Often, I would catch myself examining a stranger’s acai bowl; or watching frantic videos of abdominal routines that I lacked the core muscles to imitate; or zooming in on a photograph of a wine cellar in Aspen; or watching an aerial video of hands assembling a tiny, intricate bowl of udon noodle soup, and wonder what I was doing with myself. My brain had become a trash vortex, representations upon representations. Then again, I hadn’t known what a wine cellar was supposed to look like. I careened across the internet like a drunk, tabbing: small-space decoration ideas; author interviews; videos
...more
