grey marble

February 29, 2004


I had dinner with K.H. at Tomoe. The line was manageable, the evening warm. We drank a carafe of cold sake. We had just come from a screening of her short film Missing, and I was excited about how good it looked. We talked of this and that and as the level of sake in the bottle dropped, I began to forget what we talked about as soon as we had moved on to another subject. Posted by eugene at

February 27, 2004


The Metropolitan Museum of Art is presenting the Salzburg Marionette Theater's production of The Magic Flute. I had seen an advertisement earlier today but only now realized that the show is tonight. It's too late for me to reach it now, but I am fascinated by puppets.

When I went to Vietnam, P. told me that when I was in Hanoi I must see the water puppets. I wasn't sure what she meant but she told me that the theatre was near the lake and that I couldn't miss it. It was incredible. Half-submerged puppeteers worked wooden puppets from behind a curtain. Frogs jumped across lilly pads, farmers worked the fields, dragons emerged from the water breathing fire. I wanted to go back the next day to see the performance again, but I was leaving for Lao, P.D.R.

When I returned from Southeast Asia, Being John Malkovich was one of the most discussed films playing in theaters. It was amazing, not the least of which for its use of puppetry to visualize its themes of manipulation. And I realized then my fascination. Even as I hung a marionette I brought back from Myanmar on the wall. Posted by eugene at

February 26, 2004

Public cake

Last night I went to Grey Dog Cafe with uki. It was packed. A birthday party took up one corner of the restaurant. As we were finishing, a waiter brought a cake out of the kitchen. The corner sang Happy Birthday as he approached. The cake was enormous, and I remarked to Yuki that they should share it with everyone.

This past summer I met p.zu at a bar in the East Village. It was Churipu's going away party. She was about to leave for Mozambique for a year. Next to us a birthday party was in full swing. The cake was made to look like a football field. After they cut the cake they began offering it to everyone around them. I took a slice and p.zu asked me where I got the cake. I pointed to the party next to us and she looked surprised. "I don't think I would have taken a slice of a strange cake," she said. I hadn't given the offer a second thought. Posted by eugene at

February 25, 2004


I met S. for drinks at Yujin. She knows the bartender. I arrived early and ordered a sake. The bartender introduced herself then recommended a milky sake. I had unknowingly ordered a dessert sake at first, and she was kind enough to offer me a taste before making recommending the other sake. "It's an acquired taste," she said of the first. She said the same of the second sake, but I found it more to my liking and ordered a glass.

After S. arrived, we talked about work and the spas with which she's involved. An hour later, a friend of hers arrived. As they were talking I introduced myself to the bartender, realizing that I hadn't before. "So you're a spirited traveller," she said. I was surprised, and asked how she knew about my wanderlust. She looked at me askance and said, "It's what Yujin means in Japanese." Posted by eugene at

February 24, 2004


Yesterday I shared crepes with R. at Cafe La Palette. C. looked tired. She had called me by mistake a week ago. I wasn't sure who had called, and I didn't understand what the person was saying on the other end. I kept telling the caller that I thought she had the wrong number, that I didn't understand what she was saying. Eventually, the woman switched to English from what I later realized was Portuguese. I'm sorry, E., she said. I called the wrong number. But when are you stopping by my restaurant? I told her that I'd be by soon.

This evening I had dinner at Hiroko's Cafe. She wasn't there. I asked her mother if she was well. Monday is her day off, she told me. I was surprised. C. hasn't had a day off since she opened her cafe. H.'s mother then proceeded to tell me that as a child, H. would wake up every Monday and complain of sickness. Her mother would dress her and take her to school. Hours later, a teacher would call, saying that H. was sick, and then her mother would have to go back to school to pick her up. She sighed, and repeated that Monday was H.'s day off. She's still my baby. Posted by eugene at


