Matthew Gallaway

The Empire State Building Project (Notes on Carles)

After the non-blizzard, the sun returned to its usual trajectory, setting in the southwest. I had a view of this event from my office window and, when I took the picture, decided to leave in the window panes and fluorescent lights, for the sake of veracity. The next afternoon, however, I decided that the view was better without the window panes. To get these shots, I have to walk to the end of a hallway, where I sometimes feel a little self-conscious: what if one of my superiors sees me and wonders why I'm taking pictures instead of getting work done? Thankfully I'm now employed by a non-profit, where people are a little more relaxed about such strictures. Besides, who wouldn't understand the pressing need to capture the perfect gilded light reflecting off the city's most noteworthy skyscraper? This week I spent some time thinking about Carles, who recently returned to the internet to sell his underground-famous website "Hipster Runoff" and to publish a book (available for free download) called "Nothing Matters." I think his decision to stop blogging, for reasons he elucidates in both commercial and philosophical terms, represents another signpost in the evolution (or devolution) of the internet, namely to the extent it has become infused with a pervasive sense of boredom and stagnation that makes it about as exciting as, say, the telephone, except even worse, because you can still talk on the telephone without being bombarded by corporate logos and sales pitches. As a (sometimes) writer, I also question the failure of the mainstream media or -- more narrowly -- "literary culture" to embrace Carles as a visionary; granted, he didn't publish novels or books, and much of his prose can't easily be classified as "fiction" or "essay" or any of the other (tedious) categories typically associated with writing on or off the internet. Yet over just a few years, he posted hundreds of thousands of words and images in a style not only instantly recognizable and unique (and widely imitated), but also highly critical of many of the worst traits of contemporary society. I have no doubt that, if I were living 100 years in the future and someone asked me about the state of society circa 2008-2012, I would list Carles first among writers whose work represents a valid picture of what was good and bad about this period. He was our best social critic; and if I were running the world today, I would direct the Ransom Center or some similar cultural archive to buy Hipster Runoff and make it available for the indefinite future. (Maybe that's what's going to happen: the actual buyer of the site hasn't yet been announced.) Or maybe, as he states, it doesn't matter, because like everything else, it existed for a while and will soon be gone. Still, as Arthur Schopenhauer -- perhaps the greatest of the "nothing matters" philosophers -- put it almost 200 years ago, we still have an obligation to live, so perhaps one way to do that with the least agony is to enjoy a few of the small things, such as the juxtaposition of the winter sky against the street signs in Washington Heights. (Even if it's -5 degrees out.) Or to take pictures of dead flowers and imagine sending them to people we don't like. Or maybe just to drift in and out of sleep.  Or to sit in the watery sunlight and think about nothing that matters, which is everything.

The Compare and Contrast Project (Snow and Flowers)

In New York City, the most exciting part of the blizzard was Monday afternoon; the office closed early but before I went home, I took a few pictures of the snowy rooftops. It seemed like it was going to be a big storm, which made me wish that I owned a penthouse apartment with a roof-deck like the one that was pleasantly illuminated below me. Actually, the snowstorm didn't really have much to do with that wish, which is more or less constant. Meanwhile, the avenues heading north were covered in snow, turning Soho for a few minutes (and from a great height) into a quaint little village. On Sunday, when the "media storm" about the blizzard was kicking into gear, reactions were mixed. It seemed unlikely that 12-18 inches could make this one of the biggest storms in the history of New York City, given that we had 3 feet a few years ago.  The irises -- as usual, completely oblivious -- believed it was already spring. Stephen and I went for a walk through Hamilton Heights and had brownstone envy as we admired the wide facades adorned with beautiful architectural elements. Some of these houses still need to be restored, however, such as the one with the iron gate over the front door. Or at least that's the assumption: it's also possible that the owners, like a certain number of people in today's society, had the gates installed in advance of the coming zombie apocalypse. Around the corner on Saint Nicholas, we passed the famous mansion built by one of the famous circus impresarios. (I can never remember if it's Barnum or Bailey.) As it turned out, we only got around 6 inches of snow, but it still looked lovely on the block. I mean, if you had never seen it before, you would probably be dumbstruck by its strangeness. How can snow be made out of water? It's one of the great miracles we take for granted. I shook the snow off the branches of the spruce. (This is a "before shot.") The light fixture was wearing a little snowy hat. As far as I could tell, most of the effects of this storm, at least in New York City, fell into the "cute" category, which made a lot of people who were expecting "mortal danger" very upset. Nobody likes to have their calamitous expectations dashed! Oh well, maybe the next storm will do better, I thought, as I broke the news to the orange orchids, who were predicting 8-10 feet of snow as recently as Monday night. "We went to the grocery store and bought cabbage, because it was the only thing left...so annoyed!" Meanwhile the irises -- oblivious as ever -- continued blooming, as if it were already spring. It was another improbable miracle that I took for granted because it happens all the time.

