Posts Tagged 'minutiae'

Lost and found

I’ve never really experienced the particular compulsion that writers sometimes do, the constant desire—or need, perhaps—to tell the stories of the objects they see lost or discarded, the ubiquitous jetsam of sidewalks and subway stations. Don’t get me wrong, I love the idea of it, the concept that a whole narrative can be built from a pen cap lying alone in a gutter, from the inherent questions of how it came to be there (where is its other half? Does it miss the pen, the conversations they used to have, their mutual dream of someday being used to draft a Pulitzer-worthy poem or record a groundbreaking interview with a mob boss? What about the owner of that pen—who is she, where was she going when she lost the cap, how long did it take her to notice?), and when I actively try, when I really focus on the world, I can jump-start that kind of storytelling in my head. It’s just not the reflex for me, or the instinct, that it seems to be for other writers. For the most part, my mind is content to let ephemera be ephemera.

Continue reading ‘Lost and found’


Excuses, excuses

Istanbul will “follow soon,” eh? Yeah, I’m a big fat liar. But it’s not (entirely) my fault, because let me tell you, that whole “Oh, I’m only taking fifteen credits, easiest semester ever” thing? Completely false. The past few weeks have been an absolute blur of papers and final projects and awesome London-y things, and…I don’t even know when I’ll have the time to catch up on bloggin’ it all. Probably when I get home. Which is a scant three weeks from today. Oy.

But rest assured, I’m keeping extensive mental notes on everything that’s happening. The retelling will be epic. Be excited.

Aaand back to work. See you…um, soon?

You should watch this

…Because it’s the coolest two minutes you’ll spend today (and the Mission-Impossible-y soundtrack is hilarious). I love things like this; installation art, performance piece, and sociological experiment rolled into one. I’d totally do something like this, someday, but I know I wouldn’t be able to hold a straight face. Hee.

Found via Dave Kellett’s excellent webcomic, Sheldon.

More London updates soon!

You would think

You would think that your typical cinderblock dorm wall would, you know, do its job and act as a thermal, visual, and, most importantly, acoustical barrier between your room and your neighbor’s room, because your neighbor is a theater major, one of the ones who started out in Musical Theater but ended up getting shunted into Acting for whatever reason, and has this thing for singing showtunes very loudly and not…prettily, so it’s a good thing that thick concrete wall is there.

You would, however, have to think again.

You would think that the nice, heavy, all-metal, vintage-style fan, which you bought for about half price at The Great Indoors because it was a floor model and all the other new-in-box faux-vintage fans were ridiculously expensive and you’re just a poor college student who nonetheless demands stylish and affordable air-moving solutions, would be just fine sitting on a windowsill with the window open and a bit of a breeze moving through, because: heavy.


But, apparently, you would have to think again.

You would think that, um, a friend of yours, who has spent the past several weeks bemoaning the oppressive heat and humidity of the Central New York summer and annoying his friends by whining constantly about how Colorado weather is a dry heat and it’s absolutely perfect ALL THE TIME never mind those little thunderstorms it’s so much better why can’t I go baaaack, would look upon the arrival of a nice, chilly, westerly wind (see above re: fan) as an auspicious herald of cooler days, relief from the sauna of the previous week, and not as a harbinger of winter doomsday and reason to gripe about being cold.

You would, of course, have to think again.


Yesterday evening, I was slogging my way through a couple of highly technical readings for a class. They were in .pdf format, so I opted to read them on my laptop rather than spend the ink to print them out – I would generally prefer to read from a tactile object, but I had already used half of my brand-new black cartridge printing previous readings for the same class, which, “thanks,” professor. Anyway, there I was, hunched in front my computer reading an essay titled “A Cognitive-Historical Perspective in Human Computer Interaction” or something like that, ruining my retinas, listening to iTunes on shuffle, just waiting until the page count at the bottom of the Adobe Reader hit that magic “16 of 16.” Another night at SU.

And then something weird happened. The lyric in the song playing at the moment (Joanna Newsom’s “Only Skin”) hit the word “pockets,” just as I read the exact same word in the essay.


Okay, okay. I mean, it wasn’t exactly an earth-shattering occurrence or anything, but there was just something about it I found fascinating – that tiny temporal crossroads, two completely disparate entities coinciding for the briefest of moments, crossing paths in some way. I sort of have a thing for small strangenesses like that; I’ll use some mildly uncommon word in a paper one day, and the next day a professor for a different class will use the same word in her lecture, and I’ll just think “…heh” to myself. I don’t know. I like noticing these things. It gives a certain layer of meaning to an otherwise totally mundane situation. It feels like sharing a secret with the universe.

Or maybe it’s just a coincidence and I am, as per usual, reading way too much into it. You know, whichever.