howard hughes

"you are a movie star. nothing more."

rose water riddle

one of the more unique hours of my life:

yesterday william and i were at the rotch library (architecture and planning) at mit. first of all, let me express how great this library is. it has beautiful teakwood tables, amazing architecture compendia, and a massive bust of michaelangelo's david.
william and i were studying - i was also intermittently reading spaces with water, volume 4. for a short study break we looked at a girl's photos on facebook. she is a supercute girl in currier with whom william was semi-involved in the past. a short woman sitting at the computer next to us looked over inquiringly and i explained to her: "his ex-girlfriend (not entirely true). and that's her new boyfriend." she laughed compassionately. bill went back to studying and i started talking with her. her name is leena and she encouraged us to study hard for our mcats, in part because she had gotten her MD and knew how hard it was (out here for a pimp). but she isn't a practicing physician. instead, she decided to be a writer. she has four books, one and a half of which are published. the first was a (published) book of poetry named rose water riddle, the second was a lyrical novel, the third a collection of short stories, and the fourth (almost published) a kind of melange. she took a unique route to becoming an MD and an even more unique route afterwards.
she grew up in suburban virginia as the child of pakistani immigrants. her last name, kizilbash, derives from the name of the murderous shiite militant group that helped to establish iran as a shiite nation (and essentially, forge a persian identity). after going to college and medical school, she finished an internship, some residency, and some fellowship in boston before deciding to take a break from medicine to write. she alternates between short spells of medical consulting and short spells of writing. her psychiatric training reflects itself in some (but not all) of her writing. she's a unique woman who has traveled and seen much, and i wish i could do her more justice.

Night Swim

Thirst of an ocean
Seabed of salt

Anchorless desire

Mapping her horizons
With his hand creases
Measurements of dark
Coal feeds the fire
Water burn

Part of her hip
Night swim.

check out what i learned

un
duex
trois
quatre
cinq
six
sept
huit
neuf
dix

adventures await.

kings of leon - red morning light

"you know you could've been a wonder..."

wedding season

etta james - at last

rio, ba

"But the address, if it ever existed, never was sent, which made me sad, there was so much I wanted to write her: that I'd sold two stories, had read where the Trawlers were countersuing for divorce, was moving out of the brownstone because it was haunted. But mostly, I wanted to tell her about the cat. I had kept my promise; I had found him. It took weeks of after-work roaming through those Spanish Harlem streets, and there were many false alarms - flashes of tiger-striped fur that, upon inspection, were not him. But one day, one cold sunshiny Sunday winter afternoon, it was. Flanked by potted plants and framed by clean lace curtains, he was seated in the window of a warm-looking room: I wondered what his name was, for I was certain he had one now, certain he'd arrived somewhere he belonged. African hut or whatever, I hope Holly has, too."

shaw's is for peasants

here's a little story that needs to be heard.
i was in the supermarket. (word rick?) word.

anyways i was in shaw's/star market with my homeboys krish and willywerb. everything was going well - i found the small bottles of perrier i was after, among other necessities like smoked salmon, paper towels, and cheeze. i went to the register to ring up the food.

actually i don't feel like retelling this story because it's too painful. here it is in a nutshell: SOME MOTHERFUCKER TOOK MY WALLET!!! i put it down as i looked over the receipt that the excruciatingly incompetent cashier had given me. we left the shaw's, and right as i hopped into krish's car i realized that i didn't have it on me. i said "shit hell ass" and ran back but it was GONE and the dirty hispanic couple in line behind me claimed they never saw it. HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?!?!? shit.

a hilarious detail about the couple: the dude was a fat oldish guy who was wearing, of all things, a terry tate t-shirt.

by the grace of god alone i have my credit card with me because i put it in my back pocket after i got the receipt. thank fuck. that and i have my harvard id. so i guess all they'll get is phone numbers of cute girls and drug dealers written on restaurant business cards. and 53 dolares and my beloved wallet. it was a brown kenneth cole with a money clip. normally i wouldn't really mind but it was a gift from my mother, who is a big fan of kenneth cole.

sigh.

banlieue 13

watch this movie.



you will be amazed. for real? for real.

advance!

royal geographical society

"we didn't care about countries, did we. brits, arabs, hungarians, germans. none of that mattered, did it. it was something finer than that."

agreed.