Let Me Tell You About the Time I Looked Into the Heart of an Artichoke
Very little to tell. Work is ok -- am wading along, and the house is consumed by constant, tiring drama, and my personal life is pretty lukewarm. So...life in Princeton goes on. The worst thing right now is the weather: it suddenly got freezingly wet and cold, and I'm frightened at what this portends for January. Mostly I'm trying to find a little peace and quiet, which isn't possible in a house of six people. I'm ready for something good to happen.
10.25.2005
10.22.2005
Censored
I'll try to keep this brief, as brevity appears to be in. Last night I went to see "Good Night and Good Luck" with Vanessa, Mike, and Christoph. We enjoyed ourselves, went to get drinks and dessert, and came home to have kir royales (the champagne I bought for Reza and Yorgo was never consumed). Everything was fine until about 3:30 in the morning. In a four-person dynamic, there's room for a lot of variety in the distribution of conversation. But at some point, two people are going to break off and have their own charged dialogue. Or so you think. I don't even know why I'm blogging about this, because it reflects so poorly on me. But a major point of this is to keep you (my friends, who I hope will laugh rather than pity me) updated on my life, and that includes both the most wonderful and miserable moments, right? Well, this is a bad one.
Anyway, I guess I was pretty tipsy, but Mike and I were talking for what seemed like hours. Only he wasn't talking -- I was chattering and chattering incessantly, getting deeper into my internal dialogue and spewing it all out, imagining that he was interested and engaged. But he wasn't. And he expressly stated that he wasn't. In a nice way. But in a candid way. What do you do when someone tells you that you talk too much? I'm sure there's an elegant way to handle such situations, but I sure didn't execute it. I wasn't drunk - just tipsy - so the whole weight of his words crashed onto me and I suddenly felt paralyzed with shame. The worst part is that I like Mike and knew that his presence was totally necessary to the whole experience; it's not as if I just carry on long conversations with myself. Sometimes alcohol and intimate company stimulate me to such a great extent that I start unloading all my thoughts. Which is cripplingly embarrassing. I just panicked and started scrolling back through all my previous conversations in Princeton, wondering if I've just been boring everyone I meet and imagining that they like me. It's horrible to have to question whether those moments of perceived connection are in fact one-sided, that people are too polite to tell you to shut the fuck up.
I hope this was a good thing, but I don't know. I'm really upset. I rarely get told off by people I don't know straight to my face. What do you do when someone points out the fact that you drone on too much? God forbid you open your mouth again.
The thing is, I'm not angry or upset with Mike. He made a good analogy -- he plays jazz in a trio, and commented that conversation works with similar parameters: you never want one soloist to dominate too long, because the rest of the group will get resentful and you lose all harmony. So I suppose this makes me that extra trumpet sequence that nobody wanted to hear. Vanessa, of course, responded by saying that if you're a really good improviser, you will be able to merge seamlessly into someone else's solo and establish a balance, you won't need a space to make your presence heard or felt. Which is also a good point.
But I wonder if my fear of loneliness here has prompted me to forget the rudiments of good conversation. Have I stopped being a good listener, and have I forgotten what it means to have an audience to whom you're responsible? Have I become totally self-absorbed and self-indulgent, and is this an innate character flaw or can it be remedied? How do you remedy an inability to converse? Because all I want to do is to shrink into a hole somewhere and never emerge, which isn't the right thing to do. But what's the alternative: observing myself during all my exchanges with other people and orchestrating a dialogue that's more evenly balanced? How do you know how to restrain yourself when you're in the moment? If I can't, does it make me socially inept?
Anyway, there isn't anything left to say. To any of you who have felt shortchanged by me, felt that I wasn't interested in hearing your part of the conversation, I'm so sorry. I never meant to make anyone feel anything less than charming and wonderful. Maybe I've grown so sensitive to my own needs and forgotten how to respond to those of others, but I don't know what to do about it. Except that now I'm incredibly self-conscious. But I am sorry. I hate the idea that I've fucked things up, and I seem to do it so often now -- whether at work or personally. Sometime it's best to just be silent.
I'll try to keep this brief, as brevity appears to be in. Last night I went to see "Good Night and Good Luck" with Vanessa, Mike, and Christoph. We enjoyed ourselves, went to get drinks and dessert, and came home to have kir royales (the champagne I bought for Reza and Yorgo was never consumed). Everything was fine until about 3:30 in the morning. In a four-person dynamic, there's room for a lot of variety in the distribution of conversation. But at some point, two people are going to break off and have their own charged dialogue. Or so you think. I don't even know why I'm blogging about this, because it reflects so poorly on me. But a major point of this is to keep you (my friends, who I hope will laugh rather than pity me) updated on my life, and that includes both the most wonderful and miserable moments, right? Well, this is a bad one.
Anyway, I guess I was pretty tipsy, but Mike and I were talking for what seemed like hours. Only he wasn't talking -- I was chattering and chattering incessantly, getting deeper into my internal dialogue and spewing it all out, imagining that he was interested and engaged. But he wasn't. And he expressly stated that he wasn't. In a nice way. But in a candid way. What do you do when someone tells you that you talk too much? I'm sure there's an elegant way to handle such situations, but I sure didn't execute it. I wasn't drunk - just tipsy - so the whole weight of his words crashed onto me and I suddenly felt paralyzed with shame. The worst part is that I like Mike and knew that his presence was totally necessary to the whole experience; it's not as if I just carry on long conversations with myself. Sometimes alcohol and intimate company stimulate me to such a great extent that I start unloading all my thoughts. Which is cripplingly embarrassing. I just panicked and started scrolling back through all my previous conversations in Princeton, wondering if I've just been boring everyone I meet and imagining that they like me. It's horrible to have to question whether those moments of perceived connection are in fact one-sided, that people are too polite to tell you to shut the fuck up.
