September 10, 2001

I was working on my album during that time, stressing out over artwork and when it would be done. Everyone helping me with the album were friends working for free so I felt weird about rushing them (reason #1 why you should just hire people for projects and pay them money).

I had seen Radiohead in concert for the first time three weeks earlier, so they were a new obsession of mine. I was probably also still listening to Madonna’s “Music” a lot. I was working part time as an assistant at a hedge fund. They would later offer me a full time job and I’d turn it down—something I still wonder about in terms of how that would’ve affected not only my finances but my eventual career trajectory.

I was living on the 24th floor of a Columbia University graduate student building in Washington Heights with a former college roommate. She was studying biology and graciously let me move in with her a year earlier after a serious relationship of mine had ended and I needed a place to live.

I was at the mid-point of what would be a two-year relationship. At the time, we weren’t getting along very well and on September 10, we decided not to talk for awhile. We thought it would be better if we had some time apart to figure things out.

That moratorium only lasted about 12 hours. We called each other the following morning. I went to his place where for the next four days we sat around, ate pasta and watched dumb tv comedies. We probably watched every episode ever recorded of “Whose Line Is It Anyway.” We avoided the news, something I now regret and probably wouldn’t do today.

On September 15, 2001, I had an overwhelming urge to take photos. Of something. I just knew I wanted to try to preserve whatever it was that was happening in NYC at the moment. I wound up in Union Square and took these pictures.

I distinctly remember subway rides being eerily quiet for the next few weeks. People mostly stared, shell-shocked. Everyone seemed unusually polite. A friend postponed a birthday party for a couple weeks, eventually having it on the night SNL had its first episode of the season. We watched the beginning of that episode at the party. Some of us cried.

Mine is not a terribly compelling story. Most of our stories from that time are not, and I think that in itself fuels our desire to tell them, to remember how normal life can be when it isn’t.

When I was ten years old, I cared about politics

I was also a Republican.

Is this heavy metal?

One time we were in the car (and I can only assume listening to one of my mixes) and Depeche Mode’s “People Are People” came on. There’s a recurring sound in the song resembling a metallic clank that I’m certain was created with a synthesizer but actually does sound like a hammer hitting a piece of metal. My dad listened for a minute or two and then after one of the clank sounds asked “Is this heavy metal?” I said no and then tried to explain the difference between heavy metal and Depeche Mode.

Anyway, I just wanted to further explain my tweet and let everyone know that my dad is ADORABLE.

Depeche Mode’s “People Are People”

Edit: that apparently IS an actual hammer on metal! Thanks, Poupak.

Ladies: Let’s Stop With All The Fucking Around With Other Ladies’ Men And All That

Let’s stop kissing and fucking each other’s boyfriends, fiancés and husbands.
Let’s stop asking for men’s numbers when we know they’re in relationships.
Let’s stop treating men in positions of power like gods.
Let’s stop flirting with in men in relationships.
Let’s stop kissing men with girlfriends.
Let’s stop blowing men with fiancées.
Let’s stop fucking men with wives.
Let’s stop blaming the drugs.
Let’s stop wondering if he’ll leave her for us.
Let’s stop allowing men to use us.
Let’s stop trusting men who lie in order to see us.
Let’s stop justifying it.
Let’s stop making excuses.
Let’s stop giving men so much power over us.
Let’s stop letting attention from men affect our self-confidence.
Let’s stop forgetting that infidelity will result in another woman’s pain.
Let’s stop fooling ourselves into thinking she deserves that pain. She doesn’t.
Let’s stop pretending she doesn’t exist. She does.
Let’s stop hoping she won’t find out. She will.
Let’s stop assuming she’ll get over it quickly. She won’t.
Let’s use our power for good. Let’s remember we have it.
Let’s be as smart as we know we can be.
Let’s trust our instincts.
Let’s respect each other.
Let’s love ourselves.

I Tweeted a #FF For Some Gay Friends

This was in part a true #FF and in part a gesture of congratulations now that New York State has passed a bill that will allow gay people to marry people they love.

I left out poor, sweet, wonderful Will Choy from my tweet (and he was quick to remind me). I’ve since added an additional tweet with his name in it and then realized I had also left out a few other gay friends, and I was like, well, now I should probably go through my entire “following” list to remember who’s gay and who’s not because I don’t want to leave anyone out. Or should I? I don’t know, that’s a lot of work. It was really just a small gesture I made while falling asleep to Ghost Adventures on my couch.

