For those of you who still don't believe that the world hates me, here's a compelling tidbit of evidence:
Yesterday, the day Boston officially turned "motherfucking Cold" (with a capital "C"), is the day my ID card stopped working on the card readers that get me into MIT buildings. Yes, that means standing outside in the Cold. At 1 am. Waiting for someone to walk by and let me in.
But that's all the complaining I'm going to do for now.
I just watched a silent film, Pandora's Box, which is an adaptation of a play by German author Wedekind. (I thought it was French, but turns out Wedekind just spent a decade or so canoodling with circus performers in Paris before he wrote it.) The play was utterly incomprehensible, but the film was amazing. True, it took most of the "expression" (i.e., shock, terror, and promiscuous sex) out of Wedekind's work of Expressionism, but I liked it just the same. Now I know what people mean when they say that sound ruined cinema.
Oh, and I found out one of Chandler's relatives used to be a pianist for silent film...raddest thing ever!
Oooooh, I have been reading so many interesting things lately that I wish I could write about here but...I have work to do...blast!
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Monday, February 27, 2006
Tired, but not as tired as Liz...
Hoooooo boy. So tired. So busy. As if that's an excuse, right?
Yesterday my friend Liz ran the Hyannis Marathon on Cape Cod. Congratulations, Liz! She ran an amazing race on a cold windy day and finished in just over 3 hours and 46 minutes. I ran the first half with her, and then the last two and a half miles or so. It was worth the 6 am wake-up and the five times I got lost driving there and back. (While Liz amazed herself with her time, I amazed myself with my never-ending ability to get lost...) After all that, I exhaustedly came home and had to come up with some way to sound like I know what I'm talking about in reference to how a rover would figure out where it is on Mars. All in all it was a very good day.
Ok, now it's time to brave the 12ºF (-5º with windchill) weather and head to Harvard for a class I'm not really taking. Ooooooh, excellent.
All my writing skills have been diverted away from this blog. Ooops. I'll return when I've recharged my powers.
Yesterday my friend Liz ran the Hyannis Marathon on Cape Cod. Congratulations, Liz! She ran an amazing race on a cold windy day and finished in just over 3 hours and 46 minutes. I ran the first half with her, and then the last two and a half miles or so. It was worth the 6 am wake-up and the five times I got lost driving there and back. (While Liz amazed herself with her time, I amazed myself with my never-ending ability to get lost...) After all that, I exhaustedly came home and had to come up with some way to sound like I know what I'm talking about in reference to how a rover would figure out where it is on Mars. All in all it was a very good day.
Ok, now it's time to brave the 12ºF (-5º with windchill) weather and head to Harvard for a class I'm not really taking. Ooooooh, excellent.
All my writing skills have been diverted away from this blog. Ooops. I'll return when I've recharged my powers.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
K.T., I just read the blurb on bookslut.com about how they updated Are You there God? It's Me, Margaret and it totally made me think of you.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Erik, you're so funny...
My brother says this article from The Onion reminds him of me. I feel so flattered.
Sorry I've been so evasive lately. Only part of that is because I've been "busy." (New semester, parents visiting, basketball ending, life commencing...though not Commencing with a capital "C" for a few more months thankfully.)
Oddly enough, as my final semester at MIT has gotten underway I feel like for the first time I fit in here. Not because I changed to fit the MIT mold, but because I finally hollowed out a Jordan-shaped hole in this awful place. I still don't like MIT, but I finally feel like I belong in my major (and most importantly, my minor) in some strange unorthodox way. It's...bizarre and I don't really know how to describe it. I still have a long way to go in the (inevitable...I'm optimistic in this respect, at least) process of valuing my four years here.
That sentiment was way too vague...so on I go...
Still no developments on my life post-college. I've very much set my sights on PiA, which has pushed me dangerously close to an "all eggs in one basket" mode. And my desires in general have kind of been shaped by my desire to get into that program. Weird. What did I really want to do in the first place? I think back in September I really wanted to pursue outdoor education. If anyone has any ideas of exciting adventures I could pursue next year (that are still viable, it being mid- to late-February), let me know.
