I've been a "creative" for most of my 14 years in New York. I've got superior style acumen, but the fierce heart of a non-profiteer. I'm frequently fantasizing about perfect interior architecture and design whilst underpaying the bills. I'm a conflicted member of the bourgeoisie. I embody subprime debt. Fuck my pain away.
(2015 Edit: Uh, after 14 years in NYC, I relocated to Houston. Culture shock much? I need new friends. Don't be basic binary.)
David Foster Wallace, Margaret Atwood, Alain de Botton, Angela Carter, David Rakoff, Strunk & White, Fran Lebowitz, Dorothy Parker, Susan Sontag, Oscar Wilde, Claude Chabrol, Agnes Varda, Albert & David Maysles, Sans Soleil, Wings of Desire, Pedro Almodovar, Michael Haneke, David Lynch, If . . . , Stanley Kubrick, Louis Malle, Mike Leigh, John Waters, Peter Sellers and Elliott Gould, Prime Suspect, Twin Peaks, Soap, thirtysomething, Breaking Bad, Drag Race, Bill Callahan, Harry Nilsson, Tjutuna, the whole Madchester/Summer of Love '88 scene cause I was there with great hair, same with late 60s-70s prog and Krautrock except I wasn't, Fuck Buttons, Elvis Costello, The Horrors, vintage Elton and McCartney, and too many labels to mention.
Food. I love it and refuse to prepare it. I eat twice daily yet do dishes thrice. WTF? Just feed me; I'm hungry. (Edit: I'm now totally into preparing.)
(Since writing these previous paragraphs, I'm humbled to see thousands of nuestros hermanos occupying the streets across our planet and humanly illustrating some of the very things I've been obsessing over for years. Can we come together?)
Also, the "price we pay," window coverings, getting around the "no pets" clause of my lease, fatherhood, what _____ looks like naked, and various techniques for upgrading all of the things I already possess, including letting them go.