elephants overhead

Recently, I got asked to move out of campus housing and into the greater wilds of New York City. After saying-- and genuinely meaning-- that I'd think about, it seems that the universe is speeding up the thinking process.

A raucously elephantine party in the apartment above mine last night (not to mention the late-night entrance of my own, mutinous suitemates) has me thinking a lot more about dorm life. For the most part, I have had ideal dorm-living experiences, but this year has been pretty... different. I have never before lived in a "party dorm," and apparently this one is just that Thursday through Saturday. Last night, after calling the RA on duty, public safety, and berating my suitemates, I realized that I will always be a hermit, the curmudgeon-y guy who wants his peace and quiet after 1am. And maybe the best thing for me (and the University's obnoxiously exuberant party-goers) is for me to vacate the premises and carve out a new life somewhere else.

updates from Mo-Hi

I haven't updated this thing in so long. And it's not for a lack of material; so much has happened in my romantic, academic, and a cappella lives that I could go on and on for days. Not to mention the incredible wealth of stuff happening in the world at large. And Columbia is up to its same old shenanigans again, with professors assigning exams and presentations within the first three weeks of classes. I've joined the hive again for one more year.

the week in news...

My ride! (via Flickr)

This has been quite the whirlwind week. For one, I have a(nother) job that'll last me well into the spring. I'm officially working at the Office of the Director of Graduate Studies. My interviewer told me that I can a) gchat and check Facebook if I ever have downtime (uh...) and b) that he is officially sanctioning-- indeed, welcoming-- any humming that may be a result of my proclivity to song. This job is perfect (although I must say that I was quite startled to have Facebook brought up so casually in a professional setting). I start on Monday.

In other news, I have a red, Ross brand hipster-mobile, name TBA (any suggestions?), birthday gifted by the wonderful Kate Lovely. I rode it around Astoria and found that there is nothing quite as exhilarating or terrifying as bicycling in New York City.

Also, did some community garden-ing this weekend with Kyle. The earth is an amazing home.

I feel really good about how things are going for me right now, in spite of how poor I am and how much work I need to do to be quite where I'd like in life. But finally, I feel like I'm making some progress.

Zsa Zsa Zsu

I feel as though something's happened to my motivation and my feistiness. Has becoming a member of a two-some made me both treacly and indolent? I guess we all expect relationships to enable a certain amount of sentimentality, but I'm beginning to feel as though the heady, almost hubristic confidence-- my response to harbored bitterness-- that got me into this great, healthy relationship has evaporated in some of this summer heat. The thing is, being in a stimulating relationship has offered me so much in the way of emotional well-being and, well, general happiness.

So what the EFF is going on?

For example, I was recently asked to write an article for the World Daily News' insert for prospective college students and their parents, an immense and unexpected honor, clearly. Long story short, it's not getting published because of word counts and blah dee blah Asad's an idiot. But worse than that is just how absurdly simplistic-- and almost formulaic-- the writing was. When I edited the piece, I felt as though I was reading the work of some simpleton 9th-grade writer. Yeah, it was that bad.

Perhaps I'm not responding well to no longer being a teen. Perhaps being 20 disagrees with the Peter Pan in me.

I need school to start. I need to be in New York. I need to again experience the terror and the thrill of the hand-to-mouth student experience. I want to smell the stale (central) air of an East Village thrift shop. I want to be and avert clichés. New Jersey is both under-stimulating and deeply uninspiring.

Where's the fuckin' zsa zsa zsu?

good design, good diction

something along the lines of what I'm going for.

- photo from JAK & JILL BLOG

I used to be someone who aspired to good design with a lot more fervor/passion. Sturdy things with functional beauty, clean lines and sweeping curves interested me. I even began to refashion my vocabulary; where a friend was once described as a deeply loyal and loving girl in search of a beau, she became a "veritable wellspring of love to be given." In an effort to keep words from getting in my way (and from sounding like Tim Gunn), I began to pare down. And I've seen this linguistic pruning begin to carry over into other aspects of my self-presentation. Blazers were replaced by cardigans, cotton traded for flannel-- sometimes at the most inappropriate of seasons (omg, am I turning into a hipster?). I've attributed all these design changes in my life--from my room, to my language, to my self-- to several things:

• Kyle. Someone simple, down-to-earth, interested in Coco Rocha only for the fact that she got on his model sister's nerves during Fall 05 Milan Fashion Week. His urban yogi aesthetic has, even in the short span of two months, had a lot of influence on my general self-presentation.
• The recession. Where I could once pretend I had money to spend on an outrageously priced sweater, I can no longer hide from the fact that I have bills to pay and long-term economic goals (god, I sound like an adul(l)t). For similar reasons of eschewing extravagance, the $10 words have also begun to go out the window (although that sentence may have contradicted this point).
• A general lack of design inspiration. Where am I going, what am I doing, aesthetically? A friend once told me I'd created a very strong and distinct self-mythology. Well where, praytell, is this Goosebumps choose-your-path tale going? Will I come out of the hauntingly hipster Columbia University with some of my preppiness intact, or am I destined to a becardiganed life forever?

I'd like to think that I'll reach an aesthetic middle ground, somewhere where I feel comfortable in both my plaid wool and my starched cotton. Until then, I'll keep pouring over Garance and JAK & JILL and hope that something, anything reaches out to me from this terrifyingly erratic aesthetic abyss.