I'm now officially a runner and not a basketball player. It feels pretty good. First up: Hyannis Half Marathon this Sunday. My friend Liz is running the full marathon. It is supposed to snow. Rock.
I hate apologizing. So I won't apologize for this ambivalent seeming post. I just...am in the process of shedding my skin and growing a new one, and it's left me a tiny bit vulnerable.
Oddly enough, as my final semester at MIT has gotten underway I feel like for the first time I fit in here. Not because I changed to fit the MIT mold, but because I finally hollowed out a Jordan-shaped hole in this awful place. I still don't like MIT, but I finally feel like I belong in my major (and most importantly, my minor) in some strange unorthodox way. It's...bizarre and I don't really know how to describe it. I still have a long way to go in the (inevitable...I'm optimistic in this respect, at least) process of valuing my four years here.
That sentiment was way too vague...so on I go...
Still no developments on my life post-college. I've very much set my sights on PiA, which has pushed me dangerously close to an "all eggs in one basket" mode. And my desires in general have kind of been shaped by my desire to get into that program. Weird. What did I really want to do in the first place? I think back in September I really wanted to pursue outdoor education. If anyone has any ideas of exciting adventures I could pursue next year (that are still viable, it being mid- to late-February), let me know.
I'm now officially a runner and not a basketball player. It feels pretty good. First up: Hyannis Half Marathon this Sunday. My friend Liz is running the full marathon. It is supposed to snow. Rock.
I hate apologizing. So I won't apologize for this ambivalent seeming post. I just...am in the process of shedding my skin and growing a new one, and it's left me a tiny bit vulnerable.
Monday, February 20, 2006
21W.775 stuff
My 21W.775 (Writing about Nature and Environmental Issues) blog is now up. I'll only be updating 4 times this semester, so I'll link to it each time I write a new post.
In addition to my first blog entry, I also did an exercise last week for the class. I had to observe a "new place" for an hour using ten minutes to isolate each of my senses. I then compiled my 1000 or so words of raw notes into this 134 word description:
A triangle, each side a one-way street channeling clouds of stiflingly sweet exhaust as they are spit from sighing buses and trucks, surrounds a shallow sea of snow. My raft, floating mere inches above the whitecaps and dunes, is a cold metal bus-stop bench. If I need to raise anchor and set sail, I can use gnarled tree behind me as a mast (although the springy cherry stems covering it will poke and fragment in my palm as I grasp to tie the sheets). I will sail to the cemetery across the road, over the blue prison-bar shadows cast by the iron fence, and navigate through the half-buried gravestones. Sounding the depths with my hand, I will combat the stinging numbness with the rough secret warmth of the gravestones hidden beneath the surface.
Love it, hate it, don't care, there it is.
More blogging coming soon? I hope?
In addition to my first blog entry, I also did an exercise last week for the class. I had to observe a "new place" for an hour using ten minutes to isolate each of my senses. I then compiled my 1000 or so words of raw notes into this 134 word description:
A triangle, each side a one-way street channeling clouds of stiflingly sweet exhaust as they are spit from sighing buses and trucks, surrounds a shallow sea of snow. My raft, floating mere inches above the whitecaps and dunes, is a cold metal bus-stop bench. If I need to raise anchor and set sail, I can use gnarled tree behind me as a mast (although the springy cherry stems covering it will poke and fragment in my palm as I grasp to tie the sheets). I will sail to the cemetery across the road, over the blue prison-bar shadows cast by the iron fence, and navigate through the half-buried gravestones. Sounding the depths with my hand, I will combat the stinging numbness with the rough secret warmth of the gravestones hidden beneath the surface.
Love it, hate it, don't care, there it is.
More blogging coming soon? I hope?
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Today...
I got my tragus pierced. For those of you that have no idea what that means, photos are forthcoming.* (As soon as it looks a little less, well, freshly pierced.)
*Don't worry, it isn't obscene. If it was, I would have included a "Not for Alice's Eyes" disclaimer.
