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2020-10-09 - 10:40 a.m.

Nothing terribly groundbreaking here, but it helps to be reminded that you know it's art when it makes you feel something. A moment in this memoir centered around A Tribe Called Quest the other night when the writer's talking about the seconds after a soccer game when he's on the field and his team's just pulled an upset, and he's kneeling, face buried in the cool, wet grass, and for a moment no one can touch him. It's all joy, private joy about to be gladly shared with everyone else, but in that moment, it's just a kid and the grass and the entire future out ahead of him like a road.

And watching the show Halt and Catch Fire last night and what is it about a woman crying? Always crushes me. The genius, difficult, infuriating, soulful programmer character is turned on by her closest friends and the way the actor buckles, just that half-second, took my breath away.

We're in month one million of this stupid fucking virus and everyone's lonely and angry and bored and hungry. And a writer friend is in the throes of treatment for cancer. And I miss my brother. And my parents are getting older. And and and. But my house is full of love. And boredom and annoyance and fear some days, sure, but also made-up silly characters that we use to make the other laugh. So you try to be your best and you try to be good enough, as often as you can, to let the best in.

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