so help me, ira.

whilst trying to like that my friend liked ira glass on facebook, i sort of accidentally ended up "liking" ira glass. i try to keep the amount of things i "like" that are radio-centric to a minimum, although i'm not going to go back and un-like ira because that would just be untrue. liking ira reminded me of that very awkward conversation i had with the man, palms sweaty and mouth running unabashedly out of nerves--me trying to justify my independent major to him without sounding so desperate to be like "YOU CHANGED MY LIFE" although it may be true. when telling him how a teacher of mine used his show to advocate a tenderness with which materials can be treated he looked me sideways and said, "well, that doesn't sound like it would work too well." and i said, "but it did." i must have been ten shades of pink at that moment. i think i had a hotflash while almost crying and smiling too. i'm still feeling through the field, although i think..i guess i'm making progress.

dear blogspot,

within two weeks, please give me a reason not to retire you (for a tumblr) other than that i love you for what we have shared

I said too much in the little time I had and now I must go get a diet coke

I am riddled by so much nerves and so much excitement right now. On the one hand, I'm sitting on my bed writing in this much neglected blog when I have a ten page paper due in a few more than 24 hours which I haven't started which probably counts for a significant portion of my grade and another ten page paper due in a little more than 62 hours which I haven't started which probably counts for a significant portion of my grade. And Friday is the deposition and I've been dreading and dreading this since it got delayed the first time but at the same time it'll give me a chance to talk about it and isn't that what we all really want and need? Not when our words need to be guarded though--no--that's what journals are for.

So here I am sitting on my bed writing in this much neglected blog about how cold my feet are and how sweaty my palms are and how much I like the feeling of wearing a hoodie. It's like a sophomore-year-of-highschool saves-the-day-in-the-back-of-black-beauty kind of feeling when there was no such thing as 10 page papers or depositions. My feet are cold but the sun coming in through the white curtains is nice and I can hear the kids in the school across the street shouting and waiting for Mister Softee.

And on the other hand, I just booked my flight to Lisbon for a summer spent traversing Europe (or at least two months of it). Who am I to have this privilege over this or that person? No one really. So there's Lisbon and then there will be Spain--maybe Sevilla, Cordoba, Granada, maybe Valencia, Barcelona, Zaragoza. I'd like to pretend I can say those names as beautifully as they're meant to be pronounced but I can't roll my R's which has proven a detriment to my library of party tricks (alongside reciting the Hamlet soliloquy and/or sitting in the corner). And then there is Frankfurt then Amsterdam, or Amsterdam then Frankfurt but then, undoubtedly, there will be Paris. Paris is lovely in ways that New York can not be lovely. While New York is situated, more or less, on the Cartesian plane, the neighborhoods of Paris are numbered as they spiral out from the center, a sequence like Fibonacci discovered.

Someone once told me I sound like a Mexican trying to speak French, and someone once told me that all you had to do to get away with it was purse your lips and over-exagerate. I'm not as worried about it as I was in the winter of 2007, when my mom and dad and grandmom and I were visions of American's in Paris. I'd like to think I'm lighter-hearted now, that I care less, and less, and less about a mind spiraling out from the center.

Youth

Through all of youth I was looking for you
without knowing what I was looking for

or what to call you I think I did not
even know I was looking how would I

have known you when I saw you as I did
time after time when you appeared to me

as you did naked offering yourself
entirely at that moment and you let

me breathe you touch you taste you knowing
no more than I did and only when I

began to think of losing you did I
recognize you when you were already

part memory part distance remaining
mine in the ways that I learn to miss you

from what we cannot hold the stars are made

-W.S. Merwin

just because.

love is all i am

I feel really great right now even though it's 5 am and I'm still working off a large coffee from 5 pm, I guess. But it's no matter because I finished editing my show and I sat up in my room and watched cerebral youtube and listened to songs that make me feel good. But earlier this night was good too--Queens and Peruvian rotisserie chicken with Reed and that burough's almost small-town-reminiscent 37th Avenue, critical theory chat and discovering I actually do like Autechre, and realizing the term I was sort of searching for all along was psych-folk. On the train today twice I came out of my sudoku trance just enough to look around at all the men with their wedding rings and more often than not I smile when I think about what that ring means for them, hopelessly optimistic.

I don't want the sun to come up right now. Right now I'd be okay with perpetual night. Or maybe instead Spring. Yeah, just Spring.

Fuck Twitter

What happened to the days when quoting Wilco was cool?