I hope this was a good thing, but I don't know. I'm really upset. I rarely get told off by people I don't know straight to my face. What do you do when someone points out the fact that you drone on too much? God forbid you open your mouth again.
The thing is, I'm not angry or upset with Mike. He made a good analogy -- he plays jazz in a trio, and commented that conversation works with similar parameters: you never want one soloist to dominate too long, because the rest of the group will get resentful and you lose all harmony. So I suppose this makes me that extra trumpet sequence that nobody wanted to hear. Vanessa, of course, responded by saying that if you're a really good improviser, you will be able to merge seamlessly into someone else's solo and establish a balance, you won't need a space to make your presence heard or felt. Which is also a good point.
But I wonder if my fear of loneliness here has prompted me to forget the rudiments of good conversation. Have I stopped being a good listener, and have I forgotten what it means to have an audience to whom you're responsible? Have I become totally self-absorbed and self-indulgent, and is this an innate character flaw or can it be remedied? How do you remedy an inability to converse? Because all I want to do is to shrink into a hole somewhere and never emerge, which isn't the right thing to do. But what's the alternative: observing myself during all my exchanges with other people and orchestrating a dialogue that's more evenly balanced? How do you know how to restrain yourself when you're in the moment? If I can't, does it make me socially inept?
Anyway, there isn't anything left to say. To any of you who have felt shortchanged by me, felt that I wasn't interested in hearing your part of the conversation, I'm so sorry. I never meant to make anyone feel anything less than charming and wonderful. Maybe I've grown so sensitive to my own needs and forgotten how to respond to those of others, but I don't know what to do about it. Except that now I'm incredibly self-conscious. But I am sorry. I hate the idea that I've fucked things up, and I seem to do it so often now -- whether at work or personally. Sometime it's best to just be silent.
10.21.2005
Living the (s)Low Life
So, what’s new in my mundane little world? Not much, really. Just the usual round of house and work failure. I’m really beginning to worry about my work ethic. I never seem to achieve very much during the day and am constantly wasting my time checking email and day-dreaming. They didn’t hire me for this, that’s for sure. I keep waiting for the bomb to drop since I really do have a ton of work. I just never seem to be very motivated for some reason. I don’t know if it’s related to my physical well-being or something, or if there’s anything realistic I can do except periodically shock myself with an electric prodder.
Interesting things that have happened:
Well, Yorgo successfully defended his dissertation on Tuesday. That was kind of amazing. He came home resplendent in a Dolce & Gabbana suit, and a few of us drank to his accomplishment. I say a few, because there are certain members in my house who just don’t seem to be very thrilled about such minor things as becoming a PhD…I don’t know. Even Reza and Yorgo are very lukewarm about it. Mostly I think they’re tired of being in Princeton for so long, bitter about the lack of immediate job prospects, and view their defense as having been nothing so much as a formality. The only ones in the house excited about it are yours truly and Christoph. Vanessa’s kind of into it, but she often spends half her week working in the city, so she’s a little more detached from our daily round of excitement. Still, we all tentatively agreed to gather on Wednesday night to celebrate and have a house meeting (always a bad idea as someone inevitably gets upset -- it’s terribly Real World), and I even bought champagne for the occasion. At 8pm Reza came down and grandly announced that he was going out to dinner with Yorgo and Luis (a friend) and that if, when they got back, the majority of the house was around, we could then celebrate. I rarely feel the urge to murder someone in cold blood, but...
Anyway, I was kind of annoyed by the time they came back and it was clear they didn’t want to be a part of our celebration. So Christoph took me for a drive and a walk around campus, which was really nice. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to given the fact that we’re so different in mindset and approach. He’s very much a guy’s guy, but he’s also incredibly fastidious about things that I could care less about, like having place mats and always eating a salad in accompaniment to any meal. Bizarre. But we had a really nice time – he showed me around some of the buildings and the radio station where he has his own show on Wednesdays. It’s impressive to see someone take so much initiative. It makes me feel highly apathetic despite grumbling about being busy.
Last night I went into the city to Film Forum to see Masculin Féminin for a second screening (I love love love this movie) with Ling. There’s nothing like seeing a movie that bears so much personal meaning. I even forgot how funny it really is; I always remember it as being something of a protracted existential crisis. But it’s hilarious even in its most melancholy moments. It was kind of like the feeling I got on Tuesday when my American fiction professor recited the opening lines of Lolita: every hair on my body was standing on end, shivering in the ecstasy of the moment, hearing those glorious invocations to “Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.” With Godard, you have that same sense of self-conscious lyricism. It helps that I’m infatuated with the protagonist, Paul.
As we were exiting, Ling and I ran into 2 kids from Columbia ’05, both of whom I knew, and neither of whom I particularly wanted to see again. One of them was this gibbering weirdo and the other one! Well! He was the kind of pompous ass you frequently find in English departments across the country. Anyway, I definitely extracted my moment of vengeance when I discovered that he too works in publishing -- only he doesn’t enjoy his job at all and is probably heading to grad school as soon as he can. I reduced him to a quivering puddle of insecurity and self-doubt and blithely sailed out, telling Ling that even English majors (brilliant as we are) must have the occasional self-parodying lapse, of which that kid was totally incapable.
