The Fruit of the Loom and the Thread of the Eyebrow

This week has been productive so far, and it's only Tuesday! Yesterday I walked to the mall, which is, quite frankly, madness here in America; but I needed to restock my Proactiv cleanser. I made friends with the lady who mans the Proactiv cart decorated with pictures of Julianne Hough and Justin Bieber; we talked about the first Twilight movie and how she couldn't watch it because Edward was too attractive and how we were  both fans of Criminal Minds. Especially Dr. Spencer Reid.

Right next to the cart was a place for eyebrow threading. I have only gotten my eyebrows threaded once before, in Calcutta, India with my friends Claudia and Lora, and I hadn't plucked mine in awhile. Apparently, my eyebrows must have been of beastly proportions because the woman threaded and snipped away for a good while, and I closed my eyes and held my breath like I do when I am getting my bangs cut at the salon. There were hairs flying everywhere.

There is a certain amount of trust involved in this process.The human race has an uncanny ability to distrust politicians and employers and 'the man,' but when it comes to facial grooming, we are quite happy to relinquish our fates into the hands of our hair dressers and barbers and eyebrow threaders. But why do we trust them so implicitly? Are they held up by some ideal to which others fall short? They could, if they were feeling particularly vindictive that day, take off everything and leave you without hair and eyebrows.

 Thankfully, I still have mine.

I, the Pilgrim

I am currently reading Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. Annie Dillard is famous for dwelling on the natural experiences of life and spinning deep and profound philosophy and theology from them. However, though she is cerebral, as  any writer tends to be, she chooses to throw herself back into the real, into the world. She does not remain in the mind, and I cannot help but admire that. It strikes me as extraordinarily practical and boldly imaginative at the same time.

"All right, then. Pull yourself together. Is this where I'm spending my life, in the "reptile brain," this lamp at the top of the spine like a lighthouse flipping mad beams indiscriminately into the darkness, into the furred thoraxes of moths, onto the backs of leaping fishes and the wrecks of schooners? Come up a level; surface."

- Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

Setting the Bar

Today I have thrown out the garbage, washed the dishes, and tidied up the living room. Now I am baking cookies. They will be done in eight minutes. Later tonight, I have Bible study, and I am contemplating bringing some cookies to it, all in the hopes of buying their affection. Friendship is nothing without a good bribe.

I am supposed to write a short story, but I have no idea what to write. Melissa is writing something sci-fi inspired. I've really done it this time. I was remarkably pleased with my last effort, and so apparently was Gary because he gave me an A. Now I don't know how I am going to outdo myself. I always say, set the bar low and walk over it. I've broken the rule and thus ruined my prospective chances of aweing anyone in the future.

Alas, I have made my bed; now I must sleep in it.

Hair Dyed

 

Red is the new awesome.

Pink Power

My cute friend Yire in her pink pyjamas.

Justice Is a Dish Best Served Cold

For all you people who complain that cartoons were better before...

You can find the first few episodes on youtube.

You're welcome.

Skype Is a Wonderful Thing

I just talked to my friend Diane on Skype. We talked about periodic table shower curtains and iPads and how the future is here and how nobody is geeking out.

Things I Like

 My lion necklace bought in Calcutta, India
 

 My mint tin where I keep polkagrisar
 

 My sister

Pi Day

Foreign Currency

You know you're international when you have at least three kinds of currency in your wallet. 

 American dollars, Swedish kronor, Japanese yen, British pounds

British, Swedish, American

I need to clean out my wallet.

Princeton Paraphernalia

New Jersey has been lovely. Or more specifically, Princeton has been lovely. I have been staying with Yire and Stephen, two college friends who both graduated last year. Gracie and I arrived in Princeton at 1.30 in the morning after a fourteen hour car ride (it is a fourteen hour airplane ride from Bangkok to Stockholm, if you would like some comparison), and we have made a ball of every day.

