Hey Chuck, I hope you have been well. Took some time off to get my life together. I've been living on my own with Maggie. We just upgraded to a townhouse condo and I'm in sales now which is something I'm phenomenal at. I would say I finally got my life together even though last month Maggie was diagnosed with diabetes and is insulin dependent. I didn't think she would allow me to give her shots but it's been a month and she's doing better. I feel it's time to make my way back to writing...I see that you got a new dog and that makes me happy for you! I'm am still grateful for everything you've done for me and us because no way would I have ever been able to say I have my life together if it weren't for my trip to Oregon. Take care, Karie Anne P.S. There will be no cross country trips anymore as long as Maggie is alive and I'm cool with that!
That's... my goal: to not drink at this. The old Cacophony trick of filling a Windex bottle with blue-colored gin and spraying it in people's mouths... that was fun in my 20s.
Yeah, I realized after sending my message that you are now living sans alcohol. Hope it's going well, Chuck. A Windex bottle of gin is an intoxicating idea though.
I just walked through Lloyd this afternoon for one last pass, after seeing the Odyssey matinee in IMAX across the street. Almost devoid of stores now, yet curiously busy-ish with peoples. Will be sad to see it disappear, replaced by who knows whut.
Thought a lot about the death of malls lately. How they were additive, even as they destroyed historic downtowns, the still provided community. A place where everyone came together, the mall walkers in space age jogging suits, the teen culture palace where you went to cruise boys or girls.
The place where everyone got to experience Spencer's their first head shop.
Everything that replaced them, the big box stores, which offer cheap prices and shitty jobs are purely extractive. Their economics offer nothing in return to the communities.
Absolutely in love with the idea of this send off.
Exactly. The dead mall has become such a metaphor for our time. It's what the Victorian mansion was to most of the 20th century: Evidence of a huge failed goal. The dead mall is Jackson's Hill House, or the Addams family's house, or the Bates house from 'Psycho.' It's the physical manifestation of what we dreamed would make us happy.
The dead mall is Edith Wharton's and Joan Didion's take on the Newport Cottages. Treat yourself, read the below link:
Oh, and also read Didion's essay "The Getty." These are all essays about how architecture embodies our dreams. What we build reveals our secrets and vices.
Years ago I was in Barcelona with Michael Chabon, Jonathan Lethem and crew, all of us marveling over the architecture until Chabon explained that this city was a stop on the slave trade, and slavery had build these incredible edifices. Later, I was in Edinburgh, marveling over the architecture, and Irvine Welsh explained that slave trading had paid for the incredible buildings.
In recent years I've gone back and bribed the tour guides for a look at the unrestored rooms. Dead bats litter the floors. Tarps protect against the leaking roof. Strange to think that a century ago my grandmother Ruth was tending these rooms. Poor and terrified.
It should be noted we all love you for your flaws not despite them.
This resonates.
My father was an immigrant and an embodiment of the American dream such as it was. He was a good man, tremendous provider, but I had no relationship with him until much later in life. He was in his 90’s me in my 50’s and he died shortly there after.
I have his old drafting table. The thing built a small fortune out of. I use it write on now.
Sometimes I catch myself doing gentle rubbing of the it’s surface, in the hopes of finding some long embedded note that tell me who he really was.
I recently re-read The White Album and was floored by that essay. The undertone of the book: the culture is falling apart, the enlightenment larping of the hippies, Haight Ashbury, vice once unthinkable or unnameable was everywhere. Summed up in that famous line.
I remember all of the day’s misinformation very clearly, and I also remember this, and wish I did not: I remember that no one was surprised.
Her own nervous breakdown which is just list of particular conditions almost identical to list clothes she travels with.
Then in "On the Mall" where she is in one most beautiful places in the world and she can only find peace at the Ala Moana Mall. The real Hawaii outside is right there, admitted into the mall's design. And she still finds the peace in the retail armature rather than in the place.
It's the one essay in the book where she laying out the facts in the way only she can, but also diagnosing her symptoms.
So many levels to it.
Also you turned me on to Didion in the early aughts. I owe a life time of thanks for having done so.
Ah man, I wish I could. I’m moving. Y’all have fun, though!
I’d be there. But Texas is so far away.
If only I could tap my Nikes together and teleport!
Yes it's really me
Hey Chuck, I hope you have been well. Took some time off to get my life together. I've been living on my own with Maggie. We just upgraded to a townhouse condo and I'm in sales now which is something I'm phenomenal at. I would say I finally got my life together even though last month Maggie was diagnosed with diabetes and is insulin dependent. I didn't think she would allow me to give her shots but it's been a month and she's doing better. I feel it's time to make my way back to writing...I see that you got a new dog and that makes me happy for you! I'm am still grateful for everything you've done for me and us because no way would I have ever been able to say I have my life together if it weren't for my trip to Oregon. Take care, Karie Anne P.S. There will be no cross country trips anymore as long as Maggie is alive and I'm cool with that!
