Ping Island Strike: Or Why Nobody Talks About Saint Gauguin
Tracking capital flows with the sun has changed a lot over the years. I was talking to one of the old Troika hands the other day -- some of you reading this know what I'm talking about -- and he was reminiscing about waking up early to close Tokyo and open Frankfurt. It was like turning a page then. Now it's an endless scroll as the iron dog chases itself. You could argue it's chasing its tail or even its own reflection across the dateline; objects in the rearview mirror closer than they appear. The periphery becomes the core and the core becomes the periphery. Right now the smell of Greece is in the air and Actaeon becomes the stag and the world runs itself into butter. And butter remembers.
Funny that Vampire Weekend's never been on Gossip Girl. But given the structure of that show, as guest stars Vampire Weekend would really only be playing for the wrong team: that sinister hooker nanny cult that's always lurking in the shadows and regularly emits a grifter to challenge the core cast. Poppy Lifton was working for them. So was Chuck Bass's mom, Carter Baizen, Maureen, that Belgian drug dealer, those Yalie guys and that outrageous Sarah Lawrence admissions director, Lord Marcus, Dr. Van Der Woodsen himself pulling the strings. A global web of secrets. Everyone outside the magic circle is suspect and thus automatically implicated in the crimes of the hooker nannies and their arrangers. Who killed Bart Bass? Why did Nate's dad implode? And who, Gossip Girl asks, am "I?" At the end of the show, as Chuck lies dying in the Proustian wreckage of Georgina's last dance, the heavy velvet curtain may well pull back to expose the aesthetic connections between preppy culture and native culture. And the butter remembers.
"When you think the night / has seen your mind"
(or: Life Takes Refuge in a Single Space)