Chelsea Fagan's Blog

25. NYC. Works at Thought Catalog. First book, I'm Only Here For The Wifi, available now where all fine literature is sold.

I feel like a little kid who got lost at a shopping mall and is looking for her parents. Every time I see a tall, thin man with a side part and a suit, I start freaking out and almost say out loud “Marc?? Marc??”

I’m having the most wonderful time, but nothing really makes sense here without him. I was taking the train with some of our friends, including his bff/long-time roomie, and we passed by the stop where they used to live. We both looked at each other all sadly, and talked about how weird it was to be there without him. We even took a picture.

Part of me still feels like he’s going to turn around in a bakery or a restaurant and ask me, “Where were you? I was looking for you.” And then we’ll go meet up with our friends, and everything will be back to normal.

He has to. 

fyblackwomenart:

"Kirikou and the Sorceress" is a 1998 traditional animation feature film written and directed by Michel Ocelot. Drawn from elements of West African folk tales, it depicts how a newborn boy, Kirikou, saves his village from the evil witch Karaba.

Kirikou!!! He is an icon here. When I was an au pair, I watched this at least 10 times with the kids. It’s a must-see!

fyblackwomenart:

"Kirikou and the Sorceress" is a 1998 traditional animation feature film written and directed by Michel Ocelot. Drawn from elements of West African folk tales, it depicts how a newborn boy, Kirikou, saves his village from the evil witch Karaba.

Kirikou!!! He is an icon here. When I was an au pair, I watched this at least 10 times with the kids. It’s a must-see!

(Source: bewareofmpreg, via eggtrolls)

laurajmoss:

Fresh out of the water, newborn sea lion pups roll in sand to protect themselves from the blazing sun in San Cristobal, Galapagos Islands.

these look like kitty litter poops

laurajmoss:

Fresh out of the water, newborn sea lion pups roll in sand to protect themselves from the blazing sun in San Cristobal, Galapagos Islands.

these look like kitty litter poops

(via abigkerfuffle)

Turning Off

I’ve been back in France for not even two full days yet, and I feel like I never left. I feel like New York happened in some dream, and I woke up yesterday at the airport, and everything was back to normal. I’m seeing all my friends, going to my favorite places, walking in my old neighborhoods, eating good food. I spent the whole day with one of my best girlfriends, working on our computers and then watching TV and eating pizza. Last night, at dinner and drinks with a full eight (eight!) of my friends, it was as though the conversation had picked up where it left off seven months ago.

Marc’s best friend/long-time roommate/one of the best people in the world and I had a long conversation about how much we all missed each other. I tried not to cry, which was particularly hard, given that we were in one of our favorite old bars. But even in the sadness, it was the happiest I’d felt in a long time.

And part of it is the sun, after the longest, most awful winter I’ve ever experienced. I understand that arriving to warm, clear skies puts anyone in a good mood, and my apartment is bright and clear and well-located with a stunning view:

image

But it isn’t all aesthetics. It’s being home again, with all of the people I love, slipping back into groups of people who feel like extended family, with whom work and obscure, bitchy things about the internet never, ever come up. For the past two days, I have been mostly unaware of what’s going on on the internet. I try to just do my work, drop it off, and stay present in my real life and what I’m experiencing off my laptop. With the exception of Marc’s (notable, and terrible) absence from this trip, everything is back where it was.

And it has made me realize that, in New York, I was so, so tired. I had fallen into such horrible rhythms of obsessing about the most petty, unimportant things on the internet, and waking myself up in the middle of the night with panic attacks about minute work things. And again, part of it was almost certainly the weather, which kept me from experiencing nearly anything outside of my office or my apartment, but part of it is also the culture that media creates and sustains itself on in New York. Everything is so insular, everything is so connected, and with social media, nothing goes unnoticed. There is a new scandal, and a new witch to burn at the stake, nearly every day. And being in New York feels like being at the center of that storm, an inescapable tornado of anxiety and status and the opinions of people you don’t even care for. 

There was a simplicity in my life here that feels so good, and so right, to get back into. It’s not just that my friends here are so wonderful — and they are — it’s that they are all so diverse, from such different fields and with such different interests, that there is simply no time to obsess over the unimportant. If I were to mention at dinner some weird media thing I saw posted and mocked on a blog, they would just stare at me sort of blankly, and remind me without saying anything that thinking of this kind of thing is not worth my time.

