Grad Week Pictures!

Ignore the fact that these are all out of order, small, and unlabeled. Blogger is not cooperating with me today.

And now it's all behind us

Herein lies a brief account of my commencement saga.

Saturday I met my parents for breakfast, and went to the Phi Beta Kappa induction ceremony. I'd sat through the ceremony once before at my fall induction, but my parents hadn't, and it gave me an excuse to wear a flowy green skirt. Then we went to the UPS store and sent all my possessions on their merry westward way. Finally, dinner at my beloved Roomba with Melissa and Michaela. The food was phenomenal. Absolutely delicious, with presentation worthy of the MoMA. I had fufu for the first time, under my mahi mahi, and it was to die for.

Sunday consisted primarily of Baccalaureate and Class Day, as well as the Commencement Ball, which I didn't attend but apparently was packed. Baccalaureate was nowhere near as cool as the one at my high school, but I always find it quite moving to sing and listen to hymns (my musical tastes really do run the gamut, don't they?). I was not fond of President Levin's speech, essentially a half-aimless travelogue of the "Yale 100"'s trip to China. When he recounted one student's statement, "I thought China was still a really backward country," I cringed. Way to portray Yalies as worldly, culturally sensitive progressives. I'd rather have heard him talk a little more about his relationship with our class, or at least how we relate to the changes Yale has seen in the past four years. And I smirked at his two-line reference to global warming -- Yale has done its part, he claimed, by committing to greenhouse gas reduction, but it's up to our generation to do ours. Right, kind of like Climate Campaign pressured you relentlessly for three years before you finally agreed to implement half of our plan.

Class Day was fun. We all wore funny hats -- mine was the Cat in the Hat hat -- with our gowns. Fareed Zakaria gave a really good speech about the importance of staying open to change and possibility in this stage of life. After the address, the event ran a little long, but it was enjoyable and singing "Bright College Years" at the end while waving our white Y'07 handkerchiefs almost made me slightly weepy. Aunt Nancy and Rick came for the afternoon, so I gave them the tour of Davenport capped by a dinner at the Rusty Scupper. Meanwhile, my suitemates' various family members were trickling in. Meeting your friends' families is always so revealing -- the shared traits, passions and neuroses surface.

Monday, at last, brought Commencement proper. The campus took on a Hogwartsian flavor as the entire university assembled in dark and multicolored robes on Old Campus. We marched from Davenport to Cross Campus and kitty corner down the Green, then up through Phelps Gate -- and it was that moment, when the wide stone arch opened into the sea of multicolored robes, when I finally felt the real thrill. Our degrees were symbolically conferred, and then we marched back to our own college for individual recognition, diplomas, and prizes, as well as short speeches by the Master and Dean. The latter was especially moving, and like Zakaria's, seemed designed to foster openness in those with plans for the future, and reassurance to those without them. I liked that theme, since I have been feeling so boxed in this semester and need to be reminded that nothing needs to be set in stone right now. What is set in stone is that I am a Yale graduate, summa cum laude, Phi Beta Kappa, with distinction in the Archaeological Studies major. And nothing can change that.

I still can't believe that it's over. It hasn't sunk in at all. I never cried or really felt like it, at least not in the right way. It's probably impossible to get an adequate sense of closure for something like this when you're still stuck thinking you're going back. I'm home now. We almost missed our flight home from JFK, which was a bit stressful, but now I have a whole month to sort out my life...and my closet.

The Smashing Pumpkins, My Chemical Romance, and please humor the fangirl.

The Smashing Pumpkins are officially reunited. In theory. Really, it’s just Billy and Jimmy – James and D’arcy apparently didn’t want to get involved, and have replacements. But they are releasing a new album under the Pumpkins name, and they played their first show since 2000 in Paris this week. They're doing a series of now-sold out concerts at the Fillmore in San Francisco this July. I would love to go if I could find a ticket for less than $200…seriously guys. I like their new single Tarantula quite a bit -- it still sounds Pumpkiny, but updated a little for the MCR age.