Y.w. asks me if I've ever seen bats. I tell her I have, and she says, not at the zoo. I've seen bats in Bali, their wingspans over a foot long, hanging from trees. I've seen clusters of bats in a cave in Java. My guide pulled me towards him to show me their eyes reflecting the light from his flashlight, shining like stars from the dark mass. The first time I remember seeing bats was in Taipei. At dusk, birds would swoop overhead, dining on insects. I thought they were birds until I caught the silhouette of their shapes against the streetlights. Posted by eugene at

February 23, 2004


Y.w. tells me I'm the first E—— she's met. I tell her she's the first Y.w. I've known. But her name is far less common. I tell her my favorite name is Niloofar, the name of a girl I knew in college. I told her if ever I adopted a cat I would name her Niloo. I tell Y.w. her name is a close second. I told another college friend I would adopt her surname, Skarada, as the name of a band. K. tells us of a student named Ksenia, who told him to call her Kate, but then never responded until he learned to pronounce Ksenia. In Idaho, there was an E—— who lived on the opposite end of my street on the opposite side. Once, A. came to visit New York and we stayed up late going through names in the phone book, looking for the perfect name to name her son. Posted by eugene at

February 22, 2004

The Game

Friday night I watched The Game at my cousin's house. I was in New Jersey to attend another cousin's baby shower. I had seen the movie before, and though I could remember the conclusion, I couldn't remember how the film arrived there. In the end I was up past three in the morning.

The first time I saw the film it was at Mann's Theatre in Los Angeles. I was spending the day with yet another cousin, who was pregnant at the time. Her co-worker had cautioned against the film, worrying that it might prove too exciting for a pregnant woman. My cousin scoffed at the idea. That morning we had gone to the Universal Studio walk for lunch. That same trip, we went to a taping of the Jay Leno show. But I can't remember if it was all the same day. Posted by eugene at

February 20, 2004


I've started moisturizing. My skin has been dry and flakey, and I'm tired of it. L. tells me the technical term is "ashy." I told her if that's the case then I'm Mt. St. Helens. Was, rather.

Yesterday, I mentioned it to T.J. I asked her about different brands of moisturizer and her recommendations. She found the conversation funny. She told me that men treat moisturizing as a big deal, but women don't talk about it. It's like brushing your teeth, she told me. She said our conversation was as if I was saying, "Do you brush your teeth every day? Do you brush at night? When you walk into a drugstore there's so many brushes to choose from, which do you use?" I had to admit, in that context, I did sound pretty ridiculous. But hopefully, I'll be able to avoid snakeskin patterns on my legs in the future. Posted by eugene at

February 19, 2004


Two groups of tourists sat on the benches by Madison Square Park. They took turns taking photos of each other. Each of them had a silver digital camera in their hands. When I visited Longji, in China, I hitched a ride up to the hill-top village with a group of Chinese tourists. I was waiting at a bus stop for a jitney. They recognized me—we had bumped into each other near Guilin—and invited me to hop into their van.

That night, as I walked along narrow paths through the terraced fields, I ran into them again. They had each brought bags of camera equipment, and were setting up their tripods in a small clearing. I sat with them and we waited for the sunset to light up the hills. Unfortunately, the afternoon turned cloudy, and the flooded fields didn't light up the way we had hoped. My new friends took a few pictures anyway, carefully tripping their shutters with cables so as not to disturb their cameras. Then they packed away their gear, and slowly made their way back to their hotels. As they left, they said they'd try again tomorrow. Posted by eugene at

February 18, 2004

We must protest

There's a protest outside the window. The Sierra Club is waving signs that read "Clean up the 9/11 Dust," "Don't abandon the WTC workers," Truth or Dare, Tell us what happened," and "Why did they say it was safe?" I can't understand the chanting through the window. There's another group on the sidewalk with banners that declare "Billionaires for Bush" with signs that read "Taxes are not for everyone" and "Blood for oil." Karl Rove is apparently meeting with Bush's Maverick fundraisers at Eugene's, the club below the office. Posted by eugene at

February 17, 2004


Last night I stopped by the Biography bookstore. I was en route to Magnolia Bakery wth L. We always seem to end up there. I was looking for a copy of Gogol's short stories, having just read Jhumpa Lahiri's The Namesake. I haven't read "The Overcoat" since college. The only Gogol they had was Dead Souls. I picked it up and a man working there said it was a very funny novel. He then said if I was looking for a great Russian novel, I should read The Master and Margarita. I told him I had.