Arnold, Gracie, Hannah, Sarah, and I all piled into a car at 12.30 on Friday and drove across the US of A. There wasn't much to see as winter is only just loosening its grip on the northern states. There is still not a full leaf to be seen on any tree, though I'm sure you'd find buds if you bothered to look. Which I haven't done. (It is therefore that I was delighted to find the two trees in front of the Princeton seminary to be a riot of pink blossoms that were as shy in their sun-lit finery as a schoolgirl on the first day back from summer holidays. (I also cannot deny that my thoughts may have gone to Minas Tirith and the white tree in the courtyard.) Suffice it to say, the crocuses and daffodils, if one looks hard in corners, have started to unfurl and spring is here.

Yire and Stephen (Stephen especially) are excited to show us around

 The first day, Stephen took us on tour of Princeton, particularly the seminary, for that is where he has all his classes. Princeton is not only admired for her beauty, but her historicity, her wit and her wisdom.

 

Stephen is tempted by the many turrets to dress like an elf and bring a bow and arrow to class. (I encouraged him in this endeavour.)

 

 Yire, Gracie, and Stephen

After our tour, we went to Small World Coffee, where Stephen works, wherein I promptly ordered a hot chocolate with whipped cream. I will probably go back there tomorrow. At this point in time, Stephen ran off to play soccer with his friends, and Yire, Gracie, and I walked around downtown, stopping in a second hand store called Greene Street Consignment, where I bought a white pashmina shawl for 8 dollars. I have been thinking about getting a white one since last year.

Then it was off to Shop Rite in Lawrenceville, where we bought ribs, chicken, Sun Chips, ice cream, shampoo, hair dye, mango sorbet, pasta, all sorts of assorted vegetables. I also bought a flower to give to Yire as a thank you gift for letting me stay the week. I bought her an orchid, which is currently sitting on their dinner table. Flowers are a great gift idea. My mother is always giving them away, whatever the occasion--thank you gift, birthday present, housewarming gift, bribe (just kidding). I cannot think of an occasion where we have left a household without a potted plant of some sort newly placed in a prominent position.*

Gracie made us ribs for dinner, with rice, and that evening we settled down to Harry Potter. I made brownies and we had them with French vanilla ice cream. After Harry Potter and the Brownies of Delight, we watched--at Stephen's behest, I might add--Sense and Sensibility (1995) and ate Garden Salsa Sun Chips. 

A good day, no? Ever had one of those?





*When giving away flowers, be sure of your recipient. My sister, for example, has only been able to keep a cactus, at best.

The Last Supper

I just finished a short story. This is the beginning.

Linn shut the folder with a crisp snap and glanced at the clock. The office, lit by the stark fluorescents overhead, had long since been abandoned by those with functional family lives. “I have to get home, Hank. I promised my sister we’d have dinner.”

            “Dinner? Isn’t it a little late?” Hank too glanced over at the clock. Nine thirty. He stood up, stretched and ran a hand through his hair, standing it on end. Office protocol didn’t matter anymore, not this late. “I forgot you had a sister. Lyra, wasn’t it? Now that I think about it, you’ve mentioned her a few times. She came to the office, didn’t she, that one time. How old is she now? What’s she doing?”

            “She’s twenty-three.” Linn didn’t look at him as she recklessly stuffed papers into her thin leather briefcase. “And she hasn’t done anything with her life.” She paused and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Not that she could. You know she’s special, Hank. Runs in the family.”

Hank tucked his hands into his pockets, disarmingly. “I’m sorry.”

“It was good for college though.” Linn smiled wryly, a wrinkle creasing her forehead. She knew she shouldn’t say such things. “I make for quite a story on paper. Mother’s in the institute. Little sister’s come down with something similar enough to keep her out of school. Stanford couldn’t say no to me. Gave me scholarships to compensate for what they deemed to be ‘insufficient financial capabilities’ and an otherwise crappy life.” She pushed the metal clasp of the briefcase into its slot with a metallic click and reached to pull her pinstriped coat off the chair. She stopped, her hand resting on the seatback. “I’m sorry, Hank. I didn’t mean to—it wasn’t supposed to come out like that. It’s just that I don’t—and my sister…” She gave up trying to explain.

The Great White World of Winter

  Someone snapped a picture of me kneeling on the lake. The whiteness and the vastness necessitated an air of humility.

 I was sliding on the ice road on our hike to the gorge.
 