The Decaffeinated Coffee Project

Almost every afternoon around three o'clock, I found myself heading to the coffee machine in the office, where I prepared myself a cup of decaffeinated [insert brand name here] as a little "pick me up" before I soldiered through the rest of the work day.
I worried about many things as the coffee machine did its work, pushing a "flow count" through the coffee "pod" that I had placed in the holder: 1) would the door of the machine pop open, sending (decaffeinated) coffee flying everywhere, as it had done a few times in the past? 2) had I reached an age where decaffeinated coffee in the afternoon seemed like a luxurious treat? 3) why were some people in the office incapable of cleaning out the drain in the sink, even though there was a sign placed on the wall behind the sink explicitly asking them to do just that? As so often happens these days, particularly while reading about the cruel slaughter of endangered (or really any) animals, I felt like humanity was a very damaged proposition, and yet I could not deny being a member of this group. It was a fundamental dilemma of existence, obviously; how to reconcile a very logical hatred of the countless horrible things that people do to each other and to the planet with a desire (or need) to survive in these times with a sense of self-respect? Maybe decaffeinated coffee was the best compromise I could hope for, I thought, as I removed the mercifully finished (i.e., unexploded) cup from the machine and went to the window to look at the Empire State Building in the western sun.
Meanwhile, the Hudson River continued to flow toward the Atlantic Ocean; I wondered if it ever wanted a coffee break, and if so, whether it would prefer caffeinated. "Oh, nice to see you, Hudson River -- can I get you a cup of Sanka?" A plane flew north, following the path of the Hudson; I had taken this route in the past and the views were admittedly amazing. I imagined the people on board feeling a mix of anxiety, desire, and trepidation as they envisioned landing at LaGuardia (side note: how is it that the spell check for this program has "Luanda" but not "LaGuardia"?!?) and, soon after, negotiating the frenzied commute back to wherever they lived in the city. "I would like a cup of decaffeinated coffee, please." -- Elektra The weather was mild and clear this week, even though the newscasters were obsessed with the impending storm. 2015 is apparently the year that people will talk on the air about hoarding groceries because of a forecast of 2-3 inches of snow. It was impossible to deny the beauty of the morning light on my block, however, and the soothing quality of the long shadows. (Notwithstanding the potential of these same shadows to be frightening in the moonlight!) The snow arrived and I shoveled, which is required of property owners in the city. Obviously, as can be expected with all laws (and particularly those involving the cleaning of sink drains and the poaching of rhinoceros and elephants) not everyone complies. There have been times in my life when I haven't shoveled, but I have always been a compulsive drain cleaner, which did not make sharing an apartment in Brooklyn with appromixately 15 other people (as I did in my twenties) very easy, at least from a drain-cleaning perspective. (Financially, it was pretty great, as I only paid $200 for my room, keeping in mind it was more like a hallway, because people had to pass through it in order to get to the basement, where they lived.) I once yelled at one of my roommates for his failure to clean out the drain after he did the dishes; it didn't do anything of course. We are no longer friends, either, not even on FB, which sometimes strikes me as unfortunate; it's possible to be very good friends with people until you live with them, and learn about their drain-cleaning habits. There's a possibility, I realized, that he's writing a blog post at this exact moment describing a former roommate who sublimated his non-heterosexual desire by being obsessed with clean drains, as if a few scraps of food in the sink ever hurt anyone. He's probably writing this post from a hunting preserve in Africa, however, where he is relaxing after taking down an elephant, a lion, and a giraffe. Speaking of sublimating hon-heterosexual desire, I have strong opinions about fire escapes on the front of buildings; generally I think they are an architectural travesty and should be outlawed (the risk of death by fire notwithstanding), but today, as I had to admit, they looked pretty good with some snow on the steps. In the garden, the branches of the Norway spruce were waiting for me to shake off the snow, which I soon did, with the help of a broom. It was a small gesture, no doubt -- a decaffeinated activity -- but the tree felt better, and so did I.




 

The Small Activities Project (Mondays Off)

I've always found Monday holidays to be a good time for doing chores that for whatever reason escaped you over the weekend. Like watering plants is always a good idea. (But not too much!) Or zoning out to the stripes in the carpet, which I realize isn't exactly a chore, but is something I probably wouldn't do on a Sunday. I honestly can't get enough of this orange orchid, either. Just in case you missed it the first time... I also like this little striped succulent, which is a new addition to our plant collection. A few hours ago, when I took this picture, Dante had full control of the red chair, where he likes to nap. Guess who's now relaxing in the red chair and who's walking around moaning about getting kicked out? Elektra spotted one of the stray cats who resembles her out on the garden wall. Seeing someone who looks very much like you living in the wild but from behind bars (where you are nevertheless provided for with food, shelter, and affection) is a good metaphor for ____. Out in the garden, the pots were still waterlogged from the heavy rains. Everyone was praying for spring (but already dreading summer). A lot of the new condominiums going up in the city have a weathered, artisanal appearance, not unlike a stack of antique bricks. (Just kidding, they're all made of glass and steel.) Inside, I attended to important matters like sewing on the button that had popped off my pants. And mixing up a new batch of cereal and -- because I had the rare luxury of hours in front of me -- pausing to admire the way the layers of cereal resembled sedimentary rock. Stephen did not have the day off, so I decided to go buy some flowers. On the way there, I considered the possibility that we had been blown to Asia yesterday in the heavy rains. The rest of the block looked pretty much the same, however. The trees were all sleeping heavily, which made me want to go take a nap. First, I needed to arrange the flowers. The consensus was that one variety was kind of boring, and not in a good way. "Much better." -- Zephyr Having now accomplished many small things, it was time to go back to bed.

