Trash day is totally out of order

Like most of New York City, we survived the hurricane without major incident: some expected basement flooding that isn’t technically our problem; mistaking a neighbor’s woodsmoke grilling in 40pmh winds (who does that?) for a fire; one of the cats falling into the bathtub filled in case of water problems; and me getting beaned on the head with a tree branch. If any of this sounds dramatic, I assure you it was merely humiliating.

Tomorrow, assuming all goes as planned, we leave for San Francisco. I’m looking forward, in my weird way, to airport time; and also to scarf weather upon arriving in SF. Patty, I hope, won’t hold the weather against the city — she likes it much warmer than I do.

Of course, our immanent departure means I have a ton of work to do before we leave. And of course, that work is staring me in the face when I’d rather be restringing my guitar and taking a dance class (both of which I actually hope to do today, but doubt I’ll have time to).

In the meantime, I’m once again behind on Torchwood and desperately want to write about this piece on “The Downside of Immortality” in The New York Times that uses it as a hook for the author to basically promote his new book.

However, I am fascinated by a drive-by assertion in it, that implies we are crueler when reminded of our own mortality. This, when connected to the systems we have in place to seek immortality (including, as noted in another drive-by remark in the piece, the desire for fame), actually presents some pretty interesting ideas about the why behind the need for statements like “Don’t Read The Comments On News Articles”/”Never Read Anything Anyone Says About You on the Internet.” — basically, since the appearance of “Internet fame” is easy to come by, so’s the random nastiness that pools in various parts of the Internet in various ways. The article, alas, isn’t really about this, and is brief and full of poorly-supported pessimism. I’ll probably check out the book for more complete arguments, and also because of my whole interest in how people respond to death.

Meanwhile, and ever so faintly on point, my buddy Jill just linked me to an amazing mashup called “Stayin’ Alive in The Wall,” which yes, is the Bee Gees mashed up with Pink Floyd.

I can’t really top that, so I’ll leave you there.