skblog

6 March 2026

9:58 am

B and I are talking pizza, well, B is talking and I am listening. "The guy who owns this place his name is Dave. I know him. Well, I think his name is Dave. Well, I do know him. My brother knows him more..."

Yesterday after work I set out for S's show, but oh man the commute took so long. It felt like the train was moving one inch per minute. I wanted to arrive at 5:45, but didn't get there till nearly 6:15. I called J when I left the Clinton-Washington train stop. I walked into the show, and instantly knew it was something I'd enjoy. Not even for the art specifically, but moreso for the atmosphere. It was in a room, in a college, a room with many smiling friendly artistic faces. I was surprised that, as late as I was, it wasn't till after I'd made a quick lap around the space that I saw S's smiling face appear out in the hallway. Yahoo! It was great to see her out there. And then in the show, to walk around together and to meet her studio friends. It was funny, she thought I did IT rather than AV all this time. "Does it change anything?" I joked.

Then it was time to head over to E's. Oh, I didn't even mention, it was a rainy day. I called dad on the way. It's a tough time, he's away from mom, mom is with grandma, it's icy and snowy in CT... oh, well, at least we can call. I stopped in a wine shop called 'Whiney Neighbor', and thought of T's Whineot. This type of store... I thought to myself. Before long I was at E's apartment. It was somehow exactly as I pictured it and also very different at the same time. It's sometimes so hard to describe a space. Most of all, I always feel I am facing a different direction than I imagined. One day I'll try to describe my grandma's house to someone, and I won't know if they are picturing it correctly or not.

It was a great time with E. I was so wiped from work, the rain, the train, etc. After about two hours, I left to go home. S sent me a voice memo, unintentionally. She's describing enjoying patterns and textures, I imagine she's talking about this with the person who is driving her home. On the way to E's, I stopped to open a door for an older woman with a walker, I thought of my gram, and how I wish I could be there holding my grandma's hand and opening doors for her. This is becoming a journal I suppose, even though I am not certain of the difference between a journal and a blog, or really the point of a blog that I have not shared with anyone. Perhaps this will live as my digital journal.

Since I've started writing on here the other day, I have noticed some changes. A commitment to an artful way of living, or rather the art of living. I read something about that yesterday. Reading on the train, stretching in the morning, taking a fish oil supplement in the morning, bringing fabric to stitch at work today, playing my language games throughout the day, browsing It'sNiceThat, all of these little things that indicate to myself a life of intention rather than passively existing. I certainly do not miss social media.

When I think of social media, I think of looking at myself. However vain that sounds, I realize that more than viewing the posts of others, I used social media as a way to reaffirm myself to myself. A series of words and photos from various dates became a proxy self. How did one conceptualize of the self before this digital era? I do enjoy seeing a collection of things I have made, and moments I have enjoyed, photos I have taken, and words from friends, all with a timestamp to show exactly what time of life you are memorializing. How is that different from a journal, or a digital journal, just without all of the advertising, short form video, and time wasted in an endless scroll? I suppose the 'other' does not view one's journal, which raises the question: Is it enough to reaffirm the self to the self, without broadcasting it outwardly?