The Breakfast-Item Weekly Compilation Project

One of the complaints I've regularly heard over the years about "social media" is that it's very boring. Often complainers will say, "why would I want to know what [so and so] had for breakfast?" or something along those lines. This week, it occurred to me that social media can, in fact (prepare for a shock), be very boring -- and more than boring, dispiriting -- but not for the stated reason that we are learning about the meaningless and un-profound details (hereafter "breakfast items") of someone's life. To the contrary, it's boring because people are often trying to make themselves seem very interesting or happy or successful by talking about the great things they or their loved ones have accomplished (or purchased) or by having strong, reasoned opinions about whatever seems to merit a strong opinion on any given day. (Or by making you try to buy something.) (Or by name dropping.) At the same time, however, I think social media can be entertaining for the exact reason that we (sometimes) find our friends and colleagues entertaining and interesting and, to some extent a reflection of ourselves, meaning that we are curious to know details about their lives that in some objective world (on a scale from "what I had for breakfast" to "who I murdered today") might seem pretty useless, i.e., closer to the breakfast item, but, because it struck them as noteworthy, makes us interested for that reason alone (and not because they're bragging or trying to seem intelligent or in close proximity to a famous person we're supposed to care about). I don't know if I'm making a ton of sense here, honestly, but in the spirit of rectifying a past in which I've devoted quite a bit of social-media time in the attempt to make myself seem noteworthy or interesting (or trying to make you buy something, or name dropping, which should only be done with famous animals you have met, e.g., "yesterday when I was having coffee with Lil Bub, she mentioned that..."), here are some things that this week struck me as boring in what I hope is the best (breakfast-item) sense of the word. (Note that I will not literally be talking about what I had for breakfast, although I'm not at all opposed to hearing about it from others, and often wish that my Twitter and FB feeds were filled with nothing but [metaphorical and literal] breakfast items!) Let's start with the above picture of Zephyr napping in Dante's arms.
Here's a picture of the card my mother sent to Stephen for his birthday: she crossed out "daughter's" and wrote in "son's," which I thought was pretty funny. Defacing store-bought cards has always been one of my favorite activities, and I never knew that I had inherited this trait from my mother! The Empire State Building from my office. This is maybe a little bit of a brag, but it's not like I own the office or anything, and Manhattan is pretty boring these days. (Though not as boring as Brooklyn!) Here's the same view without the zoom. And the same view a few hours later as the sun was setting. Everything looks better in the western sun, obviously.
Here are some flying saucers above Manhattan. (It's never boring when people brag about things that didn't actually happen to them.) Every morning Stephen spritzes the orchids: here's a picture of what they look like with the water collected on the flower petals. This January has so far been very cold; here's the birch tree and a few plump sparrows in the branches. Here's a picture of me getting ready to go out in the cold. Cactus/cacti enjoy hot days and cold nights, as our cactus/cacti will attest. Zephyr: I can't bear to log on to FB anymore.
Dante: But what if someone posts something very boring?
Zephyr: Do you mean in the good or bad sense?
Dante: IDK...let's ask Elektra? "I am at peace with the sun and will harness its light to one day soon rule the world." -- Elektra

The Sunday Flower Project

It's Sunday, which means it's time to spend a few seconds contemplating the sunlight passing through the petals of the godetia. And the orange orchid, which is once again in bloom. And the rarely seen phenomenon of three cats sitting in a perfect line, preparing -- as cats will do -- to open up a wormhole to a parellel universe. The orchids will be going, too, of course. As will the godetia. The orchids shivered with anticipation.  And the cats took them away.

The Year To Date in Rooftops and White Roses

Terrible things continued to happen all over the world, all of which I ignored for a little while by looking at the snow-covered rooftops. 
Other people employed different strategies of denial. The white roses were already beginning to fade. But at least the skies were now beginning to clear.

Resolutions 2015

More floral arrangements. More television. More daydreaming. Less graffiti. More Washington Heights. More restoration. More of those seeds that look like rotten banana peels that we used to throw at each other at recess in first grade. More rooftops. More piles of leaves. More curving brick paths. More bricks, generally. More sitting in a slice of warm sun on a cold day. More ghost cats. More hot gay statues. (Submitted by reader Steve L.) More killing of flying snakes by Elektra. More chess. More time in the garden (except when it's really cold and we're not wearing shoes). More stretching.