We usually make pancakes on Sundays, and that was true today, too.
After, we carried the bridge down to the river and put up some shelves I haven’t photographed yet because I put them up in the dark with a headlamp on before writing this.
Will took video throughout the day and I think I feel the way about video many people do about photography: it’ll be nice to have but in the moment I’m slightly uncomfortable.
I’m writing this as Will edits the video on a big projected movie screen beside me and I’m growing more comfortable with seeing myself, and I’m not sure how to feel about that.
There was an awkward moment in the video when I fell and what I said wasn’t exactly mean, but it wasn’t exactly cheritable, either. That sort of reflection is, perhaps, the power of this type of recording in this type of house.
We discussed using that uncharitable moment as a point of drama in the video, but no, better to not look like a complete asshole, at least while we possess the power to do so.
After, we carried the bridge down to the river and put up some shelves I haven’t photographed yet because I put them up in the dark with a headlamp on before writing this.
Will took video throughout the day and I think I feel the way about video many people do about photography: it’ll be nice to have but in the moment I’m slightly uncomfortable.
I’m writing this as Will edits the video on a big projected movie screen beside me and I’m growing more comfortable with seeing myself, and I’m not sure how to feel about that.
There was an awkward moment in the video when I fell and what I said wasn’t exactly mean, but it wasn’t exactly cheritable, either. That sort of reflection is, perhaps, the power of this type of recording in this type of house.
We discussed using that uncharitable moment as a point of drama in the video, but no, better to not look like a complete asshole, at least while we possess the power to do so.
We carried that bridge down to the river and put it up on some rocks and shifted it around and it’ll stick around until one day it’ll be old and then one day it’ll be swept away or chewed up or dragged away.
When my grandfather (on my mother’s side) passed away about a decade ago, give or take, he was buried in a mausoleum of his own design. It’s a funky little thing with the aesthetic unique to Italian immigrants of a certain age (if you know you know). It’s not ugly, but it’s not exactly beautiful, and I love it. My Nonna and my aunt are in there too, now.
In Montréal, where this mausoleam is, a person doesn’t buy a plot and own it forever, they lease it for some period of time that’s longer than a human lifespan, I can’t recall exactly how long. So once it’s up they call up your next of kin, at that point somebody who never met you and probably never heard much about you and they ask if they want to spend tens of thousands of dollars to extend the lease of this very peculiar thing or have this person they never met be resigned to something somewhat more modest.
My grandfather knew this arrangement when he made up his will, yet he designed his mausoleum with the aesthetics of permanence. Nothing’s permanent, we all know it, but to hear that so up front and to still go along with it? I always thought that was funny. Better to make a grave marker that lasts as long as people care. So, Eighty years? How long do people live? That long, give or take.
Bozo.