choruses of men in power suits poking stocky fingers through their bars does not create safety. None of the men in suits held any cats; I could tell they didn't want to dirty their lapels. So funny to watch a man carry on an important-sounding business conversation with his tiny silver sliver cellphone while oogling a doe-eyed month-old tiger-striped kitten.
Today while I was sitting at the front desk, a lady called in with a complaint that was only vaguely related to our program. Still, she yelled at me. Twice. Would not explain the nature of her complaint. Would not let me explain that we are a non-profit that-- Yes Ma'am. I understand. I'm very sorry, Ma'am. Let me transfer you to our... Called back and chewed me out some more for transferring her to the consumer affairs guy (who happened to be out to lunch, and she didn't want to leave a message). I eventually had to transfer her to the chief executive officer. People like that rattle my bones. I don't understand how you can take such anger and unleash it on an unsuspecting stranger. I was pretty shaken the rest of the day; I still am.
My friend E is in Portland for the summer, and she's talking about all the art and events that are happening there. She mentioned a restlessness that comes with impending adulthood, and I can put my finger on when I had those feelings, pinpointing their exactness, their finality, as well. But I miss Portland; I liked living there the summer that I did, even if I could not find a job to save my life. That city is more my speed. Slower, friendlier people. More spread out, more bridges, fewer bridge tolls. More trees, art projects. Ah well. I'm probably romanticizing it. I know I am. But something did feel right in the midst of the sleepy summer spent between M and J down the street from the 24 hour hotcake house. all my furniture was milk crates, all our energy was spent on mysteriously deflated bicycle tires, garage sales, polaroid pictures, dishwashing and the most epic art show opening ever.
So there are the three things that shaped my afternoon: kittens, angry ladies, and nostalgia. I need to make art." 4:53 pm - 07.02.04 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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