And speaking of MCR, sometimes we just KNOW certain truths about the way things would have been in a parallel universe. And I know that if I were born in 1993, I'd be in love with Gerard Way. Seeing My Chemical Romance live really connected me with the band as a band, made of people, rather than songs that come from my iPod. And it occurred to me that they are kind of like a certain band I was once madly obsessed with. Both bands were oftem grouped with large alternative trends of their day (grunge and emo, respectively), but in truth both SP and MCR drew on a rather different set of influences that gave their music the grandiosity and diversity often lacking in their more stripped-down contemporaries. They have lots in common, despite their different sounds. Incredible skill with catchy, epic pop melodies. A rather morbid sensibility. Unabashed ambition propelled by a ghoulishly cute and charismatic frontman. Overproduction, overemotion, overEVERYTHING, but in a good way. The ability to polarize audiences and win obsessive long-time fans. The tendency to reinvent themselves, and not being afraid to stray too far from their roots. The ability to transform pretension, noise and melodrama into (I think) powerful, beautiful art.

So I wasn’t surprised to come across this in an interview with Gerard:

...In fact when we made out first record, I had patterned our career off The Pumpkins because they were able to do such free and artistic music. I wanted Revenge to be our Siamese Dream though. If you listen to Gish, it’s a band that’s discovering themselves. There are some self-indulgent elements to it, they’re a little bit all over the place…If you listen to our first record, it was the same way. It was a little self-indulgent, but there’s stuff happening all over the place. You’re really not sure what the focus is. By the time Siamese came out, they had harnessed that into something that could connect with a much broader audience. It was important to them to connect with a broader audience and not for fame or for money or for anything else. I’m not sure about Billy Corgan, but I know for us...it’s important for us to get our message out. It seems very sincere for them, so I really wanted to pattern that in a way off of Siamese Dream of what they’ve done like the next record is patterned off of Mellon-Collie and the next phase of their career.

I like this quotation because it shows the flipside of “selling out” – if you’re really trying to say something with your music, wouldn’t you want it to be as accessible as you can make it? The trouble with the Pumpkins as a model (which Gerard must realize) is that SP’s career peaked at Mellon Collie. Does this mean the Black Parade will be the beginning of the end for MCR? Only time will tell. But it made me happy.

It helps that Gerard and Billy look a lot alike. Observe.

Snarling:

Why yes, I do feel pretty.

Oh my god, they're smiling, get the camera.

Now, look pained and glamorous.

This one's just too cute, and his face looks exactly like Billy.

I realize how completely meaningless this excercise is, but damn was it fun to look for those pictures. It took me less time than you might imagine.

And then I found this priceless interview clip with Billy on why he decided to reunite SP:


Haha! The truth comes out!! A few quick clicks will tell you that Billy and Gerard are only a decade apart. But it's still brilliant. Oh Billy, I love you. And I'm so glad I'm not 15 anymore and can look at pictures of your second coming without entertaining too many hopeless romantic fantasies.

One final thought on MCR: They really, really, REALLY should cover “Born to Run.” They’re from Jersey. They’re epic. They’re loud. They’re different enough from the Boss to make the cover into something cool instead of just a tribute. "I wanna die with you Wendy on the streets tonight in an everlasting kiss?" Sounds about right.

This is summer.

Picnics in D'Port

"Senior Day" on the IM Fields

D'Port at Miya's

Charlie's Angels in black and pink: Last Chance Dance
(event curtailed by ammonia leak)

Chilling at Lighthouse Point.
How is this New Haven?!?
Dead!

And just because, here's a link to Roseability, because I am of the fallacious belief that the more people you spread a song to, the sooner it will dislodge itself from your head.

There is no Roseability

The real world is always going to be a mess. Having said that, if I were still blogging political issues instead of whining about my own life, I would have throughouly enjoyed the recent past. It's been a time of plenty for the vultures of left-wing punditry. This week, Wolfowitz is out, and Falwell has finally gone to hang out with Jesus. It seems like the last two years have witnessed the downfall, one by one, of the original cadre of cronies. The message seems to be that justice will prevail. Who'd have thought.

I browsed people's Facebook pictures from Myrtle Beach, and there were no words to describe how glad I was not to have been there. It didn't even look unpleasant in the sour-grapes, "these people are all friends and I'm not" kind of way. It just looked unpleasant. The color of the wooden walls of the house in which they apparently did nothing but play drinking games made me feel claustrophobic and nauseous. The pictures reek of dirty, loud, and stupid. If you don't know what loud and stupid smell like, think PBR and pizza grease. It reminded me of my least favorite aspects of FOOT leading, but with people only about a third as cool, and no woods. Ew. The beach itself just looked kind of drab and pathetic. I honestly don't know why anyone would participate in such a thing voluntarily. I really just don't get it. I guess I never will.

I got the new Shins album from Chris, and it is just heavenly. I don't know what it is about this band, but they seem to have been granted permission to tap the divine well of musical truth. There is something so pure about their music that you wonder how it can possibly be innovative, and yet it sounds like nothing else. Other things I'm drooling over are Sunny Day Real Estate's old classic Diary (real old school emo, yay) Senses Fail's Still Searching (making screaming catchy again), Damien Rice in general (most beautiful songs ever), and Idlewild's 100 Broken Windows, which features "Roseability," one of the catchiest and most nonsensical rock songs I've heard in ages. (The stickiest hook? The repeated non-sequitur "And Gertrude Stein said that's enough.") I might upload it when I get time.

Obligatory graduation angst post

In one sense, since classes have ended I've been having an awesome time. I've been shopping, clubbing, and moviewatching with a few friends who are here, which has been fantastic. I've had some misadventures, including the night I lost my keys while barhopping and had a mini-panic attack, only to find them in my friend's couch. I've been struggling to fit all my clothes into boxes. Some people really enjoy packing, but I don't. But it's been wonderful having nothing else to do. I got my grades back and they were much better than I had expected, which is always nice. We've got advance tickets to see Pirates 3 on Thursday night and drool over the talented Mr. Depp. And senior week includes a bunch of fun stuff to do, and the rest of my suitemates are coming back. It feels good and peaceful.

On the other hand, my impending graduation has been making me a little sad. It's not so much that I'm sad to leave college, though. It's more like I'm sad that I'm not sadder. I am absolutely ready for it to be over. Sure, I will miss my friends, but thanks to the internet I don't have to worry about losing touch with them. Furthermore, there are many "friends" -- entire communities of people, really -- that I expected to have as lifelong friends, and I know now that I won't. Social circles I was just beginning to integrate into sophomore year I have since distanced myself from, and now feel like a total outsider there. I'm pretty happy here socially, but I'm still disenchanted with "the Yale kid" overall. I don't have a lot of attachment to things here and am eager to start again. Which is a good thing, I suppose, since I have to! ^_^ But I still am feeling the disillusionment pretty hard. My first semester here was absolutely amazing, like a dream, and I thought I had gone to heaven. For three years I watched in denial as piece by piece of the dream fell away, and all that was left was just school.

And that's also part of the problem. School. People who are entering the workforce next year have turned in their last homework assignments ever. I have six more years of school. I realize part of this is just burnout from having just completed another finals period, but I really am tired of being in school. Right now the only thing I want to do is have a 9 to 5 behind a counter selling books or CDs to people, or working at a museum, and writing stories and music in my downtime. But I don't know what will make me happy. Some people have told me that no matter what career you choose, all work sucks, and you have to find other things outside of work to make your life enjoyable. I have great friends and a great family life, and I like to do lots of other things besides work. The problem is that at school, I feel like no matter what I'm doing that's fun, I should be working. And that feeling is slowly choking me. School is the most important thing in my life right now; it's how I define myself, which may seem a little extreme, but keep in mind I am preparing for an academic career. A regular job doesn't have homework; you go home and you're done for the day. To me that sounds like the most liberating thing in the world.

But it's not just laziness. College has not been good for my mental state. At. All. I'm a much less stable person than I was at the end of high school. And it makes me nervous, because if the next six years are going to feel like this last one, I don't think I can make it. I know I can always quit if I'm not happy, but I've been given such a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, I feel guilty letting go of it. My dad quit grad school and regrets it. But it may be that I'm just not cut out for a high-pressure career like academia. Maybe if I got on some medication or something, I could pull through grad school all right. Maybe if I found love.

Dead Week? Says who?

Wow, I really have spent less time online than when I was working, believe it or not. Mostly hanging out with Tracy and assorted other friends, trying to finish off her flex dollars. I started putting away my lab today, which was really weird emotionally. I also had to sit through a boring award ceremony to get my $500 check. There were a bunch of professional school students and incoming frosh getting scholarships from the Yale Club too, and the laudatory descriptions of them were quite annoying and even a little embarrassing. Oh well.

I finally figured out how to keep my eyeliner from turning into eyeshadow by the end of the day, which was exciting. Which reminds me - at the mall yesterday I got my brows waxed! I really enjoyed it. They're really thin though. I'm used to it already, and it's fun making different expressions with them. XD

My Chemical SHOWmance!

So. Concert.

Someone was trying to make sure I didn't get to see Muse last night. First, having the show amidst finals week. Then PayPal and the post office. Then finding a ride. Top it all off with the horrible suspense of food poisoning incident. So when the three of us hopped in the PT Cruiser (a good-for-nothing car if ever there was), proceeded to miss our exit on the Mass Pike of Doom (which must have been Sartre's inspiration -- the exits are 15 miles apart!), parked in the gip parking lot,and stuffed down some takeout deep dish with crust like quiche (disconcerting), we arrived. And there was a little sign on the door: "Muse will not be performing tonight. Circa Survive will open instead."

We were crushed. Absolutely furious, then saddened, and finally resigned. Apparently I would've known last night if I'd friended them on MySpace. Oops, sorry, loyal Facebooker here. Luckily we had a rather long line to wait in while the disappointment stopped stinging. We were still really excited to see MCR, but Muse was half the reason we were there -- more than half in Guy's case. I wouldn't have planned this whole mess at such a bad time of the year to see either of the bands on their own.

But I'm glad I did. Because MCR was worth it.

I liked Circa Survive, though I'd never heard them, and Guy knew them a little, which made the lack of Muse easier to take. But the acoustics of DCU were not friendly to Circa, at least not the way their mics and amps were coordinated. The guy had an incredible voice, but it was just too hard to hear him. Still, worth seeing. Actually, they reminded me a little of Muse, which made me wish even more that Muse were there. Someday, though, they'll be a big deal and I'll be able to say I've seen them live.

We waited a long time for MCR to come out. Some people were still trickling in. The floor was sold out, but the seats were not -- most highschoolers, we joked, aren't allowed go to concerts on Tuesday nights. But in a way, the 14-year old rock fan is the most important, the most real fan of all. And to be fair, there were a lot of twentysomethings there too.

It sounds wrong to say that the first song, “The End” was possibly the best part. But it was impossible to describe. The set began with a lone man in a hospital bed, black curtain drawn behind him: The Patient, the young doomed protagonist of the Black Parade concept album. "Now come one, come all to this tragic affair," sang a pitch-perfect Gerard Way, rising from the bed as girls squealed and we stood entranced with bated breath -- until the loud part thundered in and the curtain flew back, and there they were, framed in dazzling light as we saw how much more stage there was. It was breathtaking, even when you know it's coming, like the sudden tripling of presents beneath the tree on Christmas morning. And seeing them all there, after having at last triumphed over illness, made the whole thing one step more affecting. The irony of the deathbed theme was lost on no one.

Throughout the first set they performed as their alter egos, a "band" called The Black Parade. Clad in in black Sgt. Pepper-esque uniforms, the Parade hammered through their entire "debut" album (MCR's third, released last fall) from start to finish like the rock opera it really is. Gerard was in character the whole time, and pulled it off splendidly. “My Chemical Romance is coming on after us,” he quipped towards the end of the set in a slightly otherworldy accent. "I don't know if you like those guys." The crowd cheers, and he frowns with a haughty sidelong glance: “Personally, I think their language is atrocious, and they don’t know how to dress.”

Nothing if not theatrical, MCR/TBP pulled out all the stops and then some. Gerard was meant for the stage, flailing and dancing and doing all sorts of queer little turns, and the guitarists were fiercely spastic as well. That opening energy carried right through the suite of early fast songs, "Dead!", "This is How I Disappear," and "The Sharpest Lives" -- probably my favorite section of the album. Of course when they tried to hush the crowd for the quiet piano-backed intro to the single “Welcome to the Black Parade,” everyone kept singing. They did the radio-ubiquitous anthem justice, even if Gerard opted out of a couple high notes, and they showered us with confetti through purple lights at the climax. The ballad “Cancer” was actually more powerful live than on record, and I wasn’t sure how they were going to pull the very weird “Mama” off onstage, but they did, with FIRE. It got really hot in there. I think the song I had the most pure fun during was "Teenagers," which in all its surface banality has grown into one of my favorite tracks. By the time they got to the closing hit “Famous Last Words,” though, they were getting tired. I could tell, because Gerard let us do most of the singing in the middle. We were happy to oblige, and by the song's life-affirming climax they had found their finishing kick, and the curtain fell on The Black Parade.

