A small story:

Consort is sentimental and nostalgic.

I am not.

In fact, if pressed, I would describe myself as "Whatever the furthest point is from nostalgia." I actually hate reminiscing. Until yesterday, I knew this without being able to explain why.
And then, I took a shower.
I have taken showers before.

Several, in fact.

And sometimes when I'm standing there, trying to atone to my body for the Sculpt class I have just taken, I realize something very profound, something obvious, something that it took conditioning my hair for me to see.
"I don't like reminiscing," I thought as I set the water to "Flay," "Because either the memory is good and I can't go back there or the memory is bad and what kind of sick fuck enjoys that?"

I smiled at my newfound brilliance and then coughed, because I had inhaled shampoo.
"Uh, Quinn. You're writing this on Twitter."


"Where many times a week you write a story."

Indeed I do.

"About your life before now."


"Wouldn't 'thinking back on an incident in your life' be sort of the definition of reminiscing?"

Allow me to explain.
(Always assume anything I write is me telling you what my experience is, and this might not be your experience)
(Assume it double for the following)
Nostalgia and storytelling aren't the same. In fact, they are the opposite. Nostalgia is warm, amorphous, experiential; you could write a thousand words about how it felt in your grandmother's lap when you were four and it would never quite get it, because it can't.
Nostalgia literally means "An ache to return." When you are nostalgic, you are in the nicest kind of terrible pain, an injury only soothed by more injury. Nostalgia is inward.

Storytelling is cool, precise, outward.
Reminiscing and nostalgia are "I feel."

Storytelling is "Listen up."

When I go through something less than wonderful, some part of my brain is already taking notes for the story it will become, which is my brain's way of containing the damage.
Even if it's a good experience, my brain still treats the data points as cross-beams in a construction yet to be determined.

Everything is material.


My brain is filled not with dust-covered Kodak carousels but building supplies and I prefer it that way.
My ears, of course, are filled with shampoo.

I could do without that.

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More from @quinncy

6 Nov
@DoodleWrangler Did I ever tell you about the time I quietly avenged your father by ruining a drunk's night?
We knew a couple where Consort was longtime friends with the husband and I usually got stuck with the wife. She was and, I suspect, still is a therapist.

She was also nearly certainly an alcoholic.

Maybe she wasn't.
Maybe it's perfectly normal to not be able to stop after a single drink, maybe all the most abstemious drinkers turn into an utter jackass after downing a bottle pretty much on their own.

Maybe "weekday breakfast wine" is a thing.

Anyway, she was my responsibility.
Read 10 tweets
6 Nov
A small story:

After over a quarter century together, Consort and I know how to argue. In fact, I’m going to say we aren’t bad at it, abiding by the intimate partner version of Marquess of Queensbury rules which is to say, we sue Oscar Wilde.
(We do not sue Oscar Wilde)
We fight reasonably fairly, we rarely drag in any grudge over 120 days old - unless, of course, it shows a pattern of behavior or I feel like it- we even own the irrational stuff by beginning, “This isn’t rational but also, still mad.”
Read 14 tweets
4 Nov
OH MY CARBGODDESS. @VillageBakeryLA Image
Unofficial small story and a request:

Recently, 6 @LAPDHQ officers came in; one wasn’t wearing his mask correctly. One of the young women working asked him politely to fix it. They left, gave them a bad Yelp review.
Aren’t you guys busy doing an actual job?


Of course you are not.

Also, Nick T? Women shudder at your touch. Image
Read 6 tweets
29 Oct
America has a weird habit of going to war with nouns and adjectives. The problem with this is that it's hard enough to figure out an exit strategy when the war is with another country over an island; how does a country declare a win on a war on drugs?


(You don't)
What put this in my mind was tugging on my mask to enter a store this morning. As I have a few times before, I wondered when the mandatory masks will end in California. I mean sure, they've ended in Florida but apparently DeSantis is a necrophiliac.

We're now in a war on COVID.
Read 4 tweets
28 Oct
That’s great! You got through hell and are here and you OWE NOTHING TO NO ONE.

(Bites tongue, taps foot, begs self to leave it there)


The plural of “anecdote” is not “data.”
Mammograms are problematic.

(Shouts at self to see third rail labeled “Mammogram PR” but not touch third rail “Mammogram PR.”)

(Will definitely touch rail in a bit)


Read this.

Mammograms pick up everything and what we don't know about breast cancer still dwarfs what we do know. The little one may already have twigged off and be taking up residence in your liver; the stupid one may never cause you harm.
Read 8 tweets
27 Oct
A small story:

One of the most dangerous sayings among artists is "Jump and the net will appear." The idea that if you risk the universe will automatically protect you from the worst possible consequences is very seductive and is not actually true.
(In my twenties, a friend of a good friend of mine had a habit of announcing a change in career or life's longing monthly, each time blithely announcing that "The universe will provide." My friend once grimly noted "The universe" looked a lot like the woman's husband)
When you produce an indie, money is gathered slowly, painfully; I'd say you chip away at the amount you need like a sculptor working some marble, but imagine if while the sculptor delineated a leg, a bunch of marble sometimes grew back. Money gets promised, not always delivered.
Read 21 tweets

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