Words Fail Me

A red barn with a rusting grain silo behind it and solar panels on its roof.  Seems like the perfect metaphor for progressive rural New England.

I have an important message for the children of New England:

Look.  You don’t need to put up rubber bats and plastic tombstones to decorate for Halloween.  You live in a Halloween decoration.

Going through New England is like graveyard, Gothic mansion, creepy cornfield, Gothic church, graveyard, creepy cornfield, graveyard, and then antique shop, antique shop, antique shop (each, undoubtedly, rife with cursed objects.)

If there was ever a place that didn’t need chintzy Halloween decorations, it’s here.

Another shot out the window next to my apartment’s elevator, with rolling clouds stretching to the south.  About a quarter of the way from the left, peeking above the treeline, you can juuuust make out the Manhattan skyline in the distance.

Walking back to my apartment, I passed two young women on the sidewalk.  This was the snippet of conversation I overheard.

“So, what are you doing?”

“I’m an executive assistant to a life coach.”

It was the most Californian thing I’ve heard since moving to the East Coast.

Went to Sleep No More, an immersive theatrical performance loosely based on the Scottish play, but “through a film noir lens.”  It was created by a British theatre company called Punchdrunk.

The audience members don masks and move between the floors of the McKittrick Hotel in Manhattan, each catching different scenes and characters throughout the building.  Narratively, I considered it a failure (possibly because it was almost entirely non-dialogue and relied heavily on dance) but aesthetically it was superlative.

I got my Connecticut ballot.  I’ll be in Australia on the day of the mid-terms, so my first vote ever as a non-Californian will have to be absentee.