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(05/24/17 6:15am)
Latika Sridhar ’16 came back this weekend for Green Key and performed with her band, Half the City. This past fall, she had a cameo role in my play “The Game,” where she played The Kid Who Lives in the Fieldhouse. Her speaking voice is just as musical as her singing one. Here is her character’s monologue:
(05/17/17 6:25am)
Ironically enough, I woke up this morning and pulled a Velma. You know that moment in every “Scooby Doo” episode when Velma loses her glasses and feels around for them on the ground? That was me.
(05/10/17 6:25am)
Hello! I’ve been thinking a lot about power on this campus over the past two days, in the midst of all this local election mishegas. I think there are a variety of tactics to take down institutions of power: We can talk back to them, yell at them, meet with them in an instance of “civil discourse.” We can ignore them. Maybe in our absence they’ll shrivel away.
(05/03/17 6:30am)
In my last column, I talked a bit about how I am comfortable moving forward in my life as a writer of fiction; the fact that our attachment to feeling is stronger than our attachment to fact comforts me. Fictions have repercussions in the “real world”: we do not traffic in lies but in the space between thought and action. In the academy, there is a lot of prestige put on analysis, and a little on creation. The work of interpretation is creative to be sure, but only within certain bounds. At some point, I stop caring about the role fiction plays in our everyday, about hermeneutics versus erotics versus authorial intent. At some point, I just want to write it.
(04/26/17 6:15am)
A book: We read “The Lifespan of a Fact” by John D’Agata and Jim Fingal, in which D’Agata plows through with his writing in disdain of Fingal, the fact checker he’s been assigned. (The book is essentially one long argument between the two.) D’Agata argues that an essay is not necessarily a nonfiction form. He bends the facts of a particular suicide — that of Levi Presley in 2002 — to make a larger point about suicide and stimulation in Las Vegas. Okay. So he bends some facts to make this point, but if making the point requires the bending of facts, can the point exist at all? In other words, is it still a Truth if it is built out of many little approximate-truths (or truth-adjacent statements)? I think about this a fair amount in terms of my own writing.
(04/19/17 6:10am)
The theme for this week’s issue is conformity, and I feel like I don’t have much to say on the matter — or that everything I would have to say has been said already, or better, by everyone else. (Ha!) So, instead, here’s a piece I’m working on for my writing class. It’s about the Green. At first I thought I’d tie it to conformity by going the etymological route — maybe conformity and comfort have the same etymological roots?
(04/12/17 6:10am)
Revolution. We deal, again, with a word that has multiple meanings.
(04/05/17 5:40am)
I’m lost, a little, as to where I should start.
(03/29/17 6:09am)
I’ve just received 12 teeth from a friend of mine. I needed one or two to use as props, then it came up in casual conversation that this friend never lost any of her baby teeth, that she had to go to the dentist to get them all pulled, and that she still had them in her posession. Most of them still have the roots attached.
(03/07/17 7:05am)
Vox clamantis in deserto. I thought about writing of how much sleep I got this week with my roommates away. I dared to imagine what living without them would do for my health. How many lost hours of sleep would be recovered? But I remembered joy, which I say (romantically, naively) cannot be quantified (I remember cortisol and serotonin and hold back). I dismiss the idea.
(03/01/17 7:20am)
Hello! Welcome to week eight. (Nine? Eight. Nine?)
(02/22/17 7:10am)
In my geography class, we learn that geologists use golden spikes to demarcate the beginning of a new geologic epoch. This is not metaphorical — they literally drive golden spikes into the rock.
(02/15/17 7:05am)
The book of love is long and boring / No one can lift the damn thing / It’s full of charts and facts and figures / And instructions for dancing / But I, I love it when you read to me / And you, you can read me anything.
(02/08/17 7:05am)
In religion classes we learn that calling something magic is a way to delegitimize it. If what’s happening here is religion (holy, legitimate), what’s happening there is magic (profane, illegitimate).
(01/31/17 7:15am)
What is the shape of your woe? What is the container that holds it?
(01/25/17 7:15am)
“When you make someone laugh they are on your side for a second.” —Guerrilla Girls
(01/17/17 7:25am)
Maybe you just caught me on an off day, maybe it’s the stagnancy of winter or the dread of the impending inauguration, but it’s time to write about travel and the dull ache in my chest has returned.
(01/11/17 10:00am)
This episode of “Two Indians and a Jew” opens with a pan. We see the room, light streaming in from the east-facing windows. Morning sounds carry up from Mass Row, this is prime eavesdropping territory. By the door is a black and white glossy poster of One Direction. Kayuri is a “Directioner.” I remember her saying this early on in our friendship. One of the first text conversations we had, in the summer of 2013 before we even moved in, was about our music tastes. I’m sure I brought it up and I’m sure I was posturing. Kayuri wrote that she loves One Direction, and I remember staring at my phone wondering why she was admitting this. Why wasn’t she posturing? Surely she was aware this was uncool and therefore unacceptable to admit so early on in the relationship.
(01/04/17 6:36am)
We return from a winter hiatus to catch up with the women of North Mass 310. Kayuri is in Warsaw, Poland, Corinne is in South Bend, Indiana and I am in New Rochelle, New York. Tasked with writing a column about friendship, but having nothing particularly new to say about it, I present to you the season finale of “Two Indians and a Jew,” the fictional sitcom about our own friendship. All text in italics is drawn verbatim from our group iMessage. All other text is subject to poetic liberties.
(11/09/16 6:21am)
It’s the night before the election, and beauty lies in timing. I have never voted in a presidential race before, and there is little more satisfying than standing in a place of blamelessness.