That time Parker Posey wrote me a letter

Hey Daniel. 

Boyohboyohboyohboy ..... 

Aren't you glad you talked to me when talking was easy for me? 

It seems like our phone call was back in the day, but it was only weeks ago. 

I've been talking non stop for to Press, and just recently (today) have I been able to walk around my apt., and CLEAN--whereas this past week, I've been looking at trash and papers and tapes, and just STARING. 

Looking to do something, but not knowing WHAT exactly. 

Should I listen to a tape or a CD? 

Let me just STARE at it and feel overwhelmed. 

Things in my home, seemed foreign to me. 

And before I knew it, I had to go outside and talk about myself some more. 

Catching a cab, thinking, "all I had to do was EMPTY that ashtray!" BUT ... Now, I'm fine. :) 

The foreign objects are back to being things in my home. 

And “overwhelming” is just a word, anyway. 

And I'm gonna enjoy myself, because everyone is telling me to, and because I Should. 

***My life is changing, but that's what it's supposed to do, right? 

Picture on the deck, please don't say I live in Chelsea, just write "down town." 

People have started saying hello to me on the street. 

I like a friendly hello, but um ..... my deck is something I want private. 

I sent a picture, 'cause I'm nice.  

Parker Posey recalls taking first bite of Big Apple

Parker on her fire escape, looking serious. (Via, SPREAD Vol. 3).

In the mid-’90s, while Parker Posey was shooting "Suburbia," we hung out in Austin a few times.

We first "met" at the Dobie Theater when she was in Texas shooting "Waiting for Guffman"

Then I interviewed her for the magazine I published, SPREAD.

Parker was such a sweetie.

For my editorial purposes, she had a picture taken of herself on her apartment "patio" (a folding chair on the scaffolding outside of her window) in Greenwich Village.

Tonite in Brooklyn, both Parker and David Rakoff read their "My First New York" essays, which are excerpted in New York magazine.

From Parker's essay

We climbed the fire escape to smoke cigarettes and take pictures of ourselves in the sunset looking serious. And we played Ping-Pong and pool somewhere in the West Village and drank beer and ate burgers at the Corner Bistro. Sasha liked the Clash and I liked the Jam, and the Beastie Boys were just beginning. A cute guy offered to buy the jeans I was wearing for a hundred dollars, and I almost took him up on it, but then I thought, What would I wear? He said they were for his girlfriend. Now I think he was hitting on me.