Then I realized that the reason I didn’t initially think of Will Choy is not that I don’t like him (I do) or never see him (I do) or that’s he’s Asian (he is). It’s that I don’t compartmentalize my “gay friends” and my “straight friends.” They are just “friends.” It was somewhat of an effort for me to think “okay, who is gay?” Because, you know, all my friends are just people first and foremost.

And people deserve basic human rights, equality and dignity. I’m glad there are smart people in charge of making big decisions who understand that.

I am sorry, Will Choy. I mean… Will.*

*inside joke I share with my friend Will Choy

Conversation with Fran

Fran: When is your birthday?

Me: In 15 days.

Fran: Wait, what day is your birthday?

Me: The 20th.

Fran: Today’s the 15th.

Me: Oh, I guess it’s in 5 days.

My brain no working too good lately.

My Boss Asked Me To Buy Snacks Today

And as I walked towards the 16th floor elevator at 4:30 pm, twenty dollar bill from my boss in hand, on my way to the deli across the street to fetch iced coffee and ice cream for my co-workers (as I am merely a part time receptionist, hence, the one who is delegated to do such things), I realized something that I realize now and then but today I realized it even more than usual:

Every decision I had ever made, every time in my life I had been faced with a choice and decided “I will do that,” every action I had ever taken, every situation I had ever decided to put myself in and everything I had ever chosen to do had resulted in me waiting for this elevator at 4:30 pm, on my way to the deli across the street to fetch iced coffee and ice cream for my co-workers.

There is great power in decision and, for that matter, lack of decision.

I bought myself an iced coffee too.

Why I Like Lady Gaga’s New Album And How I Don’t Feel Embarrassed About That

Hello.

My life has gone through a pretty significant change in the past month. I ended a 4-year relationship. It didn’t end well. I’m still very sad about it. But that’s all I’m going to write about that, because I don’t want to write anything I might later regret, and I feel like, if given the opportunity to get going, I will write something I will later regret. So I’d rather keep it all dignified-like and not write anything about it other than what I just did.

I want to write about Lady Gaga’s new album.

The first time I saw her on TV, I think it was 2008 and she was performing “Just Dance” on a show, and, knowing nothing about her other than what I was seeing, I said to my sister, “I feel like if Madonna were just starting out today, this is what she’d be doing.” So, looking back, I think I was kind of right, right?

I wasn’t supposed to like Lady Gaga. I’m not really into modern pop music. I’m not into much of any modern music. I tend to stick with what I know and what I know is music that was released between 1980 and 1995, with a concentration on late 80s goth bands and mid 90s Lilith Fair headliners. I have 12 Pandora stations and 8 of them are 80’s related. I don’t know, I like things I know. Sorry, you fucking hipsters.

At first Lady G seemed like another dance pop artist, maybe slightly cooler than Rihanna or Katy Perry or somebody I might glance at on TV for a second and then go back to looking at Twitter. At some point I caught her 2006 “Stefani Germanotta Band” at The Bitter End performance online — a place I used to perform at when I was a singer/songwriter — and realized, oh, she plays piano. Then I started paying closer attention and realized, oh, she has a good voice. Then it was, oh, she can write a good song. Then, oh, she gets how to “be a star.” I find her funny and interesting. So I like her. Sorry again, hipsters, fucking sue me with the money you get from selling your vegan brownies, okay??!!

So a couple weeks ago her new album Born This Way came out and I bought it. It was right around the time I was feeling really bad. Like, crying at commercials bad. And I started listening to it on my commute. I liked it. As far as comparisons to Madonna, I get that, but I don’t know why I’m not hearing more about comparisons to Pat Benatar or Heart because I hear more of the latter two in her current music than I do Madonna. Gaga put a fucking ridiculous sax solo in one song. She speaks faux-German in another song called “Scheiße” which is a German word for “shit” that my mom used to say all the time when I was a kid. She has a song called “Government Hooker.” I AM NOT SUPPOSED TO LIKE THIS. BUT I DO.

Also, as someone who pays attention to this sort of nerdy thing, I really like her song structures. Nobody else structures songs like she does. She is very, very good at structure, which I think is one of the keys to getting people to pay attention to a song, a kind of subliminal way of holding interest. She is both precise and messy. Her voice is crazy good. The chord progressions are simple enough to make a good pop song and unpredictable enough to keep your ears on their toes (CAN YOU IMAGINE IF EARS HAD TOES, GUYS???).

But I didn’t want to do an album review. I’d rather write about how it makes me feel. And it makes me feel good. It makes me feel strong and fun and empowered and creative. It makes me feel confident. It makes me feel like I can do whatever I want.

