I Hate Hard Boiled Eggs

Lost time can be both satisfying and surprisingly flavorful, much like a perfectly boiled egg.

Endless hours of boredom and solitude in a blue-walled room of a modest, sunlit apartment building in Toumba, Thessaloniki. A single cassette player, VHS tapes, and sheets of cardboard—the foundations of music, movies, and makeshift games. Imaginary friends, too; chief among them, E.T. the Extraterrestrial. With time, real friends entered the picture.

From Chicago to Germany, Thessaloniki, Sarantaporo, Antiparos, Larissa, Athens. An existence woven between the art studios and dimly lit bars, repeating on a loop: late nights, music, abundant drinks, tables set for gatherings, and spontaneous dancing. Planned drinks or impromptu toasts. D.I.Y. grills and gourmet bites in rustic landscapes alongside late-night snacks on crumpled bed sheets.

Metaphysical dreams so vivid they felt real. First encounters with UFOs at age seven; first brushes with love in the years that followed. And recurring encounters with both to this day.
This book began in 2020, during the COVID lockdown. Out of boredom, I opened those countless boxes from Thessaloniki. Inside were empty, or nearly empty, diaries, analog photographs from family villages and vacations, a mountain of mini DV cassettes, scattered notes, and an abundance of free time. All these elements transformed the pleasure of boredom into this book, a tribute to that very sensation.

"And we were never being boring
We had too much time to find for ourselves."
— Pet Shop Boys, “Being Boring”