Guild is the 24/7 computer lab. Hence the hilarious joke.

Top Ten Reasons All-Nighters Are "Awesome":

(get it? all night long? get it?)
1. The strangely pleasing dichotomy of knowing that by staying up all night you are both confirming your status as a vitally healthy young person and contributing to the ultimate tragic dissolution of that status.

2. The ability to use words like dichotomy, dissolution, meta-theatrical, neo-deconstructuralist fantasist, and ideological commodity with an utter lack of irony.

3. The belief that coffee+donut*repetition=concentration and inspiration.

4. The period around 4 a.m when you roll around laughing on the fluorescently lit, carpeted floor with your friends.

5. The impression that your decision to include Bob Dylan quotes and "witty" section headings in your term paper will be considered zany, whimsical, and brilliant by your professor.

6. The decision around 6 a.m to go for a run as soon as you're done here because LIFE is SO freaking GREAT and you FEEL so ALIVE right NOW.

7. The songs that become your obsessive anthems, only to be cruelly relegated back to the dregs of your itunes library once you've had this wild one night ride with them.

Take It To The Limit, The Eagles

Backwoods Barbie, Dolly Parton

8. The reassuring thought that at least you aren't starving, in the army, or a teabagger. And, fingers crossed, no swine flu. Yet.

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c
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9. The cleaning crew coming in around 5 and looking at you with all the patronizing concern of a neighbor that comes to visit in the mental ward following your gentle suburban descent into the bell jar.

10. Emerging into the sunlight either: a weak shell of your former self, giggling and muttering under your breath "wikipedia is to works cited as the bailout is to global economics. Take that Geithner." b. strumming with life, ready to go for that run and greet the day with arms wide open to take in all of god's glorious creation. A quick and devastating crash follows b, while a pleasant buzz follows a, only to be crushed by the onset of noon.



Well, it is.

Also, I promise I don't work for NBC.


Well, it is.



So, I have been going to the gym. Now, don't get your panties in a twist. I am a die-hard, never-been-varsity, fuck-up of an athlete. But sometimes a girl needs an endorphin high, and running from my room to the dining hall to get to the food faster just wasn't cutting it.

Here is what I now remember about gyms. THEY ARE BORING AS HELL. I like running outside, but here on the Main Line that's practically a death wish.

Our gym is basically what I have always been as an athlete-it has a lot of heart, some grit, it just barely gets the job done. But it has no flash, no genius, no self-awareness.

It has all the technological advances and charming decor of your basic prison camp. It is roughly the size and shape of your average cereal box, and not the good kind. The generic brand your mom tries to convince you is just as good, but you know, YOU KNOW, that it will never be as good.
Due to the absence of any sort of diversion in the form of multimedia (read: no TVs, magazines from 1994) I must grimly gaze ahead at the austere, mile high letters of BRYN MAWR ATHLETICS. I know, I know, now you know where I "go" to "school." So, a warning, in the immortal words of Ms. Jeannie Butler. "Excuse me. If whoever's in the house is still in the house, I'd like you to know that I have just called the police. If you have any brains whatsoever, you'll get your ass out of my house real quick. I'd also like to add that I have my father's gun, and a scorching case of herpes."

So, this is what I do, and this is the challenge I present to you, all 5 of my loyal readers: I MAKE WORDS OUT OF THESE WORDS. I have about twenty, twenty-five so far. How many can you make?

Here is the best song to work out to, EVER.

And here is a little pop confection I CANNOT GET OUT MY HEAD.




My irrational excitement and happiness at this trailer is why I will permanently remain thirteen years old, and incapable of the levels of cynicism and snobbery to which I aspire:

Damn you JK Rowling, damn you!

I may not like your excessive use of adverbs and ridiculous syntax, but goddamn do I respect you.



The best thing for being sad," replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, "is to learn something. That's the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then — to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting.
- T. H. White, The Sword in the Stone



Some words and pictures to illustrate that:

a. Dreams are semi-attainable. b. Spring and the civil war are pleasurably nostalgic triggers. c. College is for friends and road trips, not grammar. d. Ambivalence.

Some men are born mediocre, some men achieve mediocrity, and some men have mediocrity thrust upon them.-Catch-22

Reporter: Who would play you in a movie?
Andy Warhol: Well, I guess Edie would. She's like me, but better than me at everything I do.

Here is a lesson in creative writing. First rule: Do not use semicolons. They are transvestite hermaphrodites representing absolutely nothing. All they do is show you've been to college. -Kurt Vonnegut

Had I so interfered in behalf of the rich, the powerful, the intelligent, the so-called great, or in behalf of any of their friends, either father, mother, brother, sister, wife, or children, or any of that class, and suffered and sacrificed what I have in this interference, it would have been all right; and every man in this court would have deemed it an act worthy of reward rather than punishment. -John Brown



Sometimes life is disappointing. And you don't get the job you interviewed for. In light of that disappointment, and resolving not to surrender to whimpering and moaning under the covers, my new life dream is to become Edie Sedgewick, but with less heroin and co-dependency. My job plan involves losing twenty pounds, cutting my hair, and investing in false eyelashes and black eyeliner. Other options include becoming The Velvet Underground, just all of them. I think these are both reasonable and great plans. 


