I went upstate to visit my friend who left the art world to work on his father’s farm in Tivoli, NY. Upstate is glorious. Somewhere between the death of indie rock culture and the birth of massive addiction to instant gratification though, we plugged in and never unplugged. I’m guilty too. I guess if smoking was something I once did to pass the time but still have a purpose, now I text or email.  And then, the punk kids got older, music became less novel and the brilliance of original thought became, well, derivative. I figured out the age-old solution: nature. Sounds silly, I know, but guess what? It’s beautiful and bigger than I am, and it never changed. It never got old or boring; I never outgrew it; it never got stored on a shelf to collect dust or become a relic for nostalgic tears.  Young farmers are making rad things happen, and they are keeping us alive and satisfied all at the same time.  Their job matters. They don’t heal nor do they diagnose.  They create the basics. It’s radically amazing.

Things I fear about being a farmer:

1. Weird tan lines
2. Wrinkles
3. Boredom
4. Driving

Things I don’t fear:

1. Missing NYC
2. Wearing crappy clothes
3. Being cold
4. Relying on B to drive

My conclusion is that I’d rather have a small garden with a house.  I think I don’t need to be a farmer, although I’d like to eat what I grow and give the rest away.

pigs are cute. i like them. i don't like to eat them.