Something Shiraz

Moving is absolutely terrible—do not do it if you do not have to—but I have moved recently, in with my boyfriend. And as I was leaving my old apartment, my roommates threw a party which resulted in an egregious amount of leftover wine. I’m talking 15 to 20 bottle range here, not just like an “oh no I couldn’t possibly—quick, get me my Key West Chalice” amount, but an “I have to incorporate strategy now, concerning how much wine I drink and when because there’s more of it than there is of me” amount. To include a box of Shiraz. 

An entire, untouched box of Shiraz.

And, you know, waste not want not, so I took it with me and now I’m drinking—a bit to my dismay since I am not a fan—shots of Shiraz with lunch and dinner, telling myself all the while that maybe this will help with my blood pressure, or with living longer, or with something. 

Kicking it Old-School

I've moved back to Moleskines. I'm (at times insanely) organized. Google Calendar, Evernote, Wunderlist, Asana; you name it, I probably have an account. A few years ago I did index cards for my To Do lists—that was both fun and telling, depending on the day of the week or monthly events like paying bills, or holidays. There's something thrilling about being able to touch your To Do list, physically mark something off, visually move down the list to something else. And to see which events carried over from day to day, or week to week. Writing them down feels like being one step closer to the commitment of accomplishing them. "It's in ink," you know?

(This reminds me: written on yesterday's page in my journal, there it is written, "Order pens," the verb of which cracks me up because I like the through of telling pens what to do more than I like clicking a few buttons on Amazon.) 

But I had a job interview recently, and I have found in my short interviewing career that it helps to have a Moleskine handy. It's a top of the line notebook, so it says, "No, I'm serious about taking notes. Look at all the things I've written down already. Consider the gravity of me being here. Physicality!" Note that it's always a subtle office colored journal; not the ones I have that have poetry scribbled all over their exterior. But then the interview ended and there I was with my journal and...well, give a dog a bone. Now I almost can't put it down. I'm reading a book on New French Feminism, highlighting and marking pages all along the way, but I'm also lifting a few key phrases here and there and they're landing in my journal, not in Evernote or Asana. There is a sense of freedom there too, which is valuable to me. Consider the reward posted below if lost:


Hand to Hand Stories

I've been reading Roz Chast's Can't We Talk About Something More Pleasant, a graphic narrative memoir about her parents' getting up in age and eventual passing. It's good; I recommend it. But between it and the comic that my boyfriend is having me read, I'm starting to consider graphic narrative a little bit more closely.

As an art form.

That maybe I could try.

I don't know.

I mean, I've drawn before. And I know my way around Illustrator, InDesign, and Photoshop—enough to create a marketing document or an announcement, anyway. I deeply miss photography (and wonder if there were a way to mix the two—photography and long form writing are so disparate to me). But particularly with drawing.

The way Chast draws is certainly very entertaining and now (and perhaps forever) intertwined with what I think of whenever I think of the New Yorker.  But it's Chast handwriting that really made the memoir for me. There are few things more personal than handwriting; couldn't one say that drawing is an extension of that?