Karmic retribution for my bad attitude came at 11:30 when the dinky lost power and stopped for 5 long minutes in the middle of the forest. One minute I was happily humming along to my iPod Humbert, and the next it felt like Heart of Darkness with the rivets were falling out. But the best part was when I finally got off the train at 11:45 and saw Vanessa and Christoph standing at the station platform, smiling and waiting for me. It was totally one of those cheesy moments when I ran over and hugged both of them and we came back home, drank tea, and swapped silly stories until 1:30. It made me so happy to find them waiting for me, scanning the crowd for their rather tired housemate.
Tonight! I think I’m seeing the new George Clooney flick. Tomorrow night I have dinner with some of my high school friends in the city, which I’m really looking forward to. With the exception of my gone-to-seed work ethic, life isn’t dreadful at the present moment. Though I think a storm is brewing on the house-front. My god, it’s practically Elsinore.
So, what’s new in my mundane little world? Not much, really. Just the usual round of house and work failure. I’m really beginning to worry about my work ethic. I never seem to achieve very much during the day and am constantly wasting my time checking email and day-dreaming. They didn’t hire me for this, that’s for sure. I keep waiting for the bomb to drop since I really do have a ton of work. I just never seem to be very motivated for some reason. I don’t know if it’s related to my physical well-being or something, or if there’s anything realistic I can do except periodically shock myself with an electric prodder.
Interesting things that have happened:
Well, Yorgo successfully defended his dissertation on Tuesday. That was kind of amazing. He came home resplendent in a Dolce & Gabbana suit, and a few of us drank to his accomplishment. I say a few, because there are certain members in my house who just don’t seem to be very thrilled about such minor things as becoming a PhD…I don’t know. Even Reza and Yorgo are very lukewarm about it. Mostly I think they’re tired of being in Princeton for so long, bitter about the lack of immediate job prospects, and view their defense as having been nothing so much as a formality. The only ones in the house excited about it are yours truly and Christoph. Vanessa’s kind of into it, but she often spends half her week working in the city, so she’s a little more detached from our daily round of excitement. Still, we all tentatively agreed to gather on Wednesday night to celebrate and have a house meeting (always a bad idea as someone inevitably gets upset -- it’s terribly Real World), and I even bought champagne for the occasion. At 8pm Reza came down and grandly announced that he was going out to dinner with Yorgo and Luis (a friend) and that if, when they got back, the majority of the house was around, we could then celebrate. I rarely feel the urge to murder someone in cold blood, but...
Anyway, I was kind of annoyed by the time they came back and it was clear they didn’t want to be a part of our celebration. So Christoph took me for a drive and a walk around campus, which was really nice. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to given the fact that we’re so different in mindset and approach. He’s very much a guy’s guy, but he’s also incredibly fastidious about things that I could care less about, like having place mats and always eating a salad in accompaniment to any meal. Bizarre. But we had a really nice time – he showed me around some of the buildings and the radio station where he has his own show on Wednesdays. It’s impressive to see someone take so much initiative. It makes me feel highly apathetic despite grumbling about being busy.
Last night I went into the city to Film Forum to see Masculin Féminin for a second screening (I love love love this movie) with Ling. There’s nothing like seeing a movie that bears so much personal meaning. I even forgot how funny it really is; I always remember it as being something of a protracted existential crisis. But it’s hilarious even in its most melancholy moments. It was kind of like the feeling I got on Tuesday when my American fiction professor recited the opening lines of Lolita: every hair on my body was standing on end, shivering in the ecstasy of the moment, hearing those glorious invocations to “Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.” With Godard, you have that same sense of self-conscious lyricism. It helps that I’m infatuated with the protagonist, Paul.
As we were exiting, Ling and I ran into 2 kids from Columbia ’05, both of whom I knew, and neither of whom I particularly wanted to see again. One of them was this gibbering weirdo and the other one! Well! He was the kind of pompous ass you frequently find in English departments across the country. Anyway, I definitely extracted my moment of vengeance when I discovered that he too works in publishing -- only he doesn’t enjoy his job at all and is probably heading to grad school as soon as he can. I reduced him to a quivering puddle of insecurity and self-doubt and blithely sailed out, telling Ling that even English majors (brilliant as we are) must have the occasional self-parodying lapse, of which that kid was totally incapable.
Karmic retribution for my bad attitude came at 11:30 when the dinky lost power and stopped for 5 long minutes in the middle of the forest. One minute I was happily humming along to my iPod Humbert, and the next it felt like Heart of Darkness with the rivets were falling out. But the best part was when I finally got off the train at 11:45 and saw Vanessa and Christoph standing at the station platform, smiling and waiting for me. It was totally one of those cheesy moments when I ran over and hugged both of them and we came back home, drank tea, and swapped silly stories until 1:30. It made me so happy to find them waiting for me, scanning the crowd for their rather tired housemate.
Tonight! I think I’m seeing the new George Clooney flick. Tomorrow night I have dinner with some of my high school friends in the city, which I’m really looking forward to. With the exception of my gone-to-seed work ethic, life isn’t dreadful at the present moment. Though I think a storm is brewing on the house-front. My god, it’s practically Elsinore.
10.18.2005
Vibes and Vibrations
It's 5:50 am. What am I doing up? Well, I drank too much wine last night and, of course, rose at an unearthly hour this morning. I'm listening to lounge music and wondering whether or not I can snatch another hour of sleep before getting ready for work. But the past few days have been a little intense, even for my own good, so maybe it's an apt time to post.