*Don't worry, it isn't obscene. If it was, I would have included a "Not for Alice's Eyes" disclaimer.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Bookmark
I've been itching the past week? Why? Am I crawling with lice? Crabs? A heinous rash? No...
There are many many things I want to write about, but I've been otherwised disposed!
Unfortunately...I'm still "otherwise disposed" (who talks like that? what am I thinking?) but I'll try to get back to you soon and flush out this "placeholder" for:
-Classes! New classes! Buckets of them! (Really...)
I know now everyone finds descriptions of my classes to be the height of entertainment, but there's a few people who will appreciate them.
-Chance encounters, both puzzling and humorous!
-Scorpion bowls and sake!
-Volcanoes!
-The adverse affects of overusing exclamation points!
So...stay tuned. And if you are in New England, buckle down. They say there's a blizzard brewing. Usually I disregard these things, because how am I supposed to interpret things like this, posted on a weather site:
WINTER STORM WATCH IS CANCELLED.
BLIZZARD WATCH IN EFFECT FROM THIS EVENING THROUGH SUNDAY
AFTERNOON.
But, in this case, I'm going to be severely disappointed if we get anything less than three feet. I mean come on.
There are many many things I want to write about, but I've been otherwised disposed!
Unfortunately...I'm still "otherwise disposed" (who talks like that? what am I thinking?) but I'll try to get back to you soon and flush out this "placeholder" for:
-Classes! New classes! Buckets of them! (Really...)
I know now everyone finds descriptions of my classes to be the height of entertainment, but there's a few people who will appreciate them.
-Chance encounters, both puzzling and humorous!
-Scorpion bowls and sake!
-Volcanoes!
-The adverse affects of overusing exclamation points!
So...stay tuned. And if you are in New England, buckle down. They say there's a blizzard brewing. Usually I disregard these things, because how am I supposed to interpret things like this, posted on a weather site:
WINTER STORM WATCH IS CANCELLED.
BLIZZARD WATCH IN EFFECT FROM THIS EVENING THROUGH SUNDAY
AFTERNOON.
But, in this case, I'm going to be severely disappointed if we get anything less than three feet. I mean come on.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Irony
As I was doofing about on the internet trying to improve my, cough, blogging skills, I stumbled across this appropriate kernel:
"Another reason not to create a weblog is that it may distract from your time to work, play, write, etc."
...and I think that's my cue to get back to my real reading.
Will someone please alert me when "blogging" has become one of my hobbies and/or interests? Thank you.
"Another reason not to create a weblog is that it may distract from your time to work, play, write, etc."
...and I think that's my cue to get back to my real reading.
Will someone please alert me when "blogging" has become one of my hobbies and/or interests? Thank you.
Mo Beta
To everyone at MIT: happy first day of classes. (That sentence used to end in an exclamation point, but then I changed it. This editorial decision in no way reflects my attitude towards or reaction to my last first day here…)
I will start the first day of my last semester as an undergraduate by looking not forwards but backwards. Well…backwards four days, at least…
Despite the irresponsible but well-meaning freshmen on my hall asking me to make a Libby’s run for them mere hours before the “hall formal” (in the rain, no less! Just kidding…I love the rain, you all know that) and a full can of mango juice ooze out of my fridge and onto my floor, Friday turned out to be an excellent day.
Why?
My friend Dan (also known as “Tall Dan” or “RTG” or “Really Tall Guy”) and some other Bexley folk accompanied me to the MFA (Museum of Fine Arts) for Boston’s renowned high-class unofficial speed-dating/meet-market, also known as “First Friday.” It’s a glamorous cocktail party at the art museum (in a gallery with disgustingly high ceilings and enormous romantic paintings of dogs hunting pheasants and various saints performing various miracles) sponsored by Bombay Saphire Gin. Entrance is free, but drinks, tapas, and quiet isolation aren’t. Hmmm…I think some tidbits I gleaned through my expert eavesdropping will help set the scene. This affair may be better suited for my secret blog-speriment (which will, perhaps, go public soon…I’m only mentioning it now to whet your whistle…)
Dude 1: Those girls were cute, but not that brought.