It makes me feel happy.

The following lyrics—the opening lyrics to the album—have brought me to tears:

I’m gonna marry the night 
I won’t give up on my life 
I’m a warrior queen 
Live passionately tonight 

I’m gonna marry the dark 
Gonna make love to the stark 
I’m a soldier to my own emptiness 
I am a winner 

I’m gonna marry the night 
I’m gonna marry the night 
Gonna marry the night 

I’m gonna marry the night 
I’m not gonna cry anymore 
I’m gonna marry the night 
Leave nothin’ on these streets to explore 

I TOLD YOU, I will cry at almost anything these days!

Anyway, I just wanted to write a little something about what I’ve been up to.

So, HUMP DAY, AM I oh I already said that? Okay, sorry.

My Thoughts About Attractive Men

Whenever I see an attractive man these days, this is pretty much what goes through my head in the span of about three seconds:

1) He is attractive.

2) He looks like he’s straight.

3) He’d find me attractive.

4) We’ll start dating.

5) Things will be good for a bit.

6) He’ll end up severely disappointing me.

7) We’ll break up.

And after only three seconds, I hate the guy.

So, that’s pretty much where I’m at these days! How are YOU? Hey, HUMP DAY, am I right?!?! Who’s with me?!

To The Black Man In A Fedora

Dear Black Man In A Fedora,

First of all, the only reason I am stating your race and choice of hatwear is that those are the only two physical things I remember about you, and I want you to be sure that YOU are person I am talking about. Yes, you. There are other black men and other men who wear fedoras who are lovely, smart, wonderful people. Let me give you some more specifics about who you are:

Yesterday, at approximately 2:15 p.m. at the corner of 6th Avenue and 30th Street in New York City, you walked by me and said something along the lines of, “Hey there, sweet thing.” Apologies as I can’t remember the exact wording of your statement, but I am pretty sure it included the words “sweet thing.” Remember? I have curly hair, pretty blue eyes and was carrying a latte. (It was soy, because cow’s milk is gross.) I might have also looked a bit preoccupied as I’ve been dealing with some relationship issues for the past two weeks, not that you would’ve been able to guess this, as you only saw me for a fleeting second and, understandably, have no way to see inside my brain (unless you are a psychic, which you are not, because if you were my response wouldn’t have surprised you in the least).

And do you recall what my response was? It was a very casual, tired, dismissive “Oh, fuck off.” And I kept walking. Remember that? Do you recall how my tone was not so much aggressive but more exhausted, as if I’ve heard it all before and I’m tired of having to address men like you? It’s ringing a bell at this point, right? I mean, it was only yesterday.

And then do you remember what you did? I can’t be sure of how you looked because I didn’t bother looking behind me but, as far as I heard, you stopped and yelled a few things at me, such as, “Fuck you! Someone tries to give you a compliment! Piece of shit!” and so on. I have to admit, the most offensive word you used was “compliment.” Let me try to explain why.

Calling me “sweet thing” was, actually, not a sweet thing (see what I did there?). It was aggressive. Saying sexual things to strange women is not nice. It does not make women feel good. It makes them feel scared. It makes them feel vulnerable. It makes them feel ashamed. It makes them question their choice to wear skinny jeans, which are really comfortable and stretchy and fun to wear because they’re kind of like tights and easy to walk in, even though they also show the shape of their butt. I don’t want to have to stop wearing skinny jeans or even consider that’s the reason you said anything to me. I mean, I’m not going to stop wearing them. I’m just saying, that’s one of the things that runs through my mind.

The biggest compliment you could have given me, if you did indeed admire the way my face and body are shaped, was not saying anything at all. Looking at me is fine. Go home and jerk off while thinking about me. Fine. Do what you have to do inside your brain. But pushing your words into my ears was just aggressive. Not a compliment. Aggressive. And if there’s one way men should never act towards women it’s aggressive. You know how women are assaulted and raped and murdered by men every so often? Every single one of those encounters begins with the man being aggressive. And I should tell you, women do not like to be assaulted and raped and murdered or even have to consider whether a verbal encounter could be the start of an assault, rape or murder. Just trust me on this.

Does any of this make sense? I hope so. I wish you the best. I really do. I hope you’ve gained something by reading this and that the next time you see a woman who has a pleasing arrangement to her facial features, you can simply admire her and keep it to yourself.

Also, your hat does not make you look as cool as you think it does.

Sincerely yours,

Ari Scott