But not on My Chemical Romance, who returned after a seven-minute interlude, stripped of their alter egos and clad in their "normal" black clothing and and magically reenergized for a six-song set from their previous breakthrough album Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge. They kicked off the MCR set with the hit “I’m Not Okay” which I have never, ever enjoyed more. "Give 'em Hell Kid" got the moshing started, right on the edge of where we were standing, and our efforts to avoid the chaos distracted us a bit from the beautiful "Cemetery Drive." I was really glad they played “Thank You For the Venom” which I had heard they cut it from earlier setlists, and I bet they brought it back because it’s so deliciously ironic. “Give me all your poison, give me all your pills /give me all your hopeless hearts and make me ill / You're running after something that you'll never kill.” What resonance, those words today! You can effing poison us, but you’ll never make us stop! <3

As expected, the closed with everyone's favorite, "Helena," which for me was the only slightly disappointing part of the concert -- partly because the crowd (including us) was singing too loudly for the power of the performance to come through, and partly because I remembered it was all going to end and I would have to finish my term paper. But it was a moment of sweet solidarity, and with a last chorus of "So long and goodnight," they were gone.

I knew I loved this music, but I didn't expect them to be quite this great live. Sometimes punkish bands can get muddied in mediocre venues, and something like The Black Parade, with its generous portions of pomp and circumstance, seemed like a polished studio creation. But in fact, the night revealed, this is what the album was made for. The theatrics and effects were not there to mask sloppy musicianship in the least: these guys are drama queens, but they can play. And darling Gerard, looking not the least bit menacing in his ghoulish getup, was a rock star in the fullest sense of the word. The world needs more of those.

Making everything worth it.

Okay, this is the "I'm alive" and MCR was AMAAAAAAAZING post - even if Muse inexplicably didn't end up opening after all, which made us VERY sad at first (but better than cancelation!!!) and Worcester is annoying driving, and the DCU center has weak acoustics and a stick up their behinds... MCR made up for everything because they were JUST AMAZING. Gerard Way is like...Freddie Mercury. He's such a great showman, and we were right there. Right there. And Ray and Bob were alive and functioning - better than functioning -- they were rocking hard. And I have never seen so much theater and so little shame and such a delighted bunch of teenagers in laughable clothing and such beautiful grandeur and dark wit. It was a celebration of everything rock and roll is about. I will post a real report later, but I have to write this term paper which I forgot existed for the entire Black Parade set, that's how wrapt I was. Worth it all the way.

Thursday + Queen + Iron Maiden + Pumpkins + Misfits + Green Day + Beatles (yes that's right) = MCR.

= love.

They're Alive!

THE SHOW MUST GO ON.


The sooner I type up this paper, the sooner I can paint my nails!

Anxiety and Relief

Things don’t look so good for My Chem right now. Though they powered through Bamboozle, it wiped them out and they canceled Portland today. Next up is Tuesday’s show, so unless Monday will be ample recovery time, it looks like we’ll be stuck going Rudy’s, getting wasted and screaming “Helena” in four-part harmony (impressive, considering there are only three of us). That, or working on our papers. But it’s out of our hands. All we can do is hope and wait.

Forgive me for sounding like a self-parody, but I was running in the cemetery this morning (told you), and the most beautiful thing happened. It was rather overcast, and I was running up the path when the sun came out from behind a cloud and painted all the headstones white. The pink and newly green trees glowed. Then, from behind me, a dove with a worm in her mouth came flapping over my head into the tree where presumably her babies were. Suddenly the place felt so alive. It. Was. Divine.

Running in the cemetery is great stress relief. For one, it’s simply one of the prettiest, quietest places on campus, but also, it is full of time. It makes you feel small and young and ephemeral, in the most satisfying, liberating way. All the stonecarved names had little worries like yours once, and now, the world has forgotten those anxieties. Nothing that seems pressing in your life actually matters, because before you know it, you too will be a stonecarved name. And every year for centuries, whitepink blossoms will blow over your bones, and every year green leaves, and then gold, and then snow. The world is breathing calmly all the while. And the names and bones remain, and the spring returns, and the little inconveniences evaporate. In the end they will not stay with you. So why pay attention to them now? Things like spring, like songs, like whitepink trees and sunbeams – those things are the true things, the eternal things. That’s what we go back to in the end. We'd all do well to claim them now.

I am posting semi-daily because I don't want to work

Mmmm shrimp.