Dude 2: Yeah, they were from Needham. There are way too many girls from Needham here!
Dude 3: We had a really good conversation, but she didn’t give me her phone number.
Dude 4: Obviously, they never give you a phone number, you have to ask.
Dude 5: By now all the college girls are taken.
I’m not sure if Dudes 1 through 5 are all actually separate people. Let’s hope they weren’t.
First Friday could have been a bust, but I salvaged the night by sneaking off to go look at some of the other exhibits in the museum. I also love getting dressed up and laughing (on the inside, of course) at snobby people trying to pick up other snobby people (all the while secretly hoping I’ll meet the perfect man at the museum…).
Second why?
Dumpster diving. For real. Did I write about my first experience dumpster diving (almost two months ago)? Whether I did or not…I’m going to write about my second.
Six of us piled into a MIT’s newest “Green Monster”, the Veggie-Mobile—an old Ford truck that runs on diesel and vegetable oil—and headed out to see what we could see. Luckily, the piling wasn’t as cramped as you’d expect and the exhaust fumes smelled like potato chips, so the ride was very nearly the best part.
Our first stop was a disappointment, as a juice supplier that they had been hitting nearly every week last semester had caught on and pad-locked the dumpster. We could peek in and see the gallons of our forbidden fruit: never-to-be-used not-yet-fermented juice creeping towards its sell-by date. But in the hit and miss business of dumpster diving, no luck is ever really bad. (This sentiment was reinforced when the Veggie-Mobile stalled—only once, but in the middle vertex of a three-point turn.)
The second dumpster we visited was much more forgiving, and I returned home with some pears, potatoes, fine cheeses, and pastas. I wasn’t actually the one “diving” into the dumpster (maybe I’m not quite ready for that yet…), so my education in the garbage pilfering has only barely begun. Some of the people I was with are semi-pros. I think I’m going to write more about this later (perhaps in the vein of, say, Robert Sullivan and The Meadowlands…ha…just mentioning it because I posted about that book last week…).
I will start the first day of my last semester as an undergraduate by looking not forwards but backwards. Well…backwards four days, at least…
Despite the irresponsible but well-meaning freshmen on my hall asking me to make a Libby’s run for them mere hours before the “hall formal” (in the rain, no less! Just kidding…I love the rain, you all know that) and a full can of mango juice ooze out of my fridge and onto my floor, Friday turned out to be an excellent day.
Why?
My friend Dan (also known as “Tall Dan” or “RTG” or “Really Tall Guy”) and some other Bexley folk accompanied me to the MFA (Museum of Fine Arts) for Boston’s renowned high-class unofficial speed-dating/meet-market, also known as “First Friday.” It’s a glamorous cocktail party at the art museum (in a gallery with disgustingly high ceilings and enormous romantic paintings of dogs hunting pheasants and various saints performing various miracles) sponsored by Bombay Saphire Gin. Entrance is free, but drinks, tapas, and quiet isolation aren’t. Hmmm…I think some tidbits I gleaned through my expert eavesdropping will help set the scene. This affair may be better suited for my secret blog-speriment (which will, perhaps, go public soon…I’m only mentioning it now to whet your whistle…)
Dude 1: Those girls were cute, but not that brought.
Dude 2: Yeah, they were from Needham. There are way too many girls from Needham here!
Dude 3: We had a really good conversation, but she didn’t give me her phone number.
Dude 4: Obviously, they never give you a phone number, you have to ask.
Dude 5: By now all the college girls are taken.
I’m not sure if Dudes 1 through 5 are all actually separate people. Let’s hope they weren’t.
First Friday could have been a bust, but I salvaged the night by sneaking off to go look at some of the other exhibits in the museum. I also love getting dressed up and laughing (on the inside, of course) at snobby people trying to pick up other snobby people (all the while secretly hoping I’ll meet the perfect man at the museum…).
Second why?
