This is not an apple.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

petites madelines

Have you ever been in an ivy league course that did not reference Proust's madeline? Nope, me neither. English literature scholars, journalists, emo kids, anthropologists, babies walking around campus: all these motherfuckers are obsessed with it. I mean, I think memory is interesting too, but these ideas are not novel: when I hear/see/feel/smell x, I think of y. Sensory memories are exciting, yes, but they aren't pseudo-intellectual, really. They're emotional. Hence, sensory. This is all just to say that when I smell figs I think of looking through my mother's vanity mirror, watching her apply a deep maroon to her lips. But, like, who cares?

For a nonfiction class, I have to write one of these Prousty things. But I refuse to make it about the smell of laundry, or a memory of my father's coat, or whatever. When my memories are stirred up by some weird noise or smell emanating from the pavement, they all have one thing in common: they are not good memories. Why else would I have forgotten them in the first place?

These are the things I'm thinking about today, in between ordering clothes and books online, and wondering when the fuck a couple grad schools will make their decisions, so I can seriously begin to plan my life. Boring shit like apartment hunting, puppy hunting, huge bookshelf hunting, job begging, mattress purchasing: these things take time, and I am extremely ready to begin doing them.

Another thing, I believe spring has come to NYC, as evidenced by the way my entire body is dripping with debilitating allergies. It makes me want to blow my entire paycheck on a flight home to go shopping with my mom, and eat a burrito from Rosa Marias.

I feel like I could be in this city forever if I'm not careful.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

real world

Just need to say that the real world was so good tonight. I just wish the music wasn't so bad.

no clean sox

It looks like I'm not gonna get to that laundry today, after all. Some other things I probably won't do tonight: turn off the heater, get around to reading Phillip Sidney, sleep well. Instead I will: open a new pack of cigarettes, do a "rascal tutorial"to be approved to include "human subjects" in my Slam Poetry ethnography research, look up apartments in Amherst in hopes that UMass will call me, like, tomorrow, and watch the Real World.

It's the last part I'm most excited about.

Another thing of note, Valentines Day came and went.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

what's going on

here's something. It's an online radio segment for my friend Ben's show, Scattered Rhymes, featuring me reading some of my poems and talking about them.

What's going on is as follows: spending senior year finishing up a few requirements for my majors, but mostly working on my applications for graduate school. Which is the most insane process, ever. I took the gre (meh), wrote my personal statement (awkward), and now I'm working on my writing sample. Then, I wait.

I'm writing nonfiction, kind of, lately, and I think I want my next piece to be about how Louis Armstrong loved shitting. Isn't that weird?

Coatchecking at PS1 today. Pretty busy: the fall exhibitions recently opened, and they're all fabulous.

I think appreciate correspondence much more than blogging. Thus, til next year...

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Senior year is pretty okay. grad school applications are killing me. in the past week, my list has expanded from 9 to 12 to improve my odds. so much whiskey consumed. finished the bette davis marathon, moving on to katherine hepburn.