Brushes with Greatness

Reading Sartorialist mostly satisfies any tendency that I have to be a celeb gawker - for me, it's all really about the fashion, unless you're talking about any real faves like Maggie G. Anyway, this weekend was probably as close as I've ever gotten to meeting or seeing famous people in the flesh. Definitely not referring to A-list celebs except perhaps in the NYTimes book review sense.

I was immersed in a warm water bath of cultural consumerism all weekend, which is so sweet because it really didn't leave any time for anything like shopping. No joke! Oh, and and also an opportunity to feel inspired and relieved about the act of artistic creation. I love that one of the recurring themes of the New Yorker events was the difficulty of realizing a Platonic ideal of creation that initially drives you to want to write. To think about the book that you yourself most want to read, and then to write it!

I don't think of myself as being unusually naive. Maybe I am. Or maybe I have a capacity to conceive of illimitable tragedy while still expecting a continuation of the happy status quo. But I don't think that's just me.

When I was younger, what I felt most often was boredom. These days, though, what I feel is impatience. To take things seriously and to make them better. To think about some life that I myself might want to see lived, and then to live it!