Things and not-things

          As there isn't any relevant photo to accompany this post, I've decided to include a picture of the "holiday table" with "holiday train schedules" at Jefferson Station. I never know exactly how to say this (somehow I’m constantly catching myself using extremely conclusive language [“never”] about things that are in endless flux [what I know ]), but I want to say that my favorite thing about something is that it’s not something else. My favorite thing about a bagel is that it’s not a raspberry. My favorite thing about a tablecloth is that it’s not a book. Like most things that can be said, in addition to saying this I also want to ask what I mean by it. First, a few reasons that make up the “favorite” component of this.  I love how overwhelmingly true these not-object-statements are. This point isn’t the central source of the deep intrigue I feel and associate with not-things, isn't the reason these statements surpass other statements that coul...

There’s a guy in my neighborhood who I refer to as “the novel writer.” He’s always sitting in coffee shops or on benches, always has a couple books on him (one seeming to be a notebook), and I think I’ve only ever seen him looking out into space or noticing everyone who walks by. This guy is everywhere--absolutely everywhere!--but only the everywheres that seem to provide him with the best opportunities for observation and contemplation. So I like to think.  I have a positive feeling about this guy. And I like to assign a kind of mystique to him. I’ve mainly ever seen him alone, and as I’ve mentioned, I’ve seen him a lot--though there was this one time I saw him sitting at a coffee shop with someone else, and I overheard them complimenting each other’s sneakers. When I caught a glimpse of him today, I felt that I needed to put him in this blog. As he walked by, I thought: “Alright, he’s going in the blog.” I had this thought in the tone of a this-was-the-last-straw kind of moment, ...