Later, I mentioned to L. that I wanted to re-read The Brothers Karamazov. The same clerk told me that there was a new translation that he thought almost improved on the original. Dostoyevski wasn't really known as a stylist, he remarked.

In the end, I bought Dead Souls. The clerk told me the book was written in Italy, as Gogol was going mad. Gogol never finished the second part f the book. As we were leaving, L. said to the clerk, You seem to know a lot about Russian literature. The clerk smiled sheepishly. Yeah, he said. It's kinda my major. Posted by eugene at

February 16, 2004

Valentine's Day

Y.K.J. tells me that in New York, Valentine's Day seemed to take on the importance of a Major Holiday. I had lent her the keys so that she might stay here for the weekend. At the Met, red dotted women's hats, scarves, dresses. Everywhere she looked, she said, she could see the signs.

I spent the day with my parents in Connecticut. We ate and talked and watched movies. Woke up early and went to bed early.

Back in New York, on the corner of Thompson and Spring, red balloons adorn a leafless tree. Posted by eugene at

February 15, 2004

Chinatown bus redux

With my return stub, the fare from Mohegan Sun to New York was $2.00, the price of a subway ride. I was the last passenger on the bus, and as the guide deemed the bus full, we pulled away from the curb. I asked the man beside me if the bus always waits until it is full. He told me the scheduled departure was 5.15, but the bus would leave early if it reached capacity. It was 5.00. The procedure reminded me of Lao PDR, where buses never left until they were full. Where you could wait an hour past the departure time as the driver or the ticketseller canvassed the street, looking for another fare.

The video for the ride home was taped from the day before. TV hosts wished us a Happy Valentine's day before the soap operas started. In between, an entertainment news show brought us clips from a Hong Kong walk of fame ceremony, where Andy Lau and Sammi left their handprints in plaster of paris molds. Posted by eugene at

February 14, 2004

Open Your Heart

While driving yesterday "Open Your Heart" came on the radio. From the opening "A Watch out!" (or whatever those three syllables are) I knew exactly what was to come. The song returned me to Madonna; True Blue was the first Madonna album I ever bought. I was living in Cambridge with my friend A. The apartment, a large one bedroom with a study, is now a condominium. A bookstore by the name of Foozles sat across the street. Next door were a small paper store and an Italian takeout.

I spent that autumn and winter trying to decide what I wanted to do. I had started a job at Boston University typesetting course catalogs. It was my first "real" job. I worked with a great group of people but the work was unsatisfying. My co-workers were mainly working to take free classes. One owned almost every Ella Fitzerald album ever made; another every Tom Waits album. I was stuck in the 80s. At night I would rent 80s movies and listen to the Pretty in Pink soundtrack again and again. It was also that year that I saw The Taking of Pelham One Two Three. Our friend P. had brought it over, and then apologized. He had assured us it was a "taut little thriller," but in the end it served more as a cultural touchstone (years later I would know exactly what the Beastie Boys meant when referencing it in the lyrics to "Sure Shot") than a great film. The next time P. visited he introduced us to John Woo's The Killer. At its conclusion, our mouths were agape. Action films would never be the same.

I'm somewhat caught between things again this winter, although I haven't yet found the right soundtrack. But maybe it's in retrospect that you associate songs or events to a particular time. Anyway, I seem to take songs out of context, revisiting a golden past long after its zenith. Or maybe that was then, this is now. Happy Valentine's. Happy Happy Valentine's. Posted by eugene at

February 13, 2004

Dream Trilogy No. 2

I dreamt of P. We sat in her parent's house, which had somehow been extended. The living room was the same, just more spacious. She was dressed in a pink yoga outfit, just this side of I Dream of Jeanie and she was stretching while we talked. I don't remember the specifics. We talked of friends and of weddings, and she demonstrated how limber she was.