Defeating the boys in an all-out snowball fight. (I'm the one in a crouching-tiger-hidden-dragon kind of pose.)

Silver Polish and Star Wars

Today was warm. Spring is here! I only had one class (I handed in my short story) and once home, I pulled out my silver and cleaned it. I cleaned my Evenstar, which I haven't been able to wear because the silver had yellowed. I put it on after I cleaned it, and Melissa said I was 'special.' What? A girl can't wear an iconic necklace from Lord of the Rings without being considered a little different?

I was going to go to martial arts class this evening, but I ended up playing basketball with Alicia, and eventually Gracie, Jeremy, and Elizabeth, who joined only because they were walking in the near vicinity of the basketball court and I waved enthusiastically at them.

Tomorrow I am leaving for New Jersey. I still don't know who I will be riding home with (probably Rachel, my flatmate), but it means I will have to catch a bus or a train to meet up with her and, at this point in time, I should let you know that public transportation and I have a longstanding feud. So, in case you happen to turn on your television and see me partying it up on Jersey Shore with some guidos, you'll know I took a wrong turn somewhere.

On other news, I bought some boxer briefs online. Yes, I realize they are for men, but I wanted some exciting superhero pyjama shorts, and they didn't have any for women. So here is one pair. Geeky enough for you?

Star Wars. In Detail.

Get Me out of Here

Senioritis setting in. Must read Annie Dillard. Must finish short story. Must, must, must. Too many musts. Want to run away. Want to hurl school books from tallest bridge in near vicinity. Want to leave school behind and be free, Free, FREE!

Sit on a potato pan, Otis!

Some things that I will have when I have a house...

1. a treasure chest

2. a room that looks like a captain's cabin

3. a tree in the garden, big enough to fit a bed I can plant moss and creeping vines in

Writer's Retreat Repeat

I am at the writer's retreat again! It has been two years since the writers of the English department, accompanied by Professor Debra Rienstra, Professor Vande Kopple, and Professor Gary Schmidt all got together and rode in a bus for four hours. We arrived last night and trekked through the dark to get to the house by the lake. We had a writing competition for best haiku, howled at the moon to deserve our dinner, had discussion about why we write, and then I went to bed.

Today we had a massive snowball fight. Boys versus girls. The other girls headed for the highest ground before the boys descended on us from all angles and corners. Elaine and I were the only ones in the fray, which, I had to say, is the best place to be. I shoveled snow on Gary as he was coming up the stairs and I hit a lot of people with my killer arm. I think they were sufficiently impressed.

We also walked around on the frozen lake, worked on non-fiction creative pieces, had a fabulous dinner of chicken, salmon, rice, freshly baked bread, and salad with strawberries and poppy seed dressing. For dessert I had two brownies. It was all well-deserved and delicious.

After dinner, we had the Bulwer-Lytton competition: Write the Best Worst Beginning Line of a Piece of Fiction. Edward George Bulwer-Lytton is famous for his novel Paul Clifford which begins like this:

It was a dark and stormy night--the rain fell in torrents--except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating that scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.

My good friend Alicia won the contest. Here is her winning line.

The relationship ended, she realized, the day he had shaved his beard--oh that magnificent beard, which preceded him with proud protuberance, putting the bushy tails of sleek squirrels to such a shame that they brought offerings of winter-aged nuts while weeping over their inadequacy--and every time she looked upon the balded chin bereft of the masculine, yet tender, homage to Sampson's strength, she was overcome with a poignant pain that overshadowed her once all consuming love.

Bart Tocci, who has his own well-groomed (and red!) beard laughed so hysterically he cried.





And that's all I have to say about that.

Saturday Night

Rachel and I had nothing to do on a Saturday night, so we had a sit-up competition, which she promptly won. I couldn't leave it at that, so we tried to see who could hold the plank position the longest. We tied. We tried the superman. I won. Then we threw snowballs at a tree outside our window. She won. We finished the evening off with some fruit, which were leftovers from some function Rachel had attended. All in all, a good time. Better than sitting on the couch and snacking on junk food.

P.S. I cleaned the shower. It makes me proud to look at now--white and glistening in the stark fluorescent lighting.

Hat Days

Hat Day.

Mmmmm....Cookies