Erotica
Last night I dreamed I was on a basketball team with John Stockton, Reggie Miller, Shaq, and Jared from Subway. Whenever Jared had the ball, the crowd booed him wildly. In this dream, I did not play basketball any better than I do in real life—terribly—but I assumed they would cheer for me, since I didn’t touch any kids. I was disappointed, however, and they only liked the pro basketball players.
Today is the day that Marty McFly visits in Back to the Future Part II: October 21, 2015. If you haven’t watched the original Back to the Future lately, I strongly recommend revisiting it. It’s pretty much a perfect adventure movie, and one that contains remarkably little violence by the standards of what stories we tell today. Plus there’s a DeLorean. That car was kind of a joke in the eighties, but now it’s remembered as the car from Back to the Future. In that sense, at least, John DeLorean’s letter to the film’s producers was oddly prescient.
Today I am in New York. I got in to LaGuardia around eleven last night and made great time into Manhattan, right up until we got to the FDR, which had been blocked by an accident. I spent the next 40 minutes or so driving down Second Avenue from 125th to 6th Street. It was a good way to come back to the city, since it amounted to a slow parade of buildings I remember with different things inside them. It’s been 14 months since I was here last, which is the longest I’ve gone without setting foot in New York City since 1999. We ate tacos at midnight, and I wondered why I ever left. Then a siren woke up me and the fire escape pigeons at 5am, and I remembered. It’s still pretty great, though.