Dumpster diving. For real. Did I write about my first experience dumpster diving (almost two months ago)? Whether I did or not…I’m going to write about my second.
Six of us piled into a MIT’s newest “Green Monster”, the Veggie-Mobile—an old Ford truck that runs on diesel and vegetable oil—and headed out to see what we could see. Luckily, the piling wasn’t as cramped as you’d expect and the exhaust fumes smelled like potato chips, so the ride was very nearly the best part.
Our first stop was a disappointment, as a juice supplier that they had been hitting nearly every week last semester had caught on and pad-locked the dumpster. We could peek in and see the gallons of our forbidden fruit: never-to-be-used not-yet-fermented juice creeping towards its sell-by date. But in the hit and miss business of dumpster diving, no luck is ever really bad. (This sentiment was reinforced when the Veggie-Mobile stalled—only once, but in the middle vertex of a three-point turn.)
The second dumpster we visited was much more forgiving, and I returned home with some pears, potatoes, fine cheeses, and pastas. I wasn’t actually the one “diving” into the dumpster (maybe I’m not quite ready for that yet…), so my education in the garbage pilfering has only barely begun. Some of the people I was with are semi-pros. I think I’m going to write more about this later (perhaps in the vein of, say, Robert Sullivan and The Meadowlands…ha…just mentioning it because I posted about that book last week…).
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Jamaica Kincaid is the shiznit
Yesterday I went to the first session of Caribbean Women Writers, a class taught at Harvard by Jamaica Kincaid. The juxtaposition of Jamaica Kincaid's sparkling personality--the second cutest middle aged woman I know, froofy socks (if you saw them, you would understand that froofy truly is the only word I could possibly have used to describe them), Pumas, and all--and the sweater-set-and-pearls-wearing Harvard students made it the best entertainment I've had all week.
My favorite Jamaica Kincaid quote: "You're not all going to be my bosom buddies." That made me very sad, but she's most definitely right.
My second favorite Jamaica Kincaid quote: "You are an immoral person when you are writing...once you finish writing, then you can become a normal moral person in the world again."
I think I'm going to keep going to the class, if only to shock the Harvard girls by showing up in sweatpants and collect priceless Jamaica Kincaid quotes. Chandler came with me to the class, and right as we were laughing about how dressed up everyone else was ("I think that's the first time I've ever been the only person wearing sneakers in a crowded room," she said...), a homeless man complimented me on my fashion sense. He was specifically admiring my coat (pictured below), which has become somewhat of a trademark. Every time I go home my mom complains about how tattered and ragged it looks.
The funny thing is...this was the second time this week a homeless person has complimented my clothes. Two days earlier a man in Central Square told me he really liked my pants (also pictured).
So there you go, the irony, in case you missed it: I'm attending a class at Harvard with more knits and pearls than I've ever seen in my life wearing clothes that are only considered fashionable by the homeless people that hang out in Harvard Square. I love it.
My favorite Jamaica Kincaid quote: "You're not all going to be my bosom buddies." That made me very sad, but she's most definitely right.
My second favorite Jamaica Kincaid quote: "You are an immoral person when you are writing...once you finish writing, then you can become a normal moral person in the world again."
I think I'm going to keep going to the class, if only to shock the Harvard girls by showing up in sweatpants and collect priceless Jamaica Kincaid quotes. Chandler came with me to the class, and right as we were laughing about how dressed up everyone else was ("I think that's the first time I've ever been the only person wearing sneakers in a crowded room," she said...), a homeless man complimented me on my fashion sense. He was specifically admiring my coat (pictured below), which has become somewhat of a trademark. Every time I go home my mom complains about how tattered and ragged it looks.
The funny thing is...this was the second time this week a homeless person has complimented my clothes. Two days earlier a man in Central Square told me he really liked my pants (also pictured).
So there you go, the irony, in case you missed it: I'm attending a class at Harvard with more knits and pearls than I've ever seen in my life wearing clothes that are only considered fashionable by the homeless people that hang out in Harvard Square. I love it.
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