Eat the Damn Cake

Another thing I don’t understand about women:

Expensive jewelry.

I know people are buying it and people are wearing it, because Tiffany is definitely still in business, and Zales, and Cartier, and all those places in the diamond district.

The other day, a friend and I went to see the Van Cleef and Arpels exhibit at the National Design Museum on the Upper East Side. The necklaces were so big, they looked like your head might snap off if you tried to wear them. Thick gold ropes implanted with rows of gigantic diamonds. The bigger the diamonds, the faker they looked to me. Also, they were ugly.

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There is a certain jogger in Riverside Park who I love. I have only seen her once, and it was only for a few seconds, but I love her anyway. She is wearing little shorts and a sports bra, and her belly is not flat. It’s not at all flat. Her thighs are not slender. Her arms are not taut and sinewy.

Want to hear something embarrassing?

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I feel weird. I haven’t written in a long time. Which doesn’t seem like me. The internet connection was horrible here:

And then I gave in and stared at the ocean instead of thinking about articles and book proposals and pitches.

We looked like this:

And also this:

Our feet looked like this:

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First we ate a lot of food.

Zachary’s pizza, in Berkeley.

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Post from Fraylie! I’m working on an article for Brazen Careerist right now about college and why it might not be a great idea, so this post works perfectly for me today. Plus, she calls academia “sexy,” which I kind of love:

Higher education has made a monster of itself. It’s lurking under your bed, in between your dress pants and behind your medicine cabinet.  Higher education is in there, rearranging your prescriptions.  It’s got your entire life savings held hostage in a snarling mouth, pennies and all.  And now it’s asking for your first-born child.

I am having second thoughts about graduate school.  Let me explain.

College was a gift. I received a merit scholarship, and my parents paid the remaining tuition in full.  While I was gallivanting through apple orchards, sticking my hands in hazardous photographic chemicals, reading essays by dead white men and learning to smoke Camel filters, the bills collected in a pile I could not fathom.  Between tuition, books, photographic supplies, food and rent (not to mention all of those weird fees for “activities” and “the president’s stable boy,”) my parents paid hundreds of thousands of dollars.  I cannot thank them enough.

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Our flight is delayed. We’re sitting in the airport in Columbus and it is raining. Cars slide around a curve in the road below. We have a layover in Detroit, on the way to San Francisco, and it looks like we might miss that plane and be stuck in Detroit. Which is not really the place I would choose to be stuck. But hey– it’s an adventure, right?

(Bear, being frustrated at the airport, and my terrible, terrible Dell laptop with the touchpad that is STILL not working. DELL– WHY?! ANSWER ME!!)

A woman nearby is talking in Hebrew on her phone. I am trying to remember the Hebrew I learned in college. I was never fluent. I understand these words: “this” and “they” and “want” and “house” and “I know.” I almost understand a lot more. I think that she is a realtor, because she says “two bedroom house” in English.

I am not actually bored. I’m just suspended.

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