With luck you'll see some video make the rounds...
❤️
This IS what defines genius for me .
Oh man I wish I was in Portland for my birthday. This is sure to be ridiculously amazing. Have fun Portland!
I miss you, Chuck.
Miss you too, but I'd rather miss you than waste your time. I'll be around.
I wish I lived nearby. Such a shame to miss it. I hope everyone that goes has a blast!
"Sexy dreidel" made my day!
Again, thank you for the lovely drawing.
Thank YOU! I got the book and the hat and I absolutely love it! You're the best!
The more I drink, the better this sounds. I love day drinking.
That's... my goal: to not drink at this. The old Cacophony trick of filling a Windex bottle with blue-colored gin and spraying it in people's mouths... that was fun in my 20s.
Yeah, I realized after sending my message that you are now living sans alcohol. Hope it's going well, Chuck. A Windex bottle of gin is an intoxicating idea though.
Be safe. Raise hell.
I just walked through Lloyd this afternoon for one last pass, after seeing the Odyssey matinee in IMAX across the street. Almost devoid of stores now, yet curiously busy-ish with peoples. Will be sad to see it disappear, replaced by who knows whut.
Wish I could be there. I miss Portland and I can't believe Lloyd Center will be leveled.
You son of bitch I'm in..... Just booked tickets.
Thought a lot about the death of malls lately. How they were additive, even as they destroyed historic downtowns, the still provided community. A place where everyone came together, the mall walkers in space age jogging suits, the teen culture palace where you went to cruise boys or girls.
The place where everyone got to experience Spencer's their first head shop.
Everything that replaced them, the big box stores, which offer cheap prices and shitty jobs are purely extractive. Their economics offer nothing in return to the communities.
Absolutely in love with the idea of this send off.
Exactly. The dead mall has become such a metaphor for our time. It's what the Victorian mansion was to most of the 20th century: Evidence of a huge failed goal. The dead mall is Jackson's Hill House, or the Addams family's house, or the Bates house from 'Psycho.' It's the physical manifestation of what we dreamed would make us happy.
The dead mall is Edith Wharton's and Joan Didion's take on the Newport Cottages. Treat yourself, read the below link:
https://2016writingforthepublicrealm.wordpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/10/slouching_towards_bethlehem_essays_-_the_seacoast_of_despair.pdf
In that same Wharton way, the mall embodied all aspirations for my generation. The Didion essay rocks.
If you can find it, read the essay "On the Mall" by Didion. Breathtaking.
Oh, and also read Didion's essay "The Getty." These are all essays about how architecture embodies our dreams. What we build reveals our secrets and vices.
Years ago I was in Barcelona with Michael Chabon, Jonathan Lethem and crew, all of us marveling over the architecture until Chabon explained that this city was a stop on the slave trade, and slavery had build these incredible edifices. Later, I was in Edinburgh, marveling over the architecture, and Irvine Welsh explained that slave trading had paid for the incredible buildings.
Perhaps this is my flaw:
When she turned fourteen, my maternal grandmother's first job was as a maid in the Daly Mansion on Montana.
https://dalymansion.org/
In recent years I've gone back and bribed the tour guides for a look at the unrestored rooms. Dead bats litter the floors. Tarps protect against the leaking roof. Strange to think that a century ago my grandmother Ruth was tending these rooms. Poor and terrified.
It should be noted we all love you for your flaws not despite them.
This resonates.
My father was an immigrant and an embodiment of the American dream such as it was. He was a good man, tremendous provider, but I had no relationship with him until much later in life. He was in his 90’s me in my 50’s and he died shortly there after.
I have his old drafting table. The thing built a small fortune out of. I use it write on now.
Sometimes I catch myself doing gentle rubbing of the it’s surface, in the hopes of finding some long embedded note that tell me who he really was.
I recently re-read The White Album and was floored by that essay. The undertone of the book: the culture is falling apart, the enlightenment larping of the hippies, Haight Ashbury, vice once unthinkable or unnameable was everywhere. Summed up in that famous line.
I remember all of the day’s misinformation very clearly, and I also remember this, and wish I did not: I remember that no one was surprised.
Her own nervous breakdown which is just list of particular conditions almost identical to list clothes she travels with.
Then in "On the Mall" where she is in one most beautiful places in the world and she can only find peace at the Ala Moana Mall. The real Hawaii outside is right there, admitted into the mall's design. And she still finds the peace in the retail armature rather than in the place.
It's the one essay in the book where she laying out the facts in the way only she can, but also diagnosing her symptoms.
So many levels to it.
Also you turned me on to Didion in the early aughts. I owe a life time of thanks for having done so.
Better yet, watch it here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kpelUS9zUNE
I've read this essay a couple of times. It has a certain HP Lovecraft undertow to it that I adore.
Agreed.
What we dreamt will make us happy will kill us.
Sigh… pain of being on the east coast