Molly made sure to come back for Jazz Fest. Shes gained some weight, probably an inevitability considering her service stint in Idaho, home of high starch content and cold weather. Based on her description, Idaho is a godforsaken land where the only consolation lies in either calorie consumption or joining a militia. Shes gained some weight, but she wears it well.
Shes also mellowed out a bit. Her edges are not the only thing that has softened. Shes rapidly acquiring that slight grandmotherly twinkle that most of Sarahs college friends have. Which is a welcome change. Shes a nice person, undeserving of all the red-haired bitch comments. Mostly undeserving.
Shes been spending quite a bit of time with Sarah, her future Austin roommate, lounging on couches and discussing the finer points of sunburn care. (The two have settled on aloe as the best cure. Staunch traditionalists, both of them.)
They are both disappointed in the recent development that Sarahs mother will not be bankrolling a house in South Austin for them, but considering the nature of the promise, neither are willing to complain. Sarah feels somewhat betrayed after all, her mother has already taken her to Austin for a househunting expedition but shes aware that her beloved mother is a bit of a flake. And the best way to deal with a flake is to indulge their whims.
Since the start of the war in Iraq, my reading list has grown exponentially. The Agonist. Oxblog. Daily Kos. A hundred other newsblogs, each with their own necessary spin and angle on every daily happening, from the starvation of millions to the sullen aftereffects of a poorly-timed rainstorm. Its addictive, mainlining news like that. Ive cut back recently, preparing for the eventual day that I go cold turkey.
There are a few that I will continue to check. Salam Pax, for instance. The blogspotter known as Iranian Girl. Interesting people caught in interesting times, each caught with the need to tell. Lately my obsession is Isabella V., the self-named and self-indulgent Flight Risk. She claims to have sequestered a large sum of money from her moneyed parents and has run, to avoid, among other things, an arranged marriage. She tells solipsistic stories of growing up private school hell, crying at poems in bookstores, the attitude of cigar smokers. Ive never read any online diary so annoying and so absorbing.
If shes real, then I look forward to more stories from her pen. If shes fake, then the writer manipulating the levers behind the curtains has created a character with a recursive, real depth that I have never seen yet, and I eagerly await more stories from his or her pen.
Shes also mellowed out a bit. Her edges are not the only thing that has softened. Shes rapidly acquiring that slight grandmotherly twinkle that most of Sarahs college friends have. Which is a welcome change. Shes a nice person, undeserving of all the red-haired bitch comments. Mostly undeserving.
Shes been spending quite a bit of time with Sarah, her future Austin roommate, lounging on couches and discussing the finer points of sunburn care. (The two have settled on aloe as the best cure. Staunch traditionalists, both of them.)
They are both disappointed in the recent development that Sarahs mother will not be bankrolling a house in South Austin for them, but considering the nature of the promise, neither are willing to complain. Sarah feels somewhat betrayed after all, her mother has already taken her to Austin for a househunting expedition but shes aware that her beloved mother is a bit of a flake. And the best way to deal with a flake is to indulge their whims.
Since the start of the war in Iraq, my reading list has grown exponentially. The Agonist. Oxblog. Daily Kos. A hundred other newsblogs, each with their own necessary spin and angle on every daily happening, from the starvation of millions to the sullen aftereffects of a poorly-timed rainstorm. Its addictive, mainlining news like that. Ive cut back recently, preparing for the eventual day that I go cold turkey.
There are a few that I will continue to check. Salam Pax, for instance. The blogspotter known as Iranian Girl. Interesting people caught in interesting times, each caught with the need to tell. Lately my obsession is Isabella V., the self-named and self-indulgent Flight Risk. She claims to have sequestered a large sum of money from her moneyed parents and has run, to avoid, among other things, an arranged marriage. She tells solipsistic stories of growing up private school hell, crying at poems in bookstores, the attitude of cigar smokers. Ive never read any online diary so annoying and so absorbing.
If shes real, then I look forward to more stories from her pen. If shes fake, then the writer manipulating the levers behind the curtains has created a character with a recursive, real depth that I have never seen yet, and I eagerly await more stories from his or her pen.