Although I say "Existentialist" I am Absurdist and dislike Existentialists why do I do this

There is a style article in The New York Times, which I have not read, because I don't, any longer, read style articles in the Times, and why would I. But I have been told about this style article in the Times, which is a lot of hand-wringing over the "trend" of people arranging things in their homes and over-arranging things in their homes as though their homes are in catalogs and then taking photos of these arranged homes and posting them on the internet, and isn't this inauthentic and shouldn't it be enough that we do things for ourselves. If I wanted to be glib I could point out that the author aired this personal observation in the national newspaper of record and leave it at that.

But what I want to say is that as a human being I am a social animal and I care very much about the opinion of other people, and I worry about people who don't care how their actions will look from the outside. "If your friends jumped off a bridge," well of course I would, because the respect I have for my friends comes from the actions I have seen them take, with presumably a rationale, unless jumping off a bridge involves Apple products, in which case I will think twice because Apple seems to cloud the judgment of even the best people.

It's this mess of authenticity again, this idea of an essential self where A does not equal A and the person I am is not the person I really am, and if people actually knew me. . . But of course people do know me and my persona is me, chosen by me and carried out by me, and if I sit around thinking about what is the most "me" thing to do I'm going to come up with something stagnant, whereas if I try to emulate traits I care about in other people. . . I can of course talk myself into being sad or happy. I'm an actor. I can also feel sad because you are sad, and although I was not the person hurt my hurt is real.

How is authenticity not solipsism. How is a complaint about showing off not showing off.

I can of course understand if the true complaint, articulated or not, is embarrassment for a friend who feels he or she has done something very well but has not in fact done it well, because the friend is not a good poet or good singer or good arranger of objects, and one wants to protect the friend from ridicule but can only do so by exposing the friend to ridicule, but to be honest one has to either embrace and love the friend as a bad poet/singer/arranger, taking it as its own kind of beauty, or if it's really far too bad for that to cut and run, because it's not going to work out, friend-wise, with someone whose self perception is far removed from one's own view of them. This is a difficult and worthy subject. I don't think it can be explored through complaining that people buy flowers for their apartments inauthentically.

Vodka and Cherries

Yesterday was the first day off in nearly two months during which it didn't rain, so although it was slightly too hot we all sat out on the balcony with a bowl of cherries, a bowl of ice, and a new bottle of Icelandic vodka. I regret to say it was not as fine as Crystal Head Vodka, with which we are all still infatuated, two years in, despite not liking vodka. This Icelandic vodka was nevertheless enjoyable with fresh mint and cherries and ice, and a bit of the purple basil, which is beginning to flower. We have decided not to harvest the broccoli, because we like looking over and seeing the broccoli.

Slush read a couple of scripts for a Women in Film screenplay competition, and neither was a movie I would want to see, but more notably one of them took a decidedly dim view of women and of female sexuality. Wonder what the thinking was when submitting it to this competition, which requires a fee. (As many do screenplay competitions, which shrivels my little writerly heart, especially when I know the judges, such as myself, are often not paid. There's really no excuse. It's a bit like throwing a BYOB party with an open mic and then charging admission. I have avoided going to or participating in these things, even at times when I'd be happy to spend the suggested amount of money for a good night out, because there's something very unkind about them.)

I understand the purpose of a fundraiser, and working free, as I am doing, to raise funds for an organization I support, but less so when the money comes from the very people the mission of the organization is intended to help. (I also don't play state lottos. Let's get the poor to pay for social services to the poor! Hooray!) Bad form. Bit of a head-scratcher. At least I feel better about it having read a strongly patriarchal script. (I think it thought it was subverting patriarchy, but alas. O Tricksome Patriarchy.)

Added to the pile of projects I don't have time for but keep scribbling on anyway: a five-act blank verse tragedy about Fritz and Clara Haber and the invention of chemical warfare. The things I could get done if someone would give me a fellowship (and having spent most of my adult life without a day job, I can say that I do continue to be productive when given the time to be productive; none of that rot about how my productivity would suddenly dry up and isn't it ironic) if I had time to do things like apply for fellowships.