I don’t know how many of you carry an image of yourself as invincible. I don’t mean in the Marvel Comics way, I mean when everyone in the house has a cold and you walk around without a care in the world, because those molecules have nothing on you. You get sick maybe one day a year, never more and bounce back like a pink Spaulding from a Brooklyn stoop. This manufactured scenario plays out for years, even decades, as children puke at all hours, as another chicken is bought and boiled, as temperatures are taken, and homework is sent home. But in the last year or two, the cracks have started to reveal themselves. My self-fantasy is truly a work of fiction these days.
No one wants to get sick, and in all honesty it is a nuisance, not a headline to put in caps. All the same, I start to appreciate how Eastern Europe has trained me to say “things could be much worse” instead of “woe is me.” If we removed all of the minor complaints and whining from social media, there would be a serious void to fill - ideally with anything more important than “I stubbed my toe” or “my Wordle score went down.” There is a hashtag called #firstworldproblems that is used as a joke all too often. There is also a bizarre sense that shouting into an echo chamber is some heroic act. The thoughts fly at me, as my fever ebbs and flows, as the cels in my body feel like they are made from brackish mud, as sleep hides on the other side of the pillow. I am angry at this cold.
It is a time to watch films, catch up on what everyone has been babbling about. I start each one with high hopes, blowing my nose, sipping tea with homemade raspberry jam stirred into it. Time after time, I get to the end credits and try to understand what the hell is wrong with the world. How did The Emperor’s New Clothes become the only story? It is a record, skipping, 24 hours a day, grooves dug in deep. Storytelling has become a full-on formula, this star + this star + this demographic + this soundtrack = ka-ching. The actors have talent of course, the music can be fine enough but the lack of any heart, the lack of risk, the lack of soul, the absolute, shameless charade of “caring” is laughable. Yes, this cold is making me angry. Or maybe it is just telling the truth.
Two days in the real fever dreams kick in. In one I leave the house and go to work in Brooklyn, only to realize I have no pants on, which should be funny but the joke falls flat. I get off the bus and try to buy some pants, and even find some but then realize my wallet is also back home…in my pants. How I paid to get on the bus, I will never know. I wander around some part of Canarsie in my underwear until I wake, half-freezing, half-burning up, the light in the sky just starting to bloom.
A corner of the couch becomes my nest, all twisted blankets and pillows, as the days churn into each other. It is just a cold.
It will pass.
Well if you're looking for a nice watch I'd recommend "El Conde". It's a dark, dark comedy in the vampire genre. The black and white cinematography, by Edward Lachman, reminds me of your work. Deeply textured with great use of shadow and light. The humor is as dry as a desert. You might like it. Get well soon my friend.
Get well soon ❤️❤️❤️