Looking for a new yoga studio in my life. Any suggestions in the boroughs? I can’t get to San Diego for what would obvs be my chosen class.

essential oilspill

n. delight in pronouncing the names of your shampoo’s chemical ingredients—cocamidopropyl betaine, polyquaternium-10, methylchloroisothiazolinone—whose crisp syllables snap together like Legos, which momentarily reassures you that life is a cumulative stack of discrete accomplishments, not a shapeless continuum of extracts from abstracted tragedies like family, entropy, or papaya.

I do very much like this site, which offers new definitions for those things which we can’t define. Though the name does remind me of a chapter from Everything is Illuminated, in which young Yiddish gal Brod attempts to catalog all the peculiar sadnesses in the world that were previously unexpressed by words.

But this is good too.

I am taking a night class now like a real (slightly creepy) adult, and it is held inside a public high school in Manhattan, also known as P.S. Depressotron. I have made a gallery of some student artwork on the walls for your viewing enjoyments.

Does this “partnership” make anyone else feel reptilian with oldness? Just checking. 

Does this “partnership” make anyone else feel reptilian with oldness? Just checking. 

Was in South Carolina for a week eating shrimp and grits (and for a penny too, due to the infuriating Gulf crise) and running from alligators, and in that time my domain got all wonky. Fixing!

Also: Go to Charleston. It really does look like THIS.

"People live in Brooklyn because it’s cheaper. It’s not a money thing or a class thing, but it’s sort of admitting defeat—an inability to be in New York. Living in Manhattan presents an interesting challenge: to always be confronted by people who have really won."
"Bunny had an uncanny ability to ferret out topics of conversation that made his listener uneasy and to dwell upon them with ferocity once he had. In all the months I’d known him he’d never ceased to tease me, for instance, about that jacket I’d worn to lunch with him that first day, and about what he saw as my flimsy and tasteless Californian style of dress. To an impartial eye, my clothes were in fact not at all dissimilar from his own but his snide remarks upon the subject were so inexhaustible and tireless, I think, because in spite of my good-natured laughter he must have been dimly aware that he was touching a nerve, that I was in fact incredibly self-conscious about these virtually imperceptible differences of dress and of the rather less imperceptible differences of manner and bearing between myself and the rest of them. I am gifted at blending myself into any given milieu – you’ve never seen such a typical California teenager as I was, nor such a dissolute and callous pre-med student – but somehow, despite my efforts, I am never able to blend myself in entirely and remain in some respects quite distinct from my surroundings, in the same way that a green chameleon remains a distinct entity from the green leaf upon which it sits, no matter how perfectly it has approximated the subtleties of the particular shade."
— What is WRONG WITH ME that I hadn’t read The Secret History until this week? Bad life decision all around. Sidenote: I was so engrossed in the book this morning that I almost got hit by a biker and then a paleta pusher. The latter muttered in Spanish, “Watch it! These damn white girls, always with their noses in a book. Never paying attention.” I wanted to tell him that I understood every word, but when I realized I was reading a novel about Dionysian tragedy at an elite New England college bathed in references to Greek and Roman mythology, my leg to stand on felt hobbled.

As A. put it, “you’ve been quiet as a fucking mouse.” I’m coming back shortly. If anything, I will be stuck in a Southern state in humid hothouse hibiscus weather for over a week with my moms, and I’ll probably need somewhere else to go at some point.

I think First Aid Kit may be a band I need to pay attention to. In the younger Indigo Girls from Sweden who are still in high school sort of way?

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Themed by: Hunson