I dreamt of working for an architectural design firm. The company worked out of a hotel room. The room had double beds. The head sat at the desk beside the tv stand. A woman sat at the foot of the bed. A man sat to the left of me at the head of the bed and I sat on the right. The other bed was reserved for clients. The first day, no one spoke. On the second day, the ice was broken, and we all started joking with each other. The next day, clients visited. Four men in suits arrived and sat on the guest bed. I wasn't invited to the meeting.

I dreamt of Lawrence Fishburne. He stood commandingly before me. I walked up to him and then I awoke. Posted by eugene at

February 12, 2004

Chinatown bus

I've just made a reservation for the 7.00 bus to Mohegan Sun; I'm visiting my parents. Ever since I first heard about the Chinatown buses I've wanted to take one, but I always seem to forget. Apparently, the one that I'm taking offers a $15.00 food voucher and a $10.00 chit with which to try your luck. All for the $10.00 price of the bus ticket. The unfortunate downside to the low prices is the competition between bus lines that has, at times, become violent. I read an article recently that detailed some of the deaths as a result of the "bus fare wars." When the reporter asked an operator if passengers should worry, he shook his head. Not at all, he said. To us they look like money. Posted by eugene at | Comments (1)

February 11, 2004

I just saw Willem Dafoe

For lunch I stopped by the Sullivan St. Bakery. They have excellent thin crust pizzas, which they serve by the square. Whole sheets are also available. Sitting by the window was Li-T. She had just finished her last show for Fashion Week, and was having a light snack. She was with a friend and co-worker, and we talked about her upcoming travel plans; three months around the world. As we prepared to leave, I turned to Li-T and asked her if we knew the man by the door. Yes, she said. It was Willem Dafoe.

I can count the number of celebrities I've seen on the streets of New York on one hand. I've lived here for seven years, the past four in SoHo. I'm generally just not paying attention. The first celebrity I saw was David Byrne, walking towards Union Square. It was my first year in the city, and the sight was exhilarating. He was also the second celebrity I spotted, this time at a Jane Siberry concert. He came in late and sat towards the back of the room at the Bottom Line. Before the show was over he was gone. Since then, I've only noticed Rufus Sewell. I was in the SoHo Grand, waiting for a friend to arrive. He sat with his wife and child in the lobby. As they stood up to go, they dropped the baby's hat. I called out and retreived it for them. My brush with fame. Posted by eugene at

Classical Music

I've been listening to Mitsuko Uchida's recordings of Mozart's solo piano sonatas. It's been a difficult few days and I've needed to listen to classical music to relax. For a change of pace, I tried listening to Wagner's Tristan und Isolde. B. tells me it's his sister's favorite opera; she named her son Tristan. Forty minutes into the first act I was surprised how tense I had become. I should have known better.

I had seen the opera performed in Paris at the Opera Bastille. After the first act there was a break of an hour for dinner. It was towards the end of my stay and I was exhausted. The entire performance lasted well over four hours, and that experience served as my true introduction to Wagner.

It was my first extended trip to the city, and I had tried to see everything. That week I had already seen a staging of Shakespeare's The Tempest at the Comédie Française and a production of Giselle at L'Opera. I was assured that I would have no troubles understanding the performances at the Comédie Française, but I don't know how I thought I could understand Shakespeare translated into French. Looking back on it now, I'm not sure why I would have wanted to, save for the experience. And that was, actually, reason enough.

