O U T S I D E L E F T   stay i n d e p e n d e n t

New York City Diary, Summer 2007

Our New (York City) Diarist, Kelsey says that the sweltering heat and the smell of fresh feces can really put a girl in a philosophical mood

get the weekly Outsideleft newsletter
by Kelsey Osgood, Editor, NYC for outsideleft.com
originally published: August, 2007
I think a lot about a writer and filmmaker who killed herself eight days before her artist boyfriend walked into the ocean off Rockaway Beach. Her website is still there, and I think about how long someone's Blog can survive them.
by Kelsey Osgood, Editor, NYC for outsideleft.com
originally published: August, 2007
I think a lot about a writer and filmmaker who killed herself eight days before her artist boyfriend walked into the ocean off Rockaway Beach. Her website is still there, and I think about how long someone's Blog can survive them.

New York City Diary, Summer 2007

Sweltering heat and the smell of fresh feces can really put a girl in a philosophical mood...


May 9th and 14th: I run into a friend of from college at two separate yet equally prestigious rock concerts. He is a part of an entourage that includes a celebrity DJ and his supermodel girlfriend. She and her model friends are partially responsible for a fight that occurs during the second concert, a particularly sweaty and aggressive fight, that ends with me drenched in beer. A model friend pulls me aside to assure me that it wasn't their fault. Afterwards I see the supermodel around my neighborhood and begin to plot her demise.

May 17th: A woman at the Jeff Wall exhibit at the MoMA has her hands entirely down the pants of a man I assume is her boyfriend. Call me frigid, but I don't think pictures of the industrial Vancouver scenery should get one all hot and bothered.

May 31st: I see my arch-nemesis in a yoga class. She is a short-haired, condescending, faux-hardcore bitch that stole my tattoo after someone pointed it out in the middle of a writing seminar in college. (And yes, I am positive that's what happened). I give her the evil eye. She avoids my gaze. I pray that when she looks in the mirror she sees me starting back at her vengefully, giving the loser sign with my hand on my forehead.

June 1st: Try to convince myself I don't consider something as silly as a tattoo to be emblematic of one's individuality.

June 15th: While walking to the subway from therapy on the Upper West Side, I see an elderly woman hunched over in her wheelchair, which is parked between a payphone and a garbage can. It's approximately ninety-six degrees out, and the street is very crowded. A woman next to me asks if I think anyone would notice if she were dead, or stop to check. I tell her no, and we keep walking. The same day, a friend calls and tells me that he saw a man take a shit on the hood of a car near Times Square.

June 16th: I go to the Whitney's Summer of Love exhibit. After reading the reviews, I'm kind of pissed at their judging of the show as generally mediocre. It was fluffy, sure, but I want the high, baby, not a bad trip!

June 23rd: I find the head of a dead mouse in my tiny apartment. I have yet to find the body.

July 17th: A friend asks if it's cool with me if she does coke. It's ten pm on a Tuesday and we're watching television. I tell her she can use a book if she needs a flat surface. She chooses Sartre's No Exit from my bookshelf and I can't decide whether that's hysterical or profoundly disturbing or entirely meaningless.

July 21st: I develop a theory to support the existence of God based on the fact that every time I strut around in high heels and think I look really foxy and cool, I wipe out in public. My God, obviously, is a humbling one.

July 24th: I think a lot about a writer and filmmaker who killed herself eight days before her artist boyfriend walked into the ocean off Rockaway Beach. Her website is still there, and I think about how long someone's Blog can survive them. How long until they pass on to that big e-cemetery in the...ky? I try to discuss this with numerous people, none of whom seem to recognize the thoroughly modern existential ramifications of this subject except for one. She suggests the creation of a job whose duties would be to read the obituaries and find the deceased individual's site and shut it down. This person would be an e-undertaker. I think it's brilliant, and start to add the prefix "e-" to everything, and just wonder about that.

July 27th: A hot girl from one season of the Real World, maybe season eighty-i-don't-give-a-shit-who-still-watches-this?, serves me drinks at an overrated, overpriced club in Chelsea.

July 28th: I attend a loft party during which a friend theorizes that we've been magically transported back to the eighties, and I think about American Psycho and how I sometimes sympathize with Patrick Bateman.

August 2nd: I accidentally steal a book about the political decline of the United States in the past five years from a thrifty, street-side book dealer on Saint Mark's Place. I return it to him half an hour later and congratulate myself on my karmic awareness. But then I wonder: would I have returned it to him if it were something I wanted to read?

August 3rd: I see an absurdly tall, skinny man dressed in all purple riding an absurdly tall, skinny purple bike the wrong way down Eleventh Street and for the first time in ages I giggle.

see more stories from outsideleft's Culture archive »»

Kelsey Osgood
Editor, NYC

NY editor, Kelsey's interests include eavesdropping, thaumaturgy, Pick-Up Sticks, and going on "adventures."

more stories you really could read...


thumb through the ancient archives:

search for something you might like...


sign up for the outsideleft weekly. a selection of new and archived stories every week. Or less.

View previous campaigns.

Hope for the Youth
Genesis Breyer p-Orridge: Destroying Culture One Boob Job at a Time
Genesis Breyer p-Orridge may not be the spring chicken of the industrial damned he once was, but recent reformations of Throbbing Gristle and Psychic TV proves that he might still have some slug bait up his sleeves
From the Moshpit # 8: Ska Punk, Ska, and Grindcore
Kuba
Menage a Rock
Would You Spend The Rest of Your Life With Me?
A valentine's day story by The Ancient Champion
Some of our favorite things...