Pickle University
There is a man I occasionally see in the elevator of my office building who looks exactly like my father. The first time I saw him I instinctively covered my mouth to conceal what was almost an audible gasp. Though I’ve gotten more used to seeing him, it’s still a tiny shock each time. I have a bizarre urge to speak to him, as if it would open up some secret channel to the dead. “Why are we in these elevators?” I’d like to ask him. “Do you think we’re squandering our time?” But of course, we continue holding our cups of coffee as strangers and disappear onto different floors.
Two Girls, Murray Hill
“Hey! You look so gorgeous. Happy birthday!”
“Hey! You look so gorgeous. Where is this from? J. Crew?”
“Yes! I bought it yesterday! I’ve always loved this shrimp color.”
“Oh my god—me too! Wait, what is that? What are you reading?”
“Oh my god—how embarrassing to be sitting alone at a bar reading this. Perfect, right? Anyway, it’s Men Are Like Waffles, Women Are Like Spaghetti. It’s about how men just compartmentalize everything, you know? They keep all of their emotions separate, you know? But with women, everything just sort of blends together, and all of our emotions are tied together like spaghetti, you know?”
“And you work in finance and you didn’t already know this?”
“I know, right? What do you want to drink? I’m drinking the red sangria. It’s really good. Here, you can try mine.”
Yesterday’s rapture-inspired artwork, to appear in MoMA in 2012. It will hang beside this piece. I am beyond thrilled.
