the female gaze

Look with your eyes, not with your hands.


Such a minute fraction of this life do we live: so much is sleep, tooth-brushing, waiting for mail, for metamorphosis, for those sudden moments of incandescence: unexpected, but once one knows them, one can live life in the light of their past and the hope of their future.



A grad student muses on her life, film, friends, politics, reality televizzle, and music.


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"The story of your life is not your life, it's your story" -- John Barth
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Thursday, November 21, 2002
 
I want a nightcap, where's the damn nyquil??

This has been such a slump of a stupid and unimportant week. My plan is to be in bed by 10, a reasonable goal at this point provided my laundry hurries up and dries, I proceed to throw an aesthetic pleasing lump of said clean clothes into my garmet bag, and get up early tomorrow to hit urban planning class and then lead my caravan down to NYC. Looking forward to Fordham as it provides the means and excuse to get away from this vacuum of energy and productive thought. This is a great crew to take - Dan and me and our four coolest and most promising novices, New York, blowin' the budget, eating well, hotels... so good times. Bringing my grad school stuff and inching my way closer to application essays, that's probably futile though, I never get anything done on these trips.

Still to be done - Oh, I need to make that hotel reservation - is a 4 star hotel in the South Bronx really that much to ask?? Sadly, it is. So we'll be doing it up stylin' in Yonkers after what will prove to be a gross display of debaters at the APDA meeting. If you don't know what I am talking about, consider yourself in the fortunate ignorant bliss sector of my readership. So we'll see, that's that... be back on Saturday night. Don't miss me, I haven't offered much to the human race this week.