Two of the other assistants in my department are leaving to pursue jobs elsewhere, having fulfilled their 2 year quota here. The chief sees this as an opportunity to revamp and reconstruct our department, which is all rather unnerving. Anyway, it came to a head on Friday afternoon when he pulled each of the remaining assistants into his office and broke the news to us: he's only hiring one replacement for the 2 departing assistants, and is redistributing our individual workloads so that we each take on an additional editor. Hmm. My head is spinning. I have enough trouble keeping up with the two amazing but demanding women I work for -- I really don't have the capacity to take on a third. More to the point, the third editor I've been assigned works in a field in which I have an interest tantamount to absolute zero.
Friday night: dinner, drinks, sleepover with Chris. Karin didn't come, which was rather disappointing, but it was a pretty soggy and gloomy evening. Saturday: pottered around Columbia, brunch at Deluxe, bought shoes & jacket, train home to Princeton.
Our house has been planning to have a big, blow-out party for about 6 weeks now. Finally Vanessa and Christoph decided they were going to invite a few of their friends over for a low-key gathering. Such treats as Vanessa's homemade squash soup, Christoph's famous appetizer platter, and Yorgo spinning at the turntables were promised. I wasn't sure if I would be around for any of it, so I sort of backed out until 2 days before the party, when I realized my life isn't as exciting as I originally imagined. So I came back, drooping and tired from the city (cozying up in a twin-bed with someone, no matter how much you adore them, is really inconducive to rest), and sulked around the house while Vanessa whipped up corn and avocado salad, and Yorgo made all of us his "spezziale" gin and tonic. It's pretty much a Gin Fizz.
I don't know how it all came together, because one moment Vanessa was frantically scooping peelings out of the sink, Christoph was out playing tennis, and I was smoking on the porch, but everyone who came to the party had a great time. We had a good mix of people -- Vanessa's earth goddess friends Sascha, David, Alden and Dan, who plucked flowers from our garden and ate them, or danced with scarves ("shadow dancing" is what Sascha called it) while Yorgo and I were at the turntables. I haven't laughed that much in ages. The house was giving off these gorgeous vibes: I played some of my music, and three guys just grabbed some of Christoph's drums and started banging out an accompaniment...down-tempo house music goes tribal. It was amazing to move from an intense conversation with Sascha and Dave about threesomes and "flow" to Yorgo's anecdotes about why it's unacceptable to ask for a kir royale in Iran. All with a pumping 4/4 base in the background.
Christoph's friend Mike, who has visited our house a few times and who seems perfectly amiable, dropped by as well. I don't really know what to say about that part of it. All I know is that we were hanging out for a few hours and then at 4, Christoph popped his head in to say goodnight - everyone else had left - and I freaked out, leaped off the couch, and basically pushed Mike out the door. Why? Oh, because I'm an asshole. I'm kind of confused about it all, which prompted a really unsavory conversation last night with Yorgo and Reza about guys and sex. Just what I always wanted.
Just to backtrack a little -- on Sunday I went to brunch with Vanessa and the goddess crew in Princeton. We hung out chatting until the afternoon, when I walked over to this great public square in Princeton where Christoph, who runs a music non-profit called MIMA , was having an outdoor performance. I ended up hovering at the edge, cheering and clapping as a group of undergrads taught little kids to play on the drums, but then Christoph, awesome as he is, pulled me in and had me join the drum circle. So yours truly, armed with an enormous tabla and the bongos, rocked out with a bunch of grungy youth, hemp-wearing mums, and little boys and girls having the time of their lives. Then I came home and had some leftover squash soup with Vanessa, watched Amelie, and fell asleep.
Balu is scratching at the door, so I have to go pet him for a little while. He's so funny when he purrs -- he sounds like he's percolating! It's adorable. It's nice to give affection to someone who responds so unashamedly to it. Unlike me, of course.
It's 5:50 am. What am I doing up? Well, I drank too much wine last night and, of course, rose at an unearthly hour this morning. I'm listening to lounge music and wondering whether or not I can snatch another hour of sleep before getting ready for work. But the past few days have been a little intense, even for my own good, so maybe it's an apt time to post.
Two of the other assistants in my department are leaving to pursue jobs elsewhere, having fulfilled their 2 year quota here. The chief sees this as an opportunity to revamp and reconstruct our department, which is all rather unnerving. Anyway, it came to a head on Friday afternoon when he pulled each of the remaining assistants into his office and broke the news to us: he's only hiring one replacement for the 2 departing assistants, and is redistributing our individual workloads so that we each take on an additional editor. Hmm. My head is spinning. I have enough trouble keeping up with the two amazing but demanding women I work for -- I really don't have the capacity to take on a third. More to the point, the third editor I've been assigned works in a field in which I have an interest tantamount to absolute zero.
Friday night: dinner, drinks, sleepover with Chris. Karin didn't come, which was rather disappointing, but it was a pretty soggy and gloomy evening. Saturday: pottered around Columbia, brunch at Deluxe, bought shoes & jacket, train home to Princeton.
Our house has been planning to have a big, blow-out party for about 6 weeks now. Finally Vanessa and Christoph decided they were going to invite a few of their friends over for a low-key gathering. Such treats as Vanessa's homemade squash soup, Christoph's famous appetizer platter, and Yorgo spinning at the turntables were promised. I wasn't sure if I would be around for any of it, so I sort of backed out until 2 days before the party, when I realized my life isn't as exciting as I originally imagined. So I came back, drooping and tired from the city (cozying up in a twin-bed with someone, no matter how much you adore them, is really inconducive to rest), and sulked around the house while Vanessa whipped up corn and avocado salad, and Yorgo made all of us his "spezziale" gin and tonic. It's pretty much a Gin Fizz.
I don't know how it all came together, because one moment Vanessa was frantically scooping peelings out of the sink, Christoph was out playing tennis, and I was smoking on the porch, but everyone who came to the party had a great time. We had a good mix of people -- Vanessa's earth goddess friends Sascha, David, Alden and Dan, who plucked flowers from our garden and ate them, or danced with scarves ("shadow dancing" is what Sascha called it) while Yorgo and I were at the turntables. I haven't laughed that much in ages. The house was giving off these gorgeous vibes: I played some of my music, and three guys just grabbed some of Christoph's drums and started banging out an accompaniment...down-tempo house music goes tribal. It was amazing to move from an intense conversation with Sascha and Dave about threesomes and "flow" to Yorgo's anecdotes about why it's unacceptable to ask for a kir royale in Iran. All with a pumping 4/4 base in the background.
Christoph's friend Mike, who has visited our house a few times and who seems perfectly amiable, dropped by as well. I don't really know what to say about that part of it. All I know is that we were hanging out for a few hours and then at 4, Christoph popped his head in to say goodnight - everyone else had left - and I freaked out, leaped off the couch, and basically pushed Mike out the door. Why? Oh, because I'm an asshole. I'm kind of confused about it all, which prompted a really unsavory conversation last night with Yorgo and Reza about guys and sex. Just what I always wanted.
Just to backtrack a little -- on Sunday I went to brunch with Vanessa and the goddess crew in Princeton. We hung out chatting until the afternoon, when I walked over to this great public square in Princeton where Christoph, who runs a music non-profit called MIMA , was having an outdoor performance. I ended up hovering at the edge, cheering and clapping as a group of undergrads taught little kids to play on the drums, but then Christoph, awesome as he is, pulled me in and had me join the drum circle. So yours truly, armed with an enormous tabla and the bongos, rocked out with a bunch of grungy youth, hemp-wearing mums, and little boys and girls having the time of their lives. Then I came home and had some leftover squash soup with Vanessa, watched Amelie, and fell asleep.
Balu is scratching at the door, so I have to go pet him for a little while. He's so funny when he purrs -- he sounds like he's percolating! It's adorable. It's nice to give affection to someone who responds so unashamedly to it. Unlike me, of course.
10.14.2005
10.11.2005
Brevity is the Soul of Lingerie
Fall has come, and it's gorgeous. The leaves are gold and auburn, and soon there will be clusters of red burning bright against the skies. I just love it. Do you know that feeling of total and utter comfort you feel in the autumn? When you're warm in a cuddly sweater, the air is cool and bringing out roses in your cheeks, and everything you do feels crisp and energetic...these are rare moments for me, particularly as I'm incredibly clumsy and tend to trip over my own feet. But I am starting to find that great smell of well-worn sweatshirts and fresh-cut grass, which, in combination, are rather intoxicating. I don't know what it is. I love the speed and electricity of a student rushing past me on a bike, or of seeing some girl's hair loosen itself from her face and fly in the wind. Sometimes everything feels charged with a bright and beautiful charm of its own. I have my moment of peace...and then I stumble over a stray twig and get hit by a jogger and go home in shame. :)
My room here feels a bit nicer since I put up an enormous Indian tapestry. It isn't all that extraordinary, but I love it; it consumes an entire wall and has an intricate flower and leaf pattern that interweaves infinitely across a cream ground. Then there are these little blue elephants trundling along in a circle, and more geometric figures. I've always been a sucker for symmetry -- and in certain cases, a carefully orchestrated asymmetry. The elephants remind me of that scene in The Jungle Book when you meet Colonel Hathi and his herd. I so wanted to be the baby elephant with his frantically high-pitched voice. I think I've always cherished this desire to be everything I'm not: petite and graceful. Not that one could say an elephant is epitome of grace, but, well, he was terribly terribly cute. As the tallest in my class for a long time, I never felt like anyone was interested in pinching my cheeks. And though I don't actually like having my cheeks pinched, it would have been nice to be a cherubic child. Plus I never had a squeaky voice, just my usual alto drone.
I went to another symposium on Sunday, hosted by the Princeton University Art Museum. It was pretty good, though some of the speakers prosed on for way too long. There was one old grandpa who yawned his way through what felt like the entire trajectory of 19th century art. I often talk too much, but really! At least I've never held over 60 people captive in a room.
I did feel a bit low on Sunday evening. I missed college and my friends, and felt afresh all the dislocation of being in a new place with limited acquaintances. I don't want to push new friendships too far just because I dislike solitude. And I made a lot of mistakes over the past few weeks in that regard. It's difficult to figure out new relationships. How do they play out and how do they change with every interaction? I feel like I've forgotten the logistics of moving beyond initial rapports. These days I vacillate between loving and despising my own presence. It's funny how you manage to confuse yourself while trying to make the right choices.
Fall has come, and it's gorgeous. The leaves are gold and auburn, and soon there will be clusters of red burning bright against the skies. I just love it. Do you know that feeling of total and utter comfort you feel in the autumn? When you're warm in a cuddly sweater, the air is cool and bringing out roses in your cheeks, and everything you do feels crisp and energetic...these are rare moments for me, particularly as I'm incredibly clumsy and tend to trip over my own feet. But I am starting to find that great smell of well-worn sweatshirts and fresh-cut grass, which, in combination, are rather intoxicating. I don't know what it is. I love the speed and electricity of a student rushing past me on a bike, or of seeing some girl's hair loosen itself from her face and fly in the wind. Sometimes everything feels charged with a bright and beautiful charm of its own. I have my moment of peace...and then I stumble over a stray twig and get hit by a jogger and go home in shame. :)
My room here feels a bit nicer since I put up an enormous Indian tapestry. It isn't all that extraordinary, but I love it; it consumes an entire wall and has an intricate flower and leaf pattern that interweaves infinitely across a cream ground. Then there are these little blue elephants trundling along in a circle, and more geometric figures. I've always been a sucker for symmetry -- and in certain cases, a carefully orchestrated asymmetry. The elephants remind me of that scene in The Jungle Book when you meet Colonel Hathi and his herd. I so wanted to be the baby elephant with his frantically high-pitched voice. I think I've always cherished this desire to be everything I'm not: petite and graceful. Not that one could say an elephant is epitome of grace, but, well, he was terribly terribly cute. As the tallest in my class for a long time, I never felt like anyone was interested in pinching my cheeks. And though I don't actually like having my cheeks pinched, it would have been nice to be a cherubic child. Plus I never had a squeaky voice, just my usual alto drone.
I went to another symposium on Sunday, hosted by the Princeton University Art Museum. It was pretty good, though some of the speakers prosed on for way too long. There was one old grandpa who yawned his way through what felt like the entire trajectory of 19th century art. I often talk too much, but really! At least I've never held over 60 people captive in a room.
I did feel a bit low on Sunday evening. I missed college and my friends, and felt afresh all the dislocation of being in a new place with limited acquaintances. I don't want to push new friendships too far just because I dislike solitude. And I made a lot of mistakes over the past few weeks in that regard. It's difficult to figure out new relationships. How do they play out and how do they change with every interaction? I feel like I've forgotten the logistics of moving beyond initial rapports. These days I vacillate between loving and despising my own presence. It's funny how you manage to confuse yourself while trying to make the right choices.
10.08.2005
I'd like to volunteer for being totally unnecessary
Not much goin' on around here. This is the first full weekend I'm spending in Princeton, and it's already been a bit weird. The weather was crazy yesterday and today. Can it actually rain this much? Is this what Seattle is like? I feel like I need those weird thigh-high fisherman boots. Everything's a bit damp and moldy. My shoes squelched by the time I got home. Yuck.
I went to a symposium hosted by the art history department here. The topic at hand was "Dark Rooms: Photography and Invisibility," and they had a great line-up. Too bad I missed most of it, but I heard about 3 papers delivered and a floor discussion. Oh, to see the pomposity congregated in one room -- lots of people laughing uproariously at weak sallies, and one prize-winning moment when about six members of the audience rushed to help translate a french word into its English counterpart. My favorite point was when one of the professors kept saying "interpretate" in a very earnest manner. Don't you just love the French?
I've been watching a lot of movies of late: Chinatown, The Women (again), and tonight The Life Aquatic. Good stuff. I don't know what's on the agenda for tomorrow. There's a new exhibition opening at the Princeton Art Museum on Homeric legends, so maybe I'll potter over to that. I've recently been poking my head into all the stuff going on in the area, and it suddenly struck me that there really is so much in which I could be interested. Hooray for living near a well-endowed university with money to fling into art programs!
I've decided to retire from people for a little while. I spent most of today wandering the streets in the rain, and it felt great to be out there in the fresh air on my own. The good thing about rain is that people suddenly become extremely self-contained and anonymous on the roads; they're coccooned by umbrellas or hoods and they walk fast with their eyes trained on the ground. It makes it so much easier for amblers like me to potter about without having to worry about smiling at strangers. Not that I was sullen or anything. I just liked that I could do whatever I wanted and not have to consider other people's presences.
Christoph and I had a long long conversation last night about everything ranging from Indian ragas to babysitting in Spain and traveling in mainland China. He's a cool kid, but a little strange. I still don't know how I feel about living right next to him. He runs his own non-profit and is surprisingly idealistic. I also don't know how I feel about this. Isn't a good dose of cynicism healthy? He's into house music as well, though, so much is forgiven. Christoph thinks I should try to get my blog published. That's flattering, but who the hell would pay to read this?
Not much goin' on around here. This is the first full weekend I'm spending in Princeton, and it's already been a bit weird. The weather was crazy yesterday and today. Can it actually rain this much? Is this what Seattle is like? I feel like I need those weird thigh-high fisherman boots. Everything's a bit damp and moldy. My shoes squelched by the time I got home. Yuck.
I went to a symposium hosted by the art history department here. The topic at hand was "Dark Rooms: Photography and Invisibility," and they had a great line-up. Too bad I missed most of it, but I heard about 3 papers delivered and a floor discussion. Oh, to see the pomposity congregated in one room -- lots of people laughing uproariously at weak sallies, and one prize-winning moment when about six members of the audience rushed to help translate a french word into its English counterpart. My favorite point was when one of the professors kept saying "interpretate" in a very earnest manner. Don't you just love the French?
I've been watching a lot of movies of late: Chinatown, The Women (again), and tonight The Life Aquatic. Good stuff. I don't know what's on the agenda for tomorrow. There's a new exhibition opening at the Princeton Art Museum on Homeric legends, so maybe I'll potter over to that. I've recently been poking my head into all the stuff going on in the area, and it suddenly struck me that there really is so much in which I could be interested. Hooray for living near a well-endowed university with money to fling into art programs!
I've decided to retire from people for a little while. I spent most of today wandering the streets in the rain, and it felt great to be out there in the fresh air on my own. The good thing about rain is that people suddenly become extremely self-contained and anonymous on the roads; they're coccooned by umbrellas or hoods and they walk fast with their eyes trained on the ground. It makes it so much easier for amblers like me to potter about without having to worry about smiling at strangers. Not that I was sullen or anything. I just liked that I could do whatever I wanted and not have to consider other people's presences.
Christoph and I had a long long conversation last night about everything ranging from Indian ragas to babysitting in Spain and traveling in mainland China. He's a cool kid, but a little strange. I still don't know how I feel about living right next to him. He runs his own non-profit and is surprisingly idealistic. I also don't know how I feel about this. Isn't a good dose of cynicism healthy? He's into house music as well, though, so much is forgiven. Christoph thinks I should try to get my blog published. That's flattering, but who the hell would pay to read this?
10.05.2005
Revisiting Paris
Do you ever feel like you’re not quite getting a grip on things in your life? I’ve been pretty oversubscribed for the past few weeks, both work-wise and personally. It’s a little difficult to make decisions about what’s going to be best for me – whether that entails sleeping decently or going out and getting trashed with constructions workers at The Ivy and waking up with raccoon eyes. Of late I’ve been opting to sleep and catch up on things I like – movies, cooking real meals, reading, talking to my housemates, the late night glass of port. Maybe this is something that all recent grads go through, or maybe it’s of a lengthier duration. Maybe you don’t figure it all out until you’re 27 and have a clearer idea of what you want to make of yourself. I keep telling myself that I should get used to my life here in Princeton before anticipating the next step, but have I ever been good at that? At best I’m myopic about things that require a detached perspective, and anxious about things that shouldn’t matter in the here and now. Still, it’s the reality of me.
I’ve felt a little lonely of late. Don’t get me wrong, I have friends here, both at work and at home. There are things to do – movies in town or on campus, lectures, conferences, etc. They’re great, and it’s nice to feel that even though I’m not in the city, I’m not in some culturally lackluster environment. But still, I occasionally miss the comfort of silence with friends, a silence that doesn’t give rise to concern or loneliness. Does that make sense? I think it also has a fair amount to do with discovering that in a new place, you’re often coerced into pursuing friendships that aren’t necessarily the right ones for you. I don’t like the idea that I won’t find the right crowd for myself. Or it could just be that I myself am in such a bizarre stage in my life right now that the people around me won’t matter – I’ll just shepherd my own awkwardness around with me. As I told Clara today, I only say things like “I’m embracing my unease” when I feel socially and personally capable.
I’ve also developed this weird complex about being dull and boring. Maybe this is because everyone I’ve met here is way more proactive about getting out there on a regular basis than I’ve ever been. They actually think it’s bizarre that I’d like to come home and yawn my way into bed before midnight. Heath seems to take it as a personal affront. I’m a little confused, I guess. I like my friends here, but I’m still sorting how I feel about myself when I’m around them. I don’t know what my role or character here is. At points it’s exciting. But sometimes I wonder what’s really going on under the veneer of partying and gadding about. It’s nice to feel part of a young and outgoing culture, but so foreign as well. I wasn’t in that jello-shot crowd at Columbia, and I haven’t done them here, but with the exception of Clara, I’m definitely one of the few interested in the intellectual climate at Princeton, interested in auditing classes and attending the symposia. Everyone else is either off having casual sex (lots of sex, also another novelty), drinking beer, or discussing sex and beer.
I’m listening to this great cd of American/French music from about 1920-1940. I just love it, it’s full of stuff by Django Reinhardt and Luis Mariano. It’s soothing and uplifting and makes me think of sunny days and lying in hammocks eating apples.
Classes are pretty good in general, although I’ve been ridiculously behind on my reading. Doesn’t that sound silly now that we’re not actually enrolled as students anymore? I love saying it; it gives me this sense of having one foot in the door (guilt) and one foot outside (carefree). The two classes I’m currently auditing are American Fiction 1930-Present (very neat reading list) and Soviet Literature (a little bizarre, this one has about 5 other surly Slavic studies students and an old doddering professor who probably knew everyone we’re reading on a handshaking basis). Clara audits American fiction with me. We skulk in the back row and take furious notes without the faintest idea of what’s going on.
Weekends have been decent – brief excursions into the city, all usually thrown together at the last minute. I went to dinner at "Nam" with my mum and sister on Saturday. I liked it all a lot, but was more interested in the conversation than the food. Although my housemate’s eyes nearly fell out when I told him I was going there – apparently it is a very highly rated Vietnamese restaurant. Brunch was at a Swedish place called Smorgas Café on Stone Street, all the way downtown. It’s my new favorite street in New York – tiny, with cobblestones and old-fashioned streetlamps and tons of small European street cafes with friendly owners. It’s just divine. Of course that's where all the bankers go, but you can't have everything. I'm just glad for a place that isn't dominated by hipsters.
Anyway, this is about it. I’ve been feeling guilty (on top of everything else) for not blogging enough. Things are just a bit complicated right now. Everyone I meet seems to expect me to issue some great ‘big-picture’ statement about my life, but to be honest, I don’t know what the hell I do with my time. Before I know it, the weekend goes by and another week passes, and the only signs of change are the weather and reddening leaves. And I don’t feel like I’ve achieved very much.
It often feels like Paris: I drink too much, make random friendships, worrying about fitting in, struggle to manage work and fun without having one hugely suffer, and feel tired all the time. The nice thing is that this is much more negotiable for me: I already know the guys at the local falafel stand, have located excellent French pastries, and regularly wander over to the public library. It’s just that sometimes I would really like to have that ‘big-picture’ understanding, you know? I’d like to understand why I feel a certain way, or at what point I am in my life right now. It’s both a luxury and a little frightening to live in my head so constantly. But for now there’s this lyrical and tender song called “Paris, tu n’as pas change.” Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe underneath all this there’s some stable undercurrent that I can access.
I read some Whitman today, so I’ll toss it in here for fun; it was so full of joy:
“I celebrate myself, and what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease..."
Do you ever feel like you’re not quite getting a grip on things in your life? I’ve been pretty oversubscribed for the past few weeks, both work-wise and personally. It’s a little difficult to make decisions about what’s going to be best for me – whether that entails sleeping decently or going out and getting trashed with constructions workers at The Ivy and waking up with raccoon eyes. Of late I’ve been opting to sleep and catch up on things I like – movies, cooking real meals, reading, talking to my housemates, the late night glass of port. Maybe this is something that all recent grads go through, or maybe it’s of a lengthier duration. Maybe you don’t figure it all out until you’re 27 and have a clearer idea of what you want to make of yourself. I keep telling myself that I should get used to my life here in Princeton before anticipating the next step, but have I ever been good at that? At best I’m myopic about things that require a detached perspective, and anxious about things that shouldn’t matter in the here and now. Still, it’s the reality of me.
I’ve felt a little lonely of late. Don’t get me wrong, I have friends here, both at work and at home. There are things to do – movies in town or on campus, lectures, conferences, etc. They’re great, and it’s nice to feel that even though I’m not in the city, I’m not in some culturally lackluster environment. But still, I occasionally miss the comfort of silence with friends, a silence that doesn’t give rise to concern or loneliness. Does that make sense? I think it also has a fair amount to do with discovering that in a new place, you’re often coerced into pursuing friendships that aren’t necessarily the right ones for you. I don’t like the idea that I won’t find the right crowd for myself. Or it could just be that I myself am in such a bizarre stage in my life right now that the people around me won’t matter – I’ll just shepherd my own awkwardness around with me. As I told Clara today, I only say things like “I’m embracing my unease” when I feel socially and personally capable.
I’ve also developed this weird complex about being dull and boring. Maybe this is because everyone I’ve met here is way more proactive about getting out there on a regular basis than I’ve ever been. They actually think it’s bizarre that I’d like to come home and yawn my way into bed before midnight. Heath seems to take it as a personal affront. I’m a little confused, I guess. I like my friends here, but I’m still sorting how I feel about myself when I’m around them. I don’t know what my role or character here is. At points it’s exciting. But sometimes I wonder what’s really going on under the veneer of partying and gadding about. It’s nice to feel part of a young and outgoing culture, but so foreign as well. I wasn’t in that jello-shot crowd at Columbia, and I haven’t done them here, but with the exception of Clara, I’m definitely one of the few interested in the intellectual climate at Princeton, interested in auditing classes and attending the symposia. Everyone else is either off having casual sex (lots of sex, also another novelty), drinking beer, or discussing sex and beer.
I’m listening to this great cd of American/French music from about 1920-1940. I just love it, it’s full of stuff by Django Reinhardt and Luis Mariano. It’s soothing and uplifting and makes me think of sunny days and lying in hammocks eating apples.
Classes are pretty good in general, although I’ve been ridiculously behind on my reading. Doesn’t that sound silly now that we’re not actually enrolled as students anymore? I love saying it; it gives me this sense of having one foot in the door (guilt) and one foot outside (carefree). The two classes I’m currently auditing are American Fiction 1930-Present (very neat reading list) and Soviet Literature (a little bizarre, this one has about 5 other surly Slavic studies students and an old doddering professor who probably knew everyone we’re reading on a handshaking basis). Clara audits American fiction with me. We skulk in the back row and take furious notes without the faintest idea of what’s going on.
Weekends have been decent – brief excursions into the city, all usually thrown together at the last minute. I went to dinner at "Nam" with my mum and sister on Saturday. I liked it all a lot, but was more interested in the conversation than the food. Although my housemate’s eyes nearly fell out when I told him I was going there – apparently it is a very highly rated Vietnamese restaurant. Brunch was at a Swedish place called Smorgas Café on Stone Street, all the way downtown. It’s my new favorite street in New York – tiny, with cobblestones and old-fashioned streetlamps and tons of small European street cafes with friendly owners. It’s just divine. Of course that's where all the bankers go, but you can't have everything. I'm just glad for a place that isn't dominated by hipsters.
Anyway, this is about it. I’ve been feeling guilty (on top of everything else) for not blogging enough. Things are just a bit complicated right now. Everyone I meet seems to expect me to issue some great ‘big-picture’ statement about my life, but to be honest, I don’t know what the hell I do with my time. Before I know it, the weekend goes by and another week passes, and the only signs of change are the weather and reddening leaves. And I don’t feel like I’ve achieved very much.
It often feels like Paris: I drink too much, make random friendships, worrying about fitting in, struggle to manage work and fun without having one hugely suffer, and feel tired all the time. The nice thing is that this is much more negotiable for me: I already know the guys at the local falafel stand, have located excellent French pastries, and regularly wander over to the public library. It’s just that sometimes I would really like to have that ‘big-picture’ understanding, you know? I’d like to understand why I feel a certain way, or at what point I am in my life right now. It’s both a luxury and a little frightening to live in my head so constantly. But for now there’s this lyrical and tender song called “Paris, tu n’as pas change.” Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe underneath all this there’s some stable undercurrent that I can access.
I read some Whitman today, so I’ll toss it in here for fun; it was so full of joy:
“I celebrate myself, and what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease..."
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