I was more successful with the performance of Giselle. It remains one of my favorite ballets, as much for the dance as for the room in which I saw it. I still remember climbing up to the top of the stairs and looking up over the railing at the Chagall-painted ceiling. On the lower floors, mirrors seemed to take up entire walls. I wish I had spent more time wandering the halls and exploring the building. But it was, I think, my first night in Paris, and I was too enthralled with the ballet and the fact of just being there. Posted by eugene at

February 10, 2004

Dream Trilogy

I didn't chant, and yet pieces of my dreams cling to me. I dreamt that I had signed up with the marines. I was shown to a tiny room with my locker and beds piled one on top of another. My first thought was to flee. I couldn't remember what had brought me to that step. There were men and women in the narrow barracks. We were on a ship. A sargent commanded that we assemble our weapons.

And then I was in the midst of a G.I. Joe episode, where everything took on an animated dimension, as if we were in a sophisticated computer game. We raced around an area I can't describe, and then

I was alone in a small auditorium watching my brother do the soft shoe. He was wearing an oversized black coat and jeans that all but covered his sneakers. It was his sneakers I noticed first. I think they were Pumas. I recognized the clamshell pattern covering the toes. He could have stepped out of the 80s, albeit his dress was updated to today's cool. It could have been a Missy Elliot video. Posted by eugene at

February 9, 2004

Pierre Boulez

G. invited me to a short concert of music by Pierre Boulez. When she invited me, I thought of Hector Berlioz and asked if he was still alive. Boulez is a student of Messiaen and is very much alive. Berlioz died in 1869.

The concert was held in the Magic Room at the top of the LVMH building. Three of the walls were glass. The ceilings towered over the space. The performance celebrated the inaguration of the French-American Fund for Contemporary Music. Hors d'oeuvres were served along with champagne. Speeches were made, and then the performances given. Boulez sat in the first row of the loose assemblage of chairs.

We rode the elevator down with three of the musicians. The harpist fingered her program. "I want to keep it from being wrinkled," she said. Looking closer, she noted that the piece they played was the longest of the three presented, then remarked, "The second piece was composed the year I was born." The mandolin player looked at the program. "Nineteen eighty-five," he mused. "Is that possible?" Posted by eugene at

February 8, 2004

Hot Chocolate

I went to the Chocolate bar with uki. Lin had mentioned it a week ago. On her way home from the movies she had run across the shop and stopped in for hot chocolate. She called immediately to recommend it. The chocolate was thick, but not quite spicy enough.

K. had us taste her recipe on the way back home. She served us passion fruit hot chocolate. We waited while it was prepared. It was good, but a little too creamy, and in the transition between the immediate chocolate taste and the passion fruit finish, there was the barest hint of sourness. She's reconfiguring the recipe.

Early spring 1998, with a week between jobs, I went to Paris. Just before leaving New York, a friend told me to go to Café Angelina. Order the mont-blanc, he told me. And the hot chocolate. The chocolate was thick, served in a porcelain cup. A pot held the excess chocolate. You could stand a spoon in it.

One of my favorite songs is "You Sexy Thing." I believe in miracles. Posted by eugene at

February 7, 2004


Last night I ate at Geisha. I have mixed feelings about the restaurant on the whole, but the food and sake were excellent. The dessert was so-so. I went with K., who knew the pastry chef. They had gone to school together at the French Culinary Institute. The tiger shrimp dumpling appetizers were incredibly fresh, and the eel roll was well-presented. K. said that she thought the eel rolls at Marimoto (the Iron Chef) were superior, but priased the shrimp. For dinner I had the roasted lobster served with udon noodles, portobello mushrooms and asparagus. While it was a little over-buttered (a little less butter would have brought out the other flavors better), the meat was succulent. The lobster was presented cleaved in half and spread open like a butterfly pinned to a banana leaf.

The last time I ate lobster, I had prepared it myself. Using my free $50.00 from Fresh Direct, I ordered foods I would not normally spend the money on. Golden kiwis, exotic fish, lobster. Once my order arrived, individually packaged with my name on each label, I called my father to ask how to prepare the lobster Chinese style. Killing it and severing it into parts was the most difficult task. The stir frying and steaming were simple by comparison. I spread newspaper out on the floor and ate with my fingers, leaving the legs for last to suck the meat out of the tiny tubes.

