Writer's Diary

7/28/24

I wake up early (for me) to go play football in Prospect Park; I watch a little girl play with her mom or aunt—the little girl is explaining how to do a certain dance. She’s very serious and thorough the way children are when explaining the rules of something. I can’t help but wonder if I’m an adult child—going to play my little game, also very serious about rules. Around me, other children of the 1990s, in their adult incarnations, take little unconscious sips of iced lattes, look at their phones; I hear someone make an Arrested Development reference across the train car. “I love Arrested Development someone says. I love GOB; he’s a magician.” It’s a good show I agree—but it’s so strange how there’s nothing new to talk about; nothing funny since 2005. I guess. Shouldn’t adults be able to talk about something in a language other than vague pop culture and TV references? There’s nothing sinister about it; it’s just anodyne.