Saturday, June 11, 2005

Back and blogging with a vengeance!

I apologize for the brief hiatus—I’d rather not explain. I’m not sure how much I’m going to be blogging or even online this summer, but we’ll see. I have a week and two days left of school (!!) which means I’m a busy bee: There’s a banquet for the Spectrum (school paper) on Tuesday, which might be the last time for a long time that I see some of the graduating newspaper folks like D. and J. and M. (I went to graduation and realized then, ironically, that I should have been really good friends with D.—we’re kindred spirits. But he’s going to Brandeis so at least I’ll probably see him once in a blue moon.)

Then, on Wednesday, there’s the first! meeting! ever! of 826 Boston, which will hopefully become a new chapter of the McSweeney’s super-fun writing- and tutoring-centers (remember when I wrote about the Superhero Supply Store?—that was 826NYC). I’m a bit apprehensive about this first meeting, as I’ll probably be the only high schooler there and the organizer is, intimidatingly, a Harvard grad student—but at the same time, I’m insanely excited about it. I’m going to be a part of something new and different and wild and E-D-U-C-A-T-I-O-N-A-L! So what, I like educational. Go ahead, laugh. It’s gonna be rad.

Then on Thursday and Friday, FINALS! Saturday, last day of volunteering at the hospital till next year. Monday and Tuesday, MORE FINALS! Then, freedom. Ten weeks of joy and exuberance. And hot hot heat.

I mean it. I’ve heard there are places more intensely hot than New England in the throes of summer (bad word choice?) but I am dubious about their existance. New England goes from being cold and raw (snow in May, eugh!) to two weeks of blissful spring, then two weeks of constant—unrelenting—rain, then the rain burns away and it’s summer with a vengeance. It’s been 95 degrees every day this past week, and glaringly sunny, and so humid you could take a shower just by walking outside. Steam curls up off the pavement in waves. Skin is constantly slick with sweat, hair curls from the wet air, my cheekbones sun-burn, and I start sleeping downstairs on the couch more often than in bed because the family room is the only room with an air conditioner. It’s so hot you have to walk around rubbing ice on yourself and you stop your constant imbibement of English Breakfast Tea. Your clothes start sticking to you seconds after you put them on.

Obviously, I love it.

Summer is the! best! season! ever! The running madly around, the no-school, the warm-to-the-bones feeling, the sun sinking into my skin and making my hair about a thousand degrees and giving it reddish-gold streaks, the books (the books!), the beaches, the spur-of-the-moments, the everything. I’m obsessed with summer. It’s here! It’s a New England summer!

This evening I decided to go on a walk with my dogs, sister, and mom, so I put on my sneaks (that’s T.C.-speak for sneakers, though I’d think that’s obvious, but I have received many a raised-eyebrow for this lingo) and grabbed some sustainance for the hike…by which I mean, of course: I got a glass, filled it with coffee and a handful of ice cubes, and piled into the car. So yeah, I hiked with my dogs while primly sipping on iced coffee—the best part is that neither my mom nor my sister even gave this a second glance. Ah me.

Should I get in shape this summer? I can’t decide. I don’t really like exercising, but it would be cool to be buff. (Very Sydney Bristow. Very Kill Bill.) And then if I ever got in like a tussle, I could totally take my arch-rival on. If I had an arch-rival. Hm, I have less that two weeks (!) to decide.

Oh and I started writing a book. I’m exactly nine Microsoft Word pages in and it’s called The Second Trial of James Rine. It’s epic and beautiful, and it is to contain—among many other things—a spell-binding mystery, a tumultuous love affair, a HERO, an arch-villain (but of course), a secret past, and a SPY. So what if nine pages isn’t much? So what if I’ve started millions of books and never gotten past 40 pages? So what if I have no idea where the plot’s going? So far it is great—okay, maybe not great, but at least fun to write.

Here are the first few paragraphs:
Though she sat near the back of the courtroom, Madeleine Hall could see that James Rine lacked the boyish smirk and soft cheeks that had been plastered all over the tabloids during his first trial, five years ago. She breathed a barely audible sigh of relief; she hated when criminals became poster-boys to the ignorant public. That was why Rine had been aquitted last time—because the New York Looking-Glass had taken him under its wing as a martyr to glorify; as a cause to champion; as a ploy to increase circulation.

But criminals like Rine weren’t very smart. After all, here he was again, after his free ride five years ago when he and everyone else knew he ought to have been put behind bars. He would still be in the penitentiary now, Madeleine thought, but here he is looking at all of us as if we are prisoners and he holds the keys.

Self-righteous bastard.

Madeleine Hall, top-notch reporter for the New York Fount, surreptitiously pulled a notebook and pen out of her purse. If some second-rate yellow-journalists at the Looking-Glass could keep Rine out of jail, she sure as hell could put him in.
Okay, it's bad, but whatever. The fact that my writing is strictly third-rate surprisingly does not bother me in the slightest--whatever makes me happy doesn't bother me. I’m off to go write and eat cake. Bye!

P.S. I'm listening to Rufus Wainwright's song "The Consort" on repeat--I like the idea of lovers taking over the world together.


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