Last night, after I had finished my lobster, I contemplated the legs. K. told me to go for it. And so, as she was finishing her salmon, I bit into the legs of my lobster, working the meat from one end to the other with my teeth. I could taste the smokey flavor of the roasted shell on my tongue.

Afterwards we stopped by Olive's to say hello to A., the head pastry chef there. K. had once worked with him, and I was assured that his pastries are excellent. Now I'm hoping to stop by this week for a sip at the bar and a taste of the dessert. The desserts at Geisha were unremarkable, and somewhat at odds with the menu.

Links: Geisha, Fresh Direct, Olive's. Posted by eugene at

February 6, 2004

Can't talk now, being evicted

The company for which I work was evicted from its space this afternoon. It wasn't a surprise. I was told a week or two ago that they were some six months behind with rent payments (bear in mind we haven't been paid in a month either). Just that morning there was an eviction notice posted on the door.

I thought it would be more traumatic, with people reposessing furniture, tossing computers out the window, screaming, yelling. In truth, the superintendant was very polite. He waited while we gathered our personal belongings, then asked if we were ready. Once we had our affects with us, we thanked him. He smiled then shut the door. Posted by eugene at


Last night I went to Makt with b. She's a force of nature. I had a delicious swordfish dish; she had a burger. For dessert I had a trois mousse. A layer of dark chocolate mousse over white chocolate mousse over milk chocolate mousse. Irene tells me she makes a damn fine mousse, though she doesn't use those words. She's made it three times. The first two times were great, but she tells me the last time her mousse came out solid. Like fudge. Maybe she needs to whip it. Whip it good. Posted by eugene at

February 5, 2004

Subway Story No. 4

Two subway workers walked along the rails on 42nd Street. They painted handles yellow. They waved their lanterns. Occasionally, they would touch the tracks to feel for the vibration of oncoming subway cars. They were unafraid of the third rail. They walked uptown, disappearing into the tunnels. By the time the train arrived they were gone. Posted by eugene at

February 4, 2004

Country Cafe

Last night I had dinner with Lin and F.S. I ordered the striped bass. Fifteen minutes later the waiter returned. "I'm sorry we just sold the last bass." I ordered the flounder. A few minutes later the waiter returned. "I'm sorry but we're out of the flounder." I looked at the menu. "In fact, we're out of all the fish." The waiter left. When he returned I asked about the mussels. "Yes, we have mussels," he said. I ordered the mussels.

Later that evening, as we were about to leave the waiter stopped us. He brought us coffee and port, and we toasted to each other's health. Posted by eugene at

A New York moment

A & L Cesspools had a pipe running into the basement of MacDonalds on 23rd Street. An older man walking in front of me, preoccupied with his own thoughts, tripped over it. A man walking towards us put out his arm to catch him if he fell. The older man righted himself and walked on. Neither man looked at the other; neither acknowledged the near accident nor the proferred aid if the need arose. Posted by eugene at

The Notwist

I've just come back from the Bowery Ballroom. I saw the Notwist. They were about what I expected, which was great. Neon Golden was one of my favorite albums of 2003. For the second song of their first encore they played "Consequence." This past summer I once took a bus to Connecticut. The bus was delayed, and after it left Penn Station the bus proceeded to drive through local traffic, making stops along the way. I listened to that song and tried to forget where I was going and what was going on around me.

In the middle of the floor at the Ballroom stood a man almost seven feet tall. Years ago, I accompanied Y.K.J. to an Ani Difranco concert. I was the tallest person in an audience of prepubescent girls. I was probably also the oldest person there, and one of very few males. Lin tells me she once saw Alanis Morrisette and was the oldest person in the audience. She also saw the Indigo Girls and thinks she was the only straight woman in the audience. F.S. tells me he was hit on by a gay man this past weekend. I think I'd be flattered. Though I guess it would depend on the situation.

You're the colour,
you're the movement
and the spin.

could it stay with me
the whole day long.

