ruminations by starlight
This has probably been the most social ten days of my life. Met a group of freshmen, hung out and talked shop with a cabal of writers (I was right! Half my workshop is a secret society!), sang prayer songs with OCF, took pictures of Lisa and Jenna making costumes, was interviewed about marriage beliefs by Stephanie and Charlotte, went to a rambunctious but generally dull party (mostly people drinking until it was fun), paid Anna a surprise visit, discussed religion outside Stevie with Tom Gorlin, stayed up all night heckling bad TV with Eric...fuck, that was a long sentence, and a long week. Oh, and Will McCraw came by unexpectedly last night, and I had dinner with him at Lorenzo's. That was...random.
Feels like college, for the first time in never. It's strange hanging out with a bunch of Pabst-wielding students lounging on a couch in an orange-lit house on Union Street, and discussing trendy books and indie music and obscure celebrities in that gently condescending hipster voice, and realizing that these are the same weird and unexcitable and unnervingly relaxed big college people you were terrified of when you were little, while also realizing that you are one of them, and that maybe they feel the same way about you. This is the only time in my life I'll be able to feel this way, too--ten years down the line I'll be intimidated by their youth and their hipness, and feel old, even if I don't deserve to. But will I really be all that different a person by then?
Guy whose name I don't remember: I don't like music that you can put on a pedestal.
Me: So you're a hipster, then?
Guy: (pauses for three seconds) ...Fuck you.
The stars are out for the first time in ages--tonight I saw my old buddy Orion high above Mudd, sprawled across the western sky with all the other April constellations. Hi, Orion. I missed you.
Satellites, too--they twinkle a certain way that lets you know they aren't stars, but the glint of solar panels. And they're so big, creeping across the sky like beetles, that I half expect one to plunge to the earth in a trail of fire. And Venus--you wish you could see the stormclouds if you squinted hard enough, even though you know you can't. It just feels like they should be there.
Feels like college, for the first time in never. It's strange hanging out with a bunch of Pabst-wielding students lounging on a couch in an orange-lit house on Union Street, and discussing trendy books and indie music and obscure celebrities in that gently condescending hipster voice, and realizing that these are the same weird and unexcitable and unnervingly relaxed big college people you were terrified of when you were little, while also realizing that you are one of them, and that maybe they feel the same way about you. This is the only time in my life I'll be able to feel this way, too--ten years down the line I'll be intimidated by their youth and their hipness, and feel old, even if I don't deserve to. But will I really be all that different a person by then?
Guy whose name I don't remember: I don't like music that you can put on a pedestal.
Me: So you're a hipster, then?
Guy: (pauses for three seconds) ...Fuck you.
The stars are out for the first time in ages--tonight I saw my old buddy Orion high above Mudd, sprawled across the western sky with all the other April constellations. Hi, Orion. I missed you.
Satellites, too--they twinkle a certain way that lets you know they aren't stars, but the glint of solar panels. And they're so big, creeping across the sky like beetles, that I half expect one to plunge to the earth in a trail of fire. And Venus--you wish you could see the stormclouds if you squinted hard enough, even though you know you can't. It just feels like they should be there.