This Weekend and Everything Changes

Bevan and Sid were at a conference in another part of California for most of the weekend and in their absence I partook in a great many activities including, but not limited to, tennis with Craig at USF, dirty gift shopping with T, pre-Provincetown drinks with a group of gays at José and Mark's house, Dan and Margaret's birthday dinner with a dozen or so peeps at Mums in Japantown, dancing myself sweaty at Hella Tight with Dan and Tommy (see above photo), falling asleep on the couch to Clueless before dawn, waking up for a hangover meal at Chow with T, napping, playing drop-in basketball at Eureka Valley Rec Center (because I said I would), consuming takeout food from Wonderland on the couch with B, chatting with my fam on FaceTime a bunch and avoiding my laptop and my notebooks and general stillness as much as possible.

During a lull in the above-mentioned activities I managed to finish Jonathan Tropper's Everything Changes. Although it wasn't as quotable as The Book of Joe or Plan B or This Is Where I Leave You it was a fine read and below are my favorite passages from its pages which don't seem particularly eloquent or meaningful or powerful out of context but I like 'em so whatevs.

She's pretty in an unsophisticated way, like a Midwestern farm girl, and you can see the wide-open prairies behind her, the blue-skied meadows in her eyes.


This is what happens. You piss blood one day and it somehow makes you think that maybe your life isn't taking shape the way it's meant to and, at thirty-two years old, if you're going to be making any changes, you had best make them quick. So you give it a whirl, and it's like trying to make a ninety-degree turn in a speeding boat, and the whole thing just flips over, and you're submerged in the frigid, churning waters, bobbing roughly in your own broken wake. And no matter which way you turn your desperate gaze, there's absolutely no land in sight, which is strange, because you didn't think you’d gone out that far to begin with.


People brush past us on the street in endless waves, leaving somewhere, headed somewhere else, laughing, smoking, speaking into cell phones, completely oblivious to the holocaust of an entire world casually imploding in their midst.