I loved my life here. And I want so badly to love my life in New York. And I think it’s possible — especially with the good weather that’s finally coming — but I have to remember that just because I’m in the center of the storm, it doesn’t mean I have to pay attention to it. If I’m capable of shutting my laptop here, I can shut my laptop back there, too.

nickdouglas:

Despite the stereotype, YouTube comments actually aren’t commonly this shitty, especially on videos that are, like the above, pretty innocuous.

But this video has been declared the new “Friday,” and famously bad amateur music videos are like the "most photographed barn in America" in Don DeLillo’s White Noise (or like the Mona Lisa or Statue of Liberty or a bridge full of padlocks): It’s not famous for what it is, it’s famous for the prescribed reaction. People gather to write horrible things to a stranger, not because the stranger’s video is actually any worse than the average shitty video, but because it has been established as the “safe place” for everyone to express hate. Except it’s not safe at all; this is an illusion created by mob action.

DeLillo worried thatan object famous for being photographed would sort of “lose its soul;” it would be impossible to see the barn as a barn and not an object to photograph. I think that’s happened to viral “hatewatch” videos too: Viewers don’t see them as actual things made by people, but as something split from reality, its creators fictional characters that viewers can wish death upon as they would on King Joffrey. And the bar for hatewatching has gotten quite low.

This is bad.

This is why we need more of what Ellen DeGeneres and Jimmy Fallon do: raise up and celebrate those who express themselves, without expecting them to brush off all hate as part of the game. To set the crowd’s default reaction to “good on you for doing something.” It’s not an “everybody gets a trophy” attitude, it’s a defense of decency that is horribly necessary.

that last post got me thinking of marc and i’m about to leave him for three weeks so here is one of my FAV pictures of him, from halloween 2012
what a cutie o_o’

that last post got me thinking of marc and i’m about to leave him for three weeks so here is one of my FAV pictures of him, from halloween 2012

what a cutie o_o’

frizzyfilazzo:

faganchelsea:

#marc

I want the #marc tag to be a real account of Chelsea’s relationship.

Did I mention that I am writing a sitcom based on Chelsea + Marc called “Pardon My French”?*









*It’s amazing Chelsea hasn’t taken legal action to remove me from her life yet. 

omg

(Source: uglywerewolf)

I was in a bar alone tonight, which is something I almost religiously avoid. But my friend had to leave to meet her boyfriend, and I had to meet the 20 dollar minimum on cards (come on), so I was left with a choice: Either do what I usually do, and tell the bartender “just charge me whatever is leftover,” or order a second drink. And though I wish that my usual waving away of that money was based in some glamorous lifestyle of not caring how much I spend in bars on Tuesday nights, it’s always based in the fact that I don’t like to sit alone.

But tonight I was armed with my book, and my phone, and a few friends who live in SoHo that I hadn’t seen in a while, so I thought I would stay. If nothing else, it would be a chance to finish the reading I should be doing for work. And I held out for thirty whole minutes, which is more than I usually can. I didn’t finish my whole second drink, but I read 20 pages and almost wasn’t bothered at all by the idea of sitting by myself.

And I know that it’s me, that there is something in my personality that prevents me from being able to just exist by myself, if I am not a) alone in my house or b) with some dignified purpose, such as waiting to meet someone. Maybe it stems from three years of near-solitary confinement, of working from home and in the back corners of coffee shops and almost never speaking out loud to another person. But part of it has always been that way, this strange aversion to sitting alone with my thoughts.

I told my friend that I had not explored much in my time here, because I have been actively resisting embracing New York, and it’s true. I’ve been treating it as a pit stop in the middle my “real” life, which won’t be here. And part of that has been the weather, but part of it has also been the isolation that I feel here. I have no real groups of friends that aren’t coworkers or a small handful of people from Maryland or France. I don’t get all that much time to explore the city, with a 9-5 job on weekdays and a boyfriend who is only here three days a week. And the very layout of the city — its size, its sprawl, the fact that going into Manhattan, even if it’s just one metro stop away, is not a walkable thing — prevents me from exploring. Frankly, I am intimidated by the city, and never more so than sitting alone at 9 PM in a neighborhood I don’t know very well at all.

It’s probably just the textbook definition of extroversion — I draw energy in social situations, and am sapped by aloneness, especially in such a social setting— but it’s at its most draining when you’re in a city like New York. Unlike the manageable, walkable, skyscraper-free cities that I am used to, it’s a metropolis that cries out for activity and meeting people and always having something stimulating to do. New York, in all of its crowds and noise and movement, makes you feel so incredibly isolated. Only in the safety of your apartment, or in a familiar coffee shop, can you really feel warm and safe in your solitude. Otherwise you’re a silent little rock at the bottom of the river, the current constantly rushing around you, slowly wearing you away.