A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting at my computer, writing fitfully. I felt extremely uncomfortable, even claustrophobic. I looked around and realized that although my studio is 1,300 square feet, I was working in an area about 2 feet by 4 feet. Why? Because every other inch of space was filled with — how can I say this delicately? — every inch was filled with crap.
I had the great good fortune of telling a story this week at Boston’s sold-out Moth StorySLAM. Here’s how Moth StorySLAMs work. You prepare a story that relates to the theme — in this case, “Love Hurts” — put your name in the hat, and over the course of the evening, 10 names are pulled out of the hat. If your name’s called, you walk on stage and tell your story. A true story, with no notes, in five minutes. I love this stuff.
A dear friend who lives in Tampa is spending the day at the beach. I, on the other hand, am preparing for “snowpocalypse” with the rest of New England. I choose to love her any way.
We call my car “the Self-Esteem Wagon.” In reality, it’s a 2002 Suzuki Grand Esteem, which is not a particularly popular car. We bought it used, sporting only 13,000 miles and an electric blue color that is way too bright for me. I have seen just one other Grand Esteem in the past five years and the owner of that car got so excited he honked his horn repeatedly as if we were old friends. My friend Howard Mansfield christened the car several years ago and the name stuck. When I make an appointment to get one of our family cars serviced, Sandy at Valley Automotive says, “Are you bringing in the Toyota or the Self-Esteem Wagon?” The running joke (or maybe it’s a theory) is that if you’re in a bad mood, just drive around in the Self-Esteem Wagon for a while and then you’ll feel really good about yourself. Works for me.
― Daniel Radcliffe