Saturday, December 31, 2005

2005, it's over. don't write. don't call. it's over

Because last New Year's was the worst New Year's ever, I guess I should not be too surprised that 2005 was not the best year ever. But surely, part of this assessment is just from where I stand now, from the fact that I have been mildly depressed for the past month or so. Were I to evaluate this year from three months ago, things may have been differently. But, it's being looked at from this last day in this last month of 2005, and right now I am saying that the year is one I could have done without.

I quit my job at the Strand at the beginning of the year and then found myself broke and by the end of January, fully jumped into the world of sex work, being a hooker, doing porn, naked housecleaning, and go go dancing. All stuff that seemed somewhat thrilling at the time, but now, just seems tiresome. January was also the month of Wong Kar-wei, watching his movies and dreaming about boys. What all my life has been about to some extent or another, daydreaming about boys. The year started out with a Kar-wei marathon and ended with a Woody Allen one. My year is bookended by these two romantics, Kar-wei's films, where desire is a little more realized, and then Allen's where it is certainly more frustrated, often not realized - and there is an analogy just waiting to be parsed out here about my own life and how it has transitioned over this past year from something to something, but I am not going to make that explicit. One, I am not sure exactly what it is. Two, I am too lazy to go about figuring it out. Three, that right there is the transition, laziness, apathy, frustration.

February brought with it the departure of Peter for California, a departure that still saddens me, did so last night when at the Metropolitan, Joe pointed out someone that looked like Peter, who actually didn't look anything like Peter, and made me miss the actual Peter all the more, especially in my increasingly isolated, lonely state I am finding myself in. The rest of the year is nothing worth noting. I thought it was at the time, each day when I wrote here, but now, today after rereading all my entries of the past year, taking stock of how I have been living, I see how silly it became. I became, or came close to, to becoming one of those scenester bar hoppers at all those stupid parties and open bars and can not imagine how that managed to excite me for so long, how it excited me, kept me entertained, all year up until November 2nd, the day my dad died and when everything just began to seem so petty that I was concerning myself with, that the people around me were.

It has made me terribly depressed to read how frustrated all of my pursuits of boys were this year. There are so many entries here talking about Matt, Craig, Christopher, Charlie, Gregg, Zach, Ryan, Chase, etc, etc, and it's all so predictable - if this were a book I would throw it at the wall in frustration. The plotline is the same in every single story. Surely, the main character, this Charlie fellow could not be so hard headed to continue pursuing boys in the same ungraceful way and then wonder why things did not work out for him. It is a caricature, no one in real life would act this way. This author is not presenting reality. Ah, but he is. Sadly.

A short while ago it was snowing, and I was so happy for a few minutes, unbounded optimism, a glee produced by falling shiny white objects. I ran out on my roof, camera in hand, and snapped away and afterward, looking at the pictures, I saw the smile on my face, and it was the biggest smile, the most natural one I have seen on my face in the longest time. I have the potential to be so happy. I need to find the substitute for falling snow in my daily life.

Three funerals and one wedding in this year, 2005. Paul died in April. My mom remarried in September. My dad died in November and my Uncle Robert died three weeks later. Everything seemed more fragile and after each, I told myself that I would hold up new things as important, the right things, and hopefully, I can do that better than I have so far in this coming year.


My favorite art of this year, at least the top things on the list all involve sing-a-longs. This year also started with me developing a fondness for karaoke, that has by now, the end of this year, worn off. Worn off somewhat. But this morning, in the shower, listening to the radio, that disco era "Ain't No Stoppin' Us Now," came on and I lost it, turned it up so loud, despite roommates still asleep, had to sing at the top of my lungs along with this little boombox on this last day of this year, had to, and I do love to sing, despite my lack of skill. And that is what these sing-a-longs, what karaoke is all about - a democratizing statement about art, that everyone can do this release, let out their emotions in this vocal manner, regardless of ability.

1. 25th anniversary of John Lennon's death in Strawberry Fields, remembered by the voices of thousands huddled in the cold all singing along to Beatles songs.
2. Candice Breitz at Sonnabend
3. My extended family, twenty or so people, doing karaoke to the oldies station over Thanksgiving/Robert's funeral, everyone drunkenly singing and dancing to Marvin Gaye's "Ain't No Mountain High Enough"
4. The New Pornographer's performing Fleetwood Mac's "Dreams" and the audience singing along
5. Miranda July's Me and You and Everyone We Know
6. The effect LCD Soundsystem's "Daft Punk is Playing at my House" had on me when I first heard it played in bars
7. Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking
8. Noboyushi Araki at Yoshii
9. Grizzly Bear at Union Pool
10. Werner Herzog's Grizzly Man

Also: Hernan Bas at Armory Show, MIA at Central Park, Hidden Cameras at Bowery Ballroom, Dennis Cooper's The Sluts, Antony and the Johnsons I am A Bird Now


So fuck off '05. I've got a new man. His name's 2006, and he said he'd kick your ass if he ever saw you come around.

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