Fail with consequence,
lose with elequence
and smile.

I'm not in this movie,
I'm not in this song.
Posted by eugene at

February 3, 2004

Travel pictures

Last night y.w. told me her favorite thing about Spain was walking on the beaches near Barcelona, then seeing paintings of the same beach at the Picasso museum. Hearing her stories of her travels makes my feet itch.

Last night I also visited Mimi to retreive the photos and negatives of my Asian travels. She gave me match prints of the photos they used, and I was surprised how well they looked when scanned and enlarged and thought about hanging some on the walls of my now-bare bedroom. Seeing them makes me want to block out darkroom time so that I might practice my color printing and see how other photos might look enlarged. It also stokes my wanderlust.

Apropos nothing, I've begun looking for a new job. If anyone has any leads on design jobs, please leave a comment. Posted by eugene at

February 2, 2004


Since S. mentioned that chanting "I will remember my dreams" before bed actually works, I've managed to remember bits of my dreams. The entire dream never comes to me, but rather one detail. Last night I dreamt that I spent beyond my means and purchased a motorized bicycle. I didn't know how to operate the clutch, which required a strange combination of pedals to operate, and I wasn't certain what convinced me to purchase the bike. I rode it around my parents' house, though the hills were steeper, and the area had been relocated to a different state. The rest of the dream escapes me. Posted by eugene at

February 1, 2004

On a walk to the theater

In Soho, a woman approached the man beside me. She stopped him and asked if she could take his picture. He was taken aback. "It's ok," she said. "I'm a trendspotter." He could have stepped out of the Gap. But what do I know?

On Astor place a woman shouted out "Animal Rights." "Animal Cruelty." "Thank you for your help." As if she was selling peanuts at a ball game. Her voice fell leaden around her.

On 9th a man stood by garbage bins, tossing trash. His dog pulled against his leash, as if afraid to be thrown away with the scraps. Posted by eugene at


Ed called me from Baghdad. He's covering the war. He'll be leaving in two weeks, short-timer that he is. He's trying to decide what to do with his time off. He might return to Iraq in April, but he wants to be out before the heat of the summer. He called via satellite phone to my cell phone, our voices flung through the air. He found a few issues of Newsweek, circa 1968, and was comparing the war reporting of the Vietnam war with this one. In Newsweek, they wrote of American deaths in the hundreds on a daily basis. The numbers were in stark contrast to those reported this week.

Kit emailed me from London. It was the first I had heard of her since her landing, and she writes of the visits she's already had. She's not yet settled in, still sleeping on an air mattress, and watching movies on her laptop computer. She compares her current live to that of a housewife.

I called my brother in Colorado. A cousin of ours who lives near him was openly wondering where he was, and so I called to find out. He's fine. Just not returning calls that often.

Cher called me from Brooklyn. She wants to meet up with a mutual friend we haven't seen in a long time. Although I've seen Cher a few times in the past weeks, it's always in a crowd, or she's working. We hadn't talked in a while.

Guillemette just called from 14th Street. She wants to see Monster this afternoon. I have to make a call to see about meeting my neighbor for coffee. I'm waiting for a call from Lin to see if she wants to come over to see a movie. I feel like I'm in that scene of Bye Bye Birdie. My brother was in a high school production. "Hello Missus Miller, this is Harvey Johnson, can I speak to Debra Sue?" Posted by eugene at

Digital photography

This evening I went to the opening of Digital Dimensions | Recent Work by ICP Digital Media Students. A friend had two pieces in it, which were beautiful. It made me reassess what I thought of digital photography and printing. I'm still not ready to give up film, however. There's something about the process of taking pictures with film that I would miss. This past summer I finally took a class in photography and learned how to print. In high school, my parents once gave me a roll of black and white film to shoot, but I never finished it. For my class, my father offered his Minolta. When I brought it back to New York, I found the roll still in the camera. I wonder if anything would come out. Posted by eugene at


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