Sunday, July 27, 2014
When I'm sitting in the park
on my lunch break, savoring the brief half hour reprieve I am allowed, I do not want to talk to you, random middle-aged man. Calling me "cutie" will get you nowhere. Even if I had all the time in the world, not just my precious thirty minutes, I wouldn't care to discuss with you what book I am currently reading. It's no business of yours what I'm reading. It's no business of yours that I'm wearing shorts and sitting in the sun. When I tell you I don't want to talk to you, you have no right to call me uptight. I do not owe you my time or attention simply because you are a man and you called me cute. I don't care what you think of me. But your entitled attitude, which allows you to view me as uptight because I exercise my power of choice as a human being and refuse to smile at you, is disgusting. I wouldn't be surprised if no one's ever called you cute.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Tonight I saw
Phox perform at The Knitting Factory in Brooklyn. They were so wonderful and pretty much slayed me. Listen to their glorious lil record
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_iBMo50iWQ&list=PLb6vGG30WV_GtnJkP8DLrOyuJUVTb-hhu
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_iBMo50iWQ&list=PLb6vGG30WV_GtnJkP8DLrOyuJUVTb-hhu
Sunday, July 20, 2014
IS THAT YOUR FINAL ANSWER?!?
to life's persistent
questions
V noir
private eye
Sometimes
you move to a non-"hip" part of Brooklyn, farther away from school than any of your friends or good acquaintances, because you aren't as pretentious or financially stable as social stereotypes and media would like everyone to believe. But by God you're going to be much better read than any of them when you die.
Dad
My dad's a professor, and he's currently doing a project where he researches priests who still perform exorcisms in the 21st century. He's in Italy right now at the Piazza Verdi (i.e. Gieuseppi Verdi) in Bologna which is apparently UB’s equivalent of Washington Square at my school. They have this "ritual abuse," as dad calls it, of students receiving their Ph.D. degree where they wear a laurel wreath and dress (or cross-dress or partially dress or don't dress at all) with a ribbon of a different color depending on the field you’re in (white for humanities, red for medicine, etc.). The grad is accompanied through the streets by a rowdy group of friends chanting "Dottore, Dottore!" while they all get wasted. lawl how very college of them
Sunday, July 13, 2014
haha oh my old blog from high school
This was some time during my junior year of high school and mainly from when I was doing a project for my creative writing class (though there also seems to be some old poems... ha.) and interviewing random strangers in my favorite coffee shop in Del Mar. Which has since closed. Dedicated to the wonderful memory of Pannikin.
http://vanessacj.wordpress.com/
http://vanessacj.wordpress.com/
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