September Sentiment

If/when I get married/formally committed, it will be in early September because this weather is beautiful and people won't sweat and trees will still be green but the air will be crisp and I'll have something to look forward to instead of despairing my lack of back-to-school and my man and I will serve pumpkin cheesecake that I made myself (because I will definitely not spend the rest of my life with someone who doesn't like pumpkin) and maybe I'll have lilies and a live band that plays CSNY for the first dance.

Crowdsourcing Community

What is the least religious and least dangerous Midwestern city? I need to move there. New York is breaking my heart and chewing me up.

And We Could Be Happy

The intro to "Wouldn't It Be Nice" makes me cry every time I hear it.

Every fucking time.

It should probably be my wedding song, should I ever need one. Goddamn.

Continual Mistiming

It is the great frustration of my life that swimsuit season and ice cream season are one and the same.

"'Party of Evil': American Gang-Raped in Brazil as Boyfriend Forced to Watch"

Another gang rape.

Stop it stop it stop it. This is making me cry.

I know this particular case does not necessarily deserve any more media attention than the others—in cities, in villages, in marriages—that go unreported by victims and unreported on by journalists, but the fact that this is indeed a headline is profoundly disturbing to me.

Am I simply more sensitive to and thus aware of the issue now that I am a sexual being myself, and a young woman living independently in the big wide world? Is it my own fear of being threatened and assaulted and brutally torn apart that is welling up in me such a visceral reaction?

Have media outlets simply realized that stories like these fan multiple flames? Are they catering to the tides of public opinion about feminism, sexual politics, and young male violence? Do they file these news items with more regularity because the topic has become a hot-button issue, or has it become a hot-button issue because new agencies are finally making it so? Does this mean we will soon reach a saturation point and become inured to such records of violation? "Another day, another gang rape"?

Or—the worst answer—are the numbers of sexual assaults actually increasing? Are there so few real deterrents for harassers and such a culture of silence surrounding victims and such a patriarchal desire for bare raw power that rape is more than ever... an ugly but largely unavoidable fact of life?

That is unconscionable.

These are essentially the same questions I have about supercharged natural disasters and mass school shootings. Do we simply hear about them more often nowadays because the way news is proliferated has fundamentally changed, or are they truly occurring with more frequency than in earlier decades?

The best lack all conviction, while the worst / Are full of passionate intensity. Are we slouching towards Bethlehem? Will our gaze be always blank and pitiless as the sun? Let us tame the rough beast soon, lest it consume us all.

Notes from New York

The happiest person in this entire city is the woman who says "Good morning! Heads up! It's your day!" with enviable exuberance as she hands out newspapers at the Bryant Park subway stop, as bleary-eyed commuters stream by her with their heads down. Or maybe she's the saddest, and the best at faking.

Did you know there are so many ginger Jews?

One day I will walk into the Church of Sweden on East 48th and just stand in their book-filled reception area. Something makes me think it will smell comforting. 

I thought a man was waving at me from inside an office lobby. He was just washing windows from the inside.

My boyfriend doesn't toss his finished cigarettes and it is this, in part, that I love about him. The sidewalks here are artifacts of the inconsiderate.

Moment Witnessed in Times Square at Exactly 9 O'Clock AM:
—Sightseeing-bus ticket-seller hails someone across 7th Avenue, shouting, "How's it going, brother?"
—Uniformed security man shouts back, "Have a blessed day, man! A blessed day!"

I will always be surprised when I chance upon a diplomatic mission (I have found Mexico and Botswana quite by accident this past week); they're little reminders that a slice of your home, whomever you may be, can indeed be found in this overwhelming urban jungle.

There are so many people here that it is particularly disarming when you recognize one—an acquaintance on the street, a stranger in a subway station. Circulate the same commute enough times and this second one will happen, if you're observant enough. But most startling is seeing in a passerby's face the semblance of someone you know well: your mother if she didn't dye her hair, your brother circa age six on a swingset, your uncle's doppelgänger in a wine shop—you, aged three decades.

Words That Should Be Banished from the English Language, Please

• Panties
• Inchoate
• Flaccid
• Crotch
• Pleasurable
• Frottage

A Collegiate Culmination

• Got drunk
• Got high
• Got pierced
• Got fucked
• Got fucked over
• Got brave

 Success? Success.

Things Classmates Do That Annoy Me: A Snark-Filled Compendium

• Pushing the automatic door button unnecessarily. If you are mobile and have both hands free, there is no reason why you can't open a door yourself and help conserve energy while you're at it, you lazy bones.
• Texting in class. Your head is down and you have no pen in your hand. Are you really so self-involved as to think that the professor can't tell? And are you really so self-centered as to think the professor has nothing better to do than have her lecture fall on deaf ears?
• Chatting near the toasters and coffee machines, especially during peak hours. We are here on a mission: to get breakfast and caffeine. I'm glad you're so chipper and ready to re-hash last night's drunken hedonism with your friend, but doing so in front of the bagel basket or the Splenda bowl greatly impedes everyone else's access to such necessary items. Why insist on crowding more bodies in an already congested area?
• Sub-complaint: buttering or cream-cheesing your toast while standing in front of the butter and cream cheese containers. Next time try this tactic called "glop some on your plate, then spread it on your bread once you have moved away from these highly desirable condiments" and marvel at how efficient you can be!
• Printing reading assignments on only one side of the page (particularly if you don't actually plan to read them). Have you seen the number of reams we go through every week? Just because a resource is (ostensibly) freely available does not mean that you are entitled to use it without regard for the cost (both economic and environmental) of its replenishment. 
• Sub-complaint: printing unnecessary pages from downloaded documents. Nope, you don't need a tangible version of the copyright page of that JSTOR article. Or that page with the final endnote (you weren't going to read the notes anyway, right?).
• Using two disposable coffee cups at once. Unless you're planning on saving that empty outer one to use at a later date, just suck it up and either use a (re-usable?!) mug-sleeve-thing or endure hot hands for the one minute it'll take you to walk to where you're going.
• Pausing at the end of enjambed lines when reading poetry aloud. No. Just no. Do you read posters that way? Didn't think so. Follow the punctuation. This is not a difficult concept. 

Given the number of times "(un)necessary" appears here, I think I might be a utilitarian. We cool, Jeremy Bentham, we cool.

A Real-Life One-Act

Acquaintance, upon seeing my medical alert bracelet: What are you allergic to?

Me: ...sugar.

Acquaintance: [awkward crickets] I used to wear one for penicillin.

My brain: But really your own pancreas, stupid. Get your medical science right.

Things I Should Have Realized About Myself A Lot Earlier, Part I

When confronted with surprises/challenges/unexpectedly crowded rooms of people, I always choose flight over fight.

If I can't immediately make fun of my problems with my usual scorn and condescension, my brain throws up its hands with a helpless "nope," my temperature shoots up to nine hundred degrees, and I just turn tail and run away, figuratively hiding in my mother's skirts. 

This is why I didn't enjoy my surprise birthday party in high school. This is why I hate arriving late to class. This is why I dread making entrances I am unprepared for. This is why I avoid being the newcomer.


(...this is why I drink vodka shots before going to parties? #UncomfortableDiagnostics)

Job Search Woes

Jobs Applied To: 19

Jobs Officially Rejected From: 1

Jobs "Cancelled" Instead of Being Filled: 1

Jobs That, According to My Low-Level Research, Were Secretly Filled but About Which I Was Never Notified: 2

So This One Time, As Requested, I Updated My Blog (Brought To You By the Word "Procrastination" and the Number "11:37 PM")

I am more than content; I am happy.

These are good months; I don't want them to end.

I suprise myself; he takes my surprises in stride.

Semicolons are useful; I like dashes a lot too.

Unnecessary Things That Annoy Me Unnecessarily

• Ugg boots
• Class rings
• Cardboard sleeves for hot beverages
• Pennies
• Leaf blowers
• Solid hand soap

A Snarky Explanation for My Lack of Holiday Cheer

This article explains a lot.

As a youngster, I used to cry when I received gifts I hadn't asked for because I felt so guilty that I was receiving an overabundance thereof when I knew that many kids weren't getting any at all. Now when that happens, though I know my mom is just being motherly when she can't resist buying physical objects instead of requested gift cards, I turn into a grumpy misanthrope who goes off on a feminist rant about the sexual coercion tactics of "Baby, It's Cold Outside" while my family tries to retain some Christmas morning cheer despite a noticeable lack of tree and snow. But more than some holier-than-thou refusal of presents that stems from an overwhelming generosity of heart (because goodness knows I rarely get off my lazy ass in service to others*), what it comes down to is that I'm not good at faking appreciation or accepting surprises, and I really would rather have something practical (like money, instant coffee, or, yes, even a novel) than yet another tchotchke.

I think this means that I officially prefer Thanksgiving—all the food and family, but without the materialism and acquisition-of-stuff-I-will-never-use-but-need-to-pretend-to-be-thrilled-with-anyway.

*I do always ask for donations to various charities, though, but none, to my knowledge, were filled this year—which is especially weird given that you'd think my parents would be more willing to contribute toward research that could find a cure for their daughter than giving her novelty toys... but maybe once I am myself a mother, this insistence on unwrapping bulky items instead of simply opening envelopes will be made clear.

Not Every Kiss Begins with Kay

He went to Jared's?!

Well congrats, because you're dating a brainless sheep. 

The prevalence of jewelery commercials on TV right now is more than a little disheartening. Do men really just default to shiny necklaces as the appropriate Christmas (/Valentine's/anniversary/birthday/oops-I'm-an-asshole) gift? Does America think that its males are so brainless as to be unable to come up with more personalized presents? (Because that's basically the premise of these 30-second spots: a man realizes belatedly that he has yet to procure a little somethin' for his wife/girlfriend/slampiece, then takes a hint from Santa to high-tail it to the nearest retailer of fine metallurgy. Which, taken as a whole, does not put much faith in the male memory or imagination.)

Or alternatively, are America's females really so materialistic as to prefer generic polished rocks to something that shows how well their significant other knows them? (Because that's basically the outcome of these 30-second spots: the woman who has just received a pricy diamond showpiece bestows upon her man a passionate kiss of surprised gratitude, while the man knowingly looks into camera or at Santa, aware that he will be getting something hard of a different nature later that night.)

Wouldn't you rather have spent money on an unforgettable outing or on something that you'll use and appreciate every day than on a pair of sapphire earrings that get worn at a drama-filled holiday party but then spend the rest of their existence lost in your underwear drawer? Plus who says that a present needs to be expensive in order to demonstrate the depth of your affection?

Then again, one year my dad joked about getting my mother a toilet plunger, so maybe these ads do help the clueless among us. 

But hey, at least a plunger is practical.

My Tropes, My Tropes, My Lovely Lady Tropes

A List of Topics I Unconsciously Keep Writing Poetry About (Apparently)

• Silence and quietness
• Patience
• Things and words left unreturned 
• My childhood remembered
• Virginity
• Layers
• Outer space
• Liminal spaces
• Tree branches
• Bulwarks
• Bones and blood
• Writing on paper
• Unfamiliarity
• Hot air balloons
• Eggs
• Being methodical
• Trying not to be methodical

My Flaws: A Partial List

• Jealous
• Indecisive
• Anxious 
• Captious
• Supercilious
• Judgmental
• Diffident
• Ambivalent
• Fickle
• Highly susceptible to hours of internet-trawling when other Important Things must be done

Return of the Native Procrastinator

It's funny how, having finally experienced some moments of that wrenching thing called Life, I see my own life in nearly every piece of media having to do with relationships that I come across. That's the mark of a good story, of course, but I haven't felt so (uncomfortably, terribly, importantly, confusingly, reassuringly) close to a fictional character in a long time, until the past six weeks in my real existence have proven themselves full of That Human Drama That Novelists and Script-Writers Thrive On.

Which all just goes to show that I am as fallibly human as everybody else.

...and we'll just gloss over the fact that all three of the stories I have in mind have to do with selfish and egoistic young single women living in British or Irish manor houses.

FEELINGZ: I haz them in abundance.

On Silence

For Father's Day, my dad and I went to "The Tree of Life," which was beautifully shot albeit an hour too long and at times more like a trippy National Geographic special than a narrative film. It showed the majesty in the macro and the micro of this world, where human drama is but a dust mote in the universe. Those nature-video parts were wonderfully quiet—no dialogue, just classical music and incidental sounds. Every minute that the movie didn't feature people talking, though, two women in front of us (who together constituted one-sixth of the theater's audience) carried on a conversation with each other. These were not quick side comments or whispered jokes or sympathetic groans, but full-on back-and-forths about mundane topics. Do people really find silence so uncomfortable that they must fill it whenever it arises, even in venues where silence is encouraged? Why do humans find it so hard simply to sit back and let themselves be washed in awe?