Another blog about why I love college. And about why I love New York. I’m like a freakin’ broken record over here.
It is always interesting, seeing how you react to transitions in life. There is always the way you expect yourself to react, and then the real way. I guess there is also the memory of it later too, but let’s stick to present tense.
The transition into summer has been relatively smooth (aside from the actual moving, which I am working on blocking out of memory) but like everything else in life it has had its ups and downs. Some ups have been getting enough sleep, actually going out in this lovely (today rainy) spring weather, getting to see my family, and getting my hands dirty on some researchy things.
Through the many trials of moving, I have managed to affirm to myself something that my roommates are painfully aware of and my Alternative Breakers have only heard about:
I horde things.
Jars, to be specific.
And this isn’t even the least of it. There are also ones on my desk I neglected to round up for the photoshoot. And in my backpack. And possibly in the dishwasher. (Clearly something else evident from this exercise in how bad I am at packing/organizing).
As finals rapidly approach, I feel more pressure than ever at school.
So naturally, I have compiled an epic to do list of entirely non-academic goals.
1. Become a master hula hooper. This may sound easy, however the New York hula hoop scene is an intense one. I need to arrive with some skills, a sweet/ flashy hoop, and possibly some Jamiroquai playing.
2. Make a hand bound journal for my mom as a belated birthday present. (For once it’s cool that she totally doesn’t read my blog). For this I plan to hit up my favorite supplier of pretty random Asian crap, Pearl River. I’m quite serious. If you need a $200 bamboo flute or some lovely “handmade” paper, hit that up (in Soho, on Broadway).
3. Read Harry Potter in French. Or should I say ‘Arr-ee Pottaire. No, I shouldn’t, but it is called Harry Potter a l’ecole des sorciers, and the french word for muggle it “moldu”! See, fantasy fiction geekines totally transcends language boundaries.
More to come, I am sure as final tests/papers/projects draw near. Last finals season I actually started writing a novel. Needless to say I haven’t looked at it since.
Score!
In the early months of the oh-my-god-i’m-at-college desperation to fully be defined as something-so-I-can-start-making-the friends-of-my-life and the what-if-I-am-not-having-as-much-fun-as-I-should-be attacks, I arbitrarily decided to test out a lot of ways do get comfortable and meet my college self, whom I was sure was waiting around somewhere for me to morph into. I would be cooler, smarter, surrounded by only intelligent, interesting people who would coincidentally think I was awesome. Perhaps elect me as their leader? That, at least, was the rough impression I got from movies, books, and pop culture in general. As well as the NYU brochures.
The Egyptian wing at the Met
300 words never seemed so long…
just exactly what they sound like...
The bullet proof idea conceived by Lucy and me one afternoon and executed with the last unlucky Brooklyn Brown Ale standing in the fridge. As my friend James J. Gallagher says: “this is my life.”
mmmmmmm, college.
… it’s already time to move. I am up at a hang over defiant 9:49 to craigslist new apartments and leave this sunny little space that I love so dearly come May 1. 
After a semester and a half of beautify-ing I will be sad to leave it for an apartment which currently exists only in nebulous craigslist adds and my dreams.
I can’t help but feel that it won’t be the same without NYU security guards telling me to put some shoes on, or that my roommate’s friend from home can’t be signed in and has to sit in the lobby, or telling my sister to move to Yonkers. (more…)
No, it’s not a jelly fish in a mason jar.
Or a human brain.
It’s a culture of fermented tea, better known amongst trendy wholistic foodies as kombucha. Instead of paying a freaking rip off $5 per bottle of this delicious elixer, I am brewing it myself. The result when I came home, wildly enthusiastic, with this strange looking culture and then left it sitting around my kitchen counter for a few days was shock and slight disgust from my roommates. Although, bless them, they are geting used to my random undertakings, despite when they look like a human organ in a cloudy jar.
The result, friends, will be an unending supply of the delicious beverage. Perhaps I shall go into business bottling it…
…and I said, “let there be pictures”
To match my ever growing love of the cultural Smörgåsbord that surrounds me, I have decided to put some renewed effort into making my blog…readable? After taking a research seminar where my classmates and I have learned beaucoup de blog skills (we research New Media), I realized that my own little blog had been sorely under decorated.
city homecoming on a classically spring afternoon
So as the city is taking a big yawn from its winter hibernation and stretching, catlike, back to life, so is my blog, rechristened: Cultural Spelunking. This name best fits the random assortment of little wonders I find entertaining enough to put up online.
Voila, enjoy.
Alarm clock.
Facebook. French pressed coffee. Make a paper crane.
Internship internship.
Midterm.
Nap. Homework. Facebook.
Internship.
Peanut butter and jelly tortilla. Paper crane. Homework.
French pressed coffee. Homework.
Facebook. Homework.
Bed.