Hello campers. Today is a sunny day. I am going to get coffee and chocolate and toast for breakfast, and go to class and work. I am happy to be alive. Here are the first three paragraphs of the book I am reading for African lit. The Famished Road, by Ben Okri. It's awesome.

In the beginning there was a river. The river became a road and the road branched out to the whole world. And because the road was once a river it was always hungry.

In that land of beginnings spirits mingled with the unborn. We could assume numerous forms. Many of us were birds. We knew no boundaries. There was much feasting, playing, and sorrowing. We feasted much because of the beautiful terrors of eternity. We played much because we were free. And we sorrowed much because there were always those amongst us who had just returned from the world of the Living. They returned inconsolable for all the love they had left behind, all the suffering they hadn't redeemed, all that they hadn't understood, and for all that they had barely begun to learn before they were drawn back to the land of origins.

There was not one amongst us who looked forward to being born. We disliked the rigors of existence, the unfulfilled longings, the enshrined injustices of the world, the labyrinths of love, the ignorance of parents, the fact of dying, and the amazing indifference of the LIving in the midst of the simple beauties of the universe. We feared the heartlessness of human beings, all of whom are born blind, few of whom ever learn to see.

Now, for some lighter, fare, try this. I am super nostalgic for the seventies lately. It has something to do with my epic plans for after graduation, but more on that later.

God, I sweat those glasses.



I don't know whether this makes me feel warm and fuzzy or creeped out and cranky. Your thoughts, please.

Also, please refer yourself to my posts about the sound of music's undying charm and appeal and the venerable sexiness of mr. christopher plummer.



On this holiest of weekends, I thought I would share what I believe to be my ultimate reward should I ever reach heaven. Tom Petty, George Harrison,Eric Clapton, Neil Young, Roger McQuin, and Bob Dylan, all together. Thank you Jesus, Mohammed, and Buddha. Thank you universe.

Forever and ever amen.



Ok, so this is more about me than about you. I have an interview on Friday and need to pump myself up. So, here they are, my most admittedly lengthy and sentimental, but most stirring and non-generic (if you can dream it you can do it), non-inane (shoot for the moon, you'll land among the stars), and non-sappy (live, love, laugh) quotes of all time.

I'm tough, ambitious, and I know exactly what I want. If that makes me a bitch, ok.-Madonna

It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by the dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions and spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who, at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly; so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory or defeat.-Theodore Roosevelt

One isn't necessarily born with courage, but one is born with potential. Without courage, we cannot practice any other virtue with consistency. We can't be kind, true, merciful, generous, or honest.- Maya Angelou

This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap; the being a force of Nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.-George Bernard Shaw

For when you are feeling really down:

Tho' much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
-Lord Alfred Tennyson

And perhaps the best and most simple:

Never, ever, ever give up-Michael Scott



This is why, I hate bowling.

We could go bowling, or we could just hang ourselves.

And, germophobe's nightmare.



Don't see Adventureland, unless you want to become dangerously obsessed with:

a. Kristen Stewart. Yeah, blah, blah, blah, vampire chick-lit sucks (hah!) I don't care. After this movie, my feelings for her have gone from passing crush in Into the Wild to desperate love.

b. Pale Blue Eyes. The ultimate depressive love song. 

In other words, you should see Adventureland.



I joined twitter. I feel weird.

I used to hate the internet. I used to hate AIM. I used to hate facebook. I used to hate gmail. I used to hate blogs. I used to hate twitter for christ's sake. 

Now, it seems it's only a matter of time until I am saying things like epic fail, and for the win (ftw, for crying out loud), and devolving into goddamn cat talk.

Oh, god. I love big brother. 


Since I promised it a long time ago, and it has been appropriately rainy and misty, here is a poem for you. By Seamus Heaney, Irish poet guy. (More thoughts on Ireland.) I'm not really into nature poetry. But I like this one.

The Peninsula

When you have nothing more to say, just drive
For a day all round the peninsula.
The sky is tall as over a runway,
The land without marks, so you will not arrive

But pass through, though always skirting landfall.
At dusk, horizons drink down sea and hill,
The ploughed field swallows the whitewashed gable
And you're in the dark again. Now recall

The glazed foreshore and silhouetted log,
The rock where breakers shredded into rags,
The leggy birds stilted on their own legs,
Islands riding themselves out into the fog,

And drive back home, still with nothing to say
Except that now you will uncode all landscapes
By this: things founded clean on their own shapes,
Water and ground in their extremity.


Step into my web.

Walking barefoot in the mud during a thunderstorm when the sky is yellow and glowy. 

Going to the movies. I Love You, Man. Painfully awkward and hilarious, and the least misogynistic of recent guy-love Apatowish fare. (That is to say, the female characters are allowed to be somewhat funny and not stuck up.  Some of the time.) I just love going to the movies. I love previews. And whispering. I love the disenchanted teenagers that sell me popcorn. I love the brazen capitalism of it all. Hell yeah, America!

Grilled cheese with tomato.

Cleaning your room. Seriously. I just did this and my blues were instantly busted. Just don't become a junkie. It's a slippery slope, friends. You don't want to wind up clutching the lysol and muttering to yourself. 

I am not hugely into fashion, but this editorial in French Vogue is so wacked out I couldn't stop staring. It's so cute and weird and stuff.



Dude. I was completely taken in by gmail's april fool today, for about three seconds. I am generally way too sensitive for practical jokes, and scared of hurting people's feelings. But, I do love these: