Party tricks

I want to memorize a poem. Maybe three poems.

Smelling the roses

These beauties have been brightening up my apartment since Saturday. Definitely a steal at $3.49.

Birretes y calabazas

I need a vacation. Not even one in which I do things or go anywhere. One in which nothing is supposed to happen. A vacation in which I am not called upon to plan or organize or be in any way responsible for any kind of accomplishment or logistic. One day on which I could wake up to sunlight instead of an alarm without feeling the crush of all the things I am meant to be doing for my own academic and professional good.

Falling asleep on the bus on the way home from class today I felt the slightest hint of wistfulness for my days of employment, during which I could come home and not be working.

I am looking forward to the Friday evening on which I dare to skip my Salsa dancing class in the name of sanity, or the week mid-October when I'll be through with my water class, at least. Or when my Spanish class will slow to half its current frantic pace. Only to be replaced by the endurance test that is applying to graduate school.

It's all so good, and yet there is just too much of it.

Literary afternoon

Walking the block of Webster just north of Mosswood park often reminds me of the lazy southern streets of Carson McCullers' Member of the Wedding, especially when I hear the occasional twang of a stray banjo string, like I did today. I always liked her.

The tallest and smallest

It would seem that the Tallest Man on Earth is playing at the Fillmore tomorrow night, and I believe I will try to see him. Would that the stars might align to make it possible.

I am listening to Shallow Grave again in preparation and am struck by how strongly I react to those songs even now. As I sing along to The Gardner, I can feel the muscles in my face tighten and release through the series of memories that have come since the first time I heard this record in a dark room in Escondido, its windows papered and taped to keep the light out. It's as if each of the cells in the bit of stuff beneath my skin are retracing all the stretching and contracting they have done from then until now, like a three minute dance.

I was feeling hesitant to go -- lest my concert-mate catch a glimpse of what-all this is humming from my nerve endings -- but, having given in it a few hours' consideration, I would like to go. I would like finally to see this Tallest Man for my own.

Were you aware of it? vol. 33: The end of history

"It's the World's Strongest, Most Expensive Beer -- Inside a Squirrel"
Our old buddies BrewDog have done it again. Not content with winning back the "strongest beer in the world" title last February with its Sink the Bismarck!, they've now upped their game with a new brew that is 55 percent alcohol by volume and carries a $765 price tag. It's called The End of History.

Oh, and did we mention that the bottles come in stuffed animals-like stuffed animals that were once alive? The 12 bottles have been made featuring seven dead stoats (a kind of weasel), four squirrels and one rabbit. James Watt, one of the two guys behind BrewDog, put it better than we ever could: "The impact of The End of History is a perfect conceptual marriage between taxidermy, art and craft brewing." Just like we've all been waiting for!

For those interested in the actual beer, it's a blond Belgian ale with touches of nettles and juniper berries -- and in order to achieve the brain-blasting alcohol content, it had to be created using extreme freezing techniques.

**courtesy of Asylum



<3 Scots

Estudiando español

Ahora cuando me hablo en mi apartamiento, en el invernadero, o mientras de andar en bicicleta, me hablo español. Creo que es una buena señal. Quisiera hablar español como una latinaamericana un día. De verdad. Esto es el comienzo. Puedo entender y puedo escribir, pero hablar... Pienso que tengo un oído para los idiomas -- ¿es posible de decirlo en español? -- pero puedo sentir la diferencia entre aprender un idioma el la escuela secundaria y aprender un idioma cuando tiene casi treinte años. Que me gusta aprender lenguas todavía.

Même en français, je crois que je parle comme une americaine. La forme de mes phrases trahissent toujours un cerveau qui pense en anglais. Mon accent et mon intonation pas résister. Je n'ai pas assez lu pour être une vrai française -- même si des français me demandent si je suis française. Si j'avais dit plus qu'un mot ou deux, ils ne l'auraient pas dire.

Agus tá mo chuid Gaeilge an-beagán.

Caravan Palace

Gypsy jazz + swing. I like.

Garble

It's either the last day before the onslaught, or one of the last days of the onslaught, or I suppose it could be an ordinary day mid-onslaught. In any case, I am busy. School starts tomorrow, and I'm already thinking of dropping classes. I am still working on this summer research project. I still need to apply to graduate school, and, before that, to research graduate schools to apply to. Next week will be all experiment harvest, all the time, followed by a whirlwind trip to Los Angeles for a wedding.

Have been keeping to myself with a cold this last week and some. Reading, reading and reading. Getting some things done. Feeling the dwindling of the piggy bank creeping up. Not really having enough time to think anything fully through. Still hearing good things about my performance from the lab folks, for which I am grateful.

My sister moved here yesterday, which is highly exciting. I just wish I wasn't so tired so I could revel in the excitement. It's been oddly quiet lately, partly à cause de la grippe, partly because summer is such a good time for getting away, mais tout le monde reviendra cette semaine des vaccances que je n'ai pas pu faire cette année, et c'est bien ça. En même temps, I'm feeling a hint nervous about it all -- surtout la retour du Canada de ce mec à qui Sarah m'a présenté. Pas de raison, mais le voilà. J'ai appris comment ne pas avoir besoin de rien. I really need to learn to speak better French.

I do like being busy and being productive, and I feel I've been both most of this summer, but nothing takes the place of a good mental holiday. Def missing that right now.

Oh my god.

Two things:
1. This three year old badass recites poetry better than most adults. Is this what it will take to get into college in the future? Thank god he's not applying to grad school this fall.
2. I really need to read more Billy Collins.