FOOT '07 went to The Place, "An Unusual Restaurant" in Guilford. It's outdoors, BYOB and BYOA (appetizers - in this case, Sunchips and double-stuffed Oreos). They've got a great seafood grille and the best corn cobs I've had in my life. It was a little weird being with FOOT leaders again, since I hadn't attended a FOOT event proper all year. I felt a little out of the circle -- not unwanted, or unloved, or even like I necessarily wanted to be in the circle, but out of it nonetheless. Everyone talked about going to Myrtle over dead week, and I was really glad I wasn't going. I'm not the only one. I snagged a copy of the new TUIB CD as well, which is great -- I now have these familiar voices with me forever.

Sitting there at The Place under the lights, I was struck, not for the first time, by the strange meta-sadness of graduation. I felt a little sad to be parting ways with this scene, but I felt even more sad that I didn't feel sadder. I felt like it was ending on a good note, and I was ready to see new things. Ready for Cambridge. Things are changing for all of us. And yet every time I start anew somewhere, I think things are going to be different, and they never are. That's comforting in a way. Learning who we are, and what we can and can't do.

But I am sad. Happy to have experienced everything here to the extent that I desired, and happy to be moving on. But sad too. A beautiful goodbye. And I could wax poetic on it for ages if I didn't have to write this damn paper. I know it will get done. Everything does. And time keeps on going at the same pace even when it doesn't. And spring always comes. Always.

Oh my god...

So MCR and Muse got really bad food poisoning on Monday and canceled their past FIVE tour dates?!? Right up to yesterdays' show! Supposedly tomorrow and Tuesday are still on, but I'm nervous. After ALL THIS hassle and having everything finally come together, what if the show is canceled? And it sounds really serious. I hope they're all okay. Some of them had to go to the hospital, apparently. Even if they're up and running by Tuesday, I'm sure they won't perform quite as well if they've been ill for a week. This is so unfortunate. I'm hoping they can make it. It would be such a letdown not to go...

EDIT: It's been confirmed that MCR have arrived at the Bamboozle festival in NJ, where they're set to headline. And their drummer is out of the hospital, fortunately. I haven't seen anything on Muse and I HOPE they're okay too...seriously. But things are looking up. We'll have to just wait and see.

Oh summer, such a tease...

Went to Lighthouse Point with Elaine and Claire for a Unitarian singalong picnic. It was fantastic. The sun was out and the flowers were in full bloom and the ocean was as blue as heaven. I felt so overwhelmed by the richness of the colors and the softness of the sun, I wanted to melt into the grass or maybe the water and get carried down the long white afternoon towards sweet nothing/evening, or a land without school. As soon as I set foot on campus again I had a headache and an overpowering desire to sleep. But I have a presentation tomorrow for seminar that is going to be a disaster. Oh that class has caused me such woe...if only it hadn't been offered, I could have taken Spanish instead.

Also, found an article that severely weakens, if not disproves, my senior thesis. Good thing the Peabody award committee hadn't read it. ^_^

Owwww....

Get-Paper-Done-Early Week might not have been the best time to quit caffeine.

I was a zombie all day yesterday. Which was fine, because most of campus was drunk. Spring Fling and whatnot. But I had planned on using the less-than-optimal concert lineup as an excuse to do some work (trading the day in for next Tuesday, as it were). Mostly I just lay there with articles in hand, wishing I were asleep.

Speaking of the Fling, though, I did get out to see the first act, The Format. I had checked out their MySpace offerings and wasn't particularly impressed -- they seemed like what would happen if you fused your average alt-pop radio band with the indie quirk of, say, The Shins (who were awesome at '05's Fling), but forgot to mix in anything particularly distinctive. Live, however, they were quite enjoyable. They had a much louder sound than I had expected, and showed considerable vocal talent. The last song they played, the new "Swans," was absolutely beautiful. The singer interjected cute little comments about "what a healthy, active school" this was (in reference to the people all out on the lawn throwing footballs), and Rory Gilmore, who he wished were actually here. He vaguely reminded me of John Reznik from The Goo Goo Dolls. I unfortunately didn't have my camera, but oh well. I skipped Sister Hazel, whose overplayed 1997 hit "All For You" annoys me for no particular reason, and T.I., because hardcore rap's not my thing. I figured I could kill two birds with one stone by way of this impressive mashup. (For the non MySpace-familiar, ignore the webpage and listen).

I certainly am more relaxed without coffee. I've gone from being unable to eat or sleep to unable to stay awake. Wonnnnnnnnderful. It's tempting to get back on it just for the sake of this paper, but I'm hoping that the increased sleep will eventually replace the drug as my brain fuel. We shall see.