Hell's Kitchen, Sept. 2007

When I wrote about simplicity yesterday, I was coming at it from a consumer angle - that we really don’t need all this stuff, the newest plastic gadget or watermelon in February. But that’s only one aspect of simplicity.

On a deeper level, it means feeling the sun on your face, feeling your breaths in and out, feeling each footfall as you walk, seeing what’s in front of your eyes. Not getting caught up in the dramas of your mind, the crisis of the latest story. That’s true simplicity, and again, I only sometimes recognize it, because I’m as susceptible to drama as anyone.

In the comments yesterday, Reya mentioned the complexity of her thoughts. (That’s why we all loved your blog, Reya!) I may have an advantage here, because honest to God, my thoughts are not all that complex. I pretty much just stroll along, trying to pay attention to what’s around me and avoid being swept away by daydreams. When something really upsets me, I learn all I can about it and then try to remember what's really real.

My father was diagnosed with lung cancer at the beginning of August - not a total surprise, because he’s smoked for 50-plus years and we all knew he had a “spot” that the doctors were watching. The news was upsetting, but at the same time I could meet it with a kind of clarity. I tried not to get caught up in “what ifs.”

I flew down to Florida to spend time with Dad before his surgery. He’s since had his operation, and he seems to be doing well, though healing will take a long time. I don’t mean to gloss it over - it’s been hard for him - but ultimately it’s just a knot of renegade cells. And for the moment - which is all that’s real - they appear to be gone. Is this denial? No, it’s simplicity.

Bushwick, Brooklyn, Sept. 2007

An article in this week’s Newsweek addresses the latest trend in memoir-writing: the “year of” memoir, in which, for a year, the writer does something unusual. Recent books seem to involve actually not doing something. Or, more accurately, taking something away from modern life to see what it’s like to do without it.

A.J. Jacobs, in “The Year of Living Biblically,” avoids a lot of modern conveniences to live according to the restrictions imposed by the Bible. Barbara Kingsolver skirts the convenience of year-round supermarket produce to shop locally for seasonal food in “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle.” Judith Levine wrote “Not Buying It,” in which she doesn’t shop at all. Sara Bongiorni restricted her shopping to avoid Chinese goods in “A Year Without ‘Made in China.’”

I think the trend toward subtracting things from life is interesting. Americans have shown warring impulses on this topic: We seem to want simpler lives, and hence magazines such as “Real Simple” flourish, but we still buy more and more. We know what we’re doing is pointless, but we still do it.

I’ve long been a fan of simplification - not just in shopping, but in everything. I really think that’s where the key to happiness lies, in removing distractions that make us frantic and speedy. I’m not always successful at it in my own life, but I continue to work on it every day - not buying stuff, turning off the noise-making media, spending time doing things more slowly and purposefully.

This profusion of books reflects the same impulse in all of us. As Ron Hogan, a blogger who covers the publishing industry, tells Newsweek: “We’re such a hyperaffluent society, what else is left for us to do than take things away from our lives?”

And thereby find more.

Greenwich Village, Sept. 2007

I found this interesting sticker on the back of a stop sign. I have no idea what it says. If anyone reads Japanese, or has any ideas, I'd be happy to know what you think! (I hope it's not just an ad for a sushi restaurant.)

My boss and coworker are away this week and part of next, so I'm alone in my department. I enjoy the solitude, but at the same time it can get pretty busy.

On top of that, my sinuses are giving me fits, for some reason. I thought that was only supposed to happen in the spring! But maybe plants are going to seed now, before the frosts of winter, and somehow that's kicking up my allergies. Who knows.

Upper West Side, Sept. 2007

I have a book called "Hal Borland's Twelve Moons of the Year," a collection of short essays that Borland, a nature writer, contributed to The New York Times back in the '70s. There's an essay for each day. Today's is about the changing seasons:

Frost has come to rural fields and gardens and the fires of life burn low in the insect world. The bugs and beetles are nearing the end of their time. Crickets and katydids seem to sense it; when you hear them on a warm evening now there is a new sense of urgency in their calls. Bumblebees sleep late, sometimes in the shelter of a tousled zinnia blossom, and wait for the sun to warm their blood enough so they can fly. Most butterflies have had their day and slumber as hostages to tomorrow in the egg, the cocoon, or as caterpillars.

I do seem to see fewer bugs now. I haven't noticed any fireflies in our back courtyard, and the big houseflies that congregated inside our lobby doorway seem to have disappeared. It's hardly cold - in fact, at the moment we're having a bit of Indian Summer, and I doubt there's frost on any rural field. But the bugs still must know the season is changing.

Bushwick, Brooklyn, Sept. 2007

And now, a blast from the past. How may of you remember “The Red Balloon”? It’s a French film about a boy who finds a red balloon that seems to have a mind of its own. It follows him all over Paris as he rides buses, goes to school and browses an antiques market.

I saw it many times as a kid, either as a movie at school (remember those huge, clunky projectors?) or on television - I can’t remember which. Well, last night, on a whim, I decided to see if it’s on YouTube. And of course, it is. Enjoy!

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

Upper East Side, Sept. 2007

Our big controversy has been the visit from the Iranian president, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. As you’ve probably seen on the news, his appearance at Columbia University was attended by a zillion demonstrators, including many who said he should never have been allowed to speak. He wasn’t allowed to visit ground zero.

I don’t get this. We’re supposed to be a free country, and it seems to me that the way to counter hateful perspectives is to permit their expression and then point out how wrong they are. Pushing someone away, trying to shut them down before they say anything, is not the way to resolve differences. It only makes them stronger. Ahmadinejad believes some scary things - he insists there are no gay people in Iran, for example, though people have been repeatedly executed there for gay activity. But the only way to counter such bigotry is to air it out and then point out its wrongness.

I keep thinking about those surveys that show people’s acceptance of gays in general skyrockets once they know a gay individual personally. Ahmadinejad thinks he doesn’t know any. For him, it’s all a big abstraction.

So should his views be aired at Columbia? Well, like it or not, the guy is one of the leaders of a country that’s going to play a critical role in our foreign policy. Aren’t we supposed to know our adversaries? And maybe if we listen to them, find a starting point for change? Refusing to engage an adversary just allows hostility to flourish.

And so he wanted to go to Ground Zero. Why not? Iran didn’t destroy the World Trade Center. None of the hijackers were Iranian. Wouldn’t it do the Muslim world some good to see Ahmadinejad laying a wreath at the site, paying respects? Wouldn’t that remind extremists of the essential humanity of the victims?

Upper East Side, Sept. 2007

Anyone who doubts the social power of the Internet should meet up with some of their Web friends. Even if you’ve only known each other in cyberspace, when you meet face to face, you FEEL like you know each other. It’s a real relationship; it’s not an illusion.

I’m part of a loose-knit group of photographers on Flickr who document street art in New York City. We all run around and try to capture transient stickers and wheatpastes and spray-painted stencils before they get painted over or cleaned away. We all look through and comment on each others’ photos, keeping track of what’s going on out there in the world of the street.

Yesterday we finally got a chance to get together - eight of us. We met at a centrally located gas station on Houston Street and walked around SoHo shooting stuff, while talking about how we got interested in all the art around us. We compared notes on the artists and on the peculiarities of Flickr, spending a couple of hours out on the street and getting a late lunch. It was really fun! And just like when I met Reya and Ched back in June, I sort of felt like I knew them all already!