derby love

I went to the Brown Derbies Second Annual Best Family Weekend Concert Ever tonight. I always forget how much I like a cappella. It's like watching Glee happen in real life.

Lex: Girl, I've been in love with you ever since you first beat me at beer pong. When you sunk that last shot, I thought, damn, I've got to get a piece of that. And when you beat me two more times, in a row, and made me question my masculinity, well, I had to have you anyways. So this song is dedicated to you.



(Start that 45 seconds in or something)

Val, this kid is a catch.
Those two are great and I don't care who knows it.

Love always,
Clara

the eight crazy strangers: number two

This one, I met on the metro, and I don't think he was exactly trying to pick me up, like the last one was. Regardless, he qualifies as a crazy stranger.

This man sat down next to me on the red line and immediately struck up conversation. Metro people do this sometimes. I find it a little weird (I find that in most circumstances I am more than happy to sit quietly and listen to "Sparks Fly" on repeat until I arrive at my destination), but to each their own. I'm also really bad at not engaging in conversation. Call it my fatal flaw. Whatever.

So he sat down and asked me where I was headed. This, I think, was the only thing he said in the ten minutes or so that we spoke that made any sense. I told him I was meeting a friend for dinner, and asked him the same.

Man: I was gonna play pool with my friend. But I want to go to church. So I was going to meet this friend, and I'm taking the metro to get to his place, and he tells me he's already left. Where're you getting off?
Me: Um... Dupont Circle.
Man: Me too! I have to get off at Dupont Circle so I can walk back to my house, and it's going to take me half an hour, and I already don't have time to go to church!

I should add that this was not a sunday and he never elaborated on why he wanted to go to church so badly.

I asked him why he couldn't just take the metro back to his house (seeing as he had chosen to take the metro from his house to his friend's). He said that the walk back was really short.

Me: So... why don't you get off before Dupont, and then you won't have as far to walk?
Man: Because my friend lives around Dupont, but he's not even there anymore!
Me: Exactly!
Man: Oh man, I don't even have time to go to church. I just want to play pool and go to church.

This crazy stranger wasn't trying to get into my pants I don't think. He was just crazy.

John: Clara, do you think he might have been... on drugs?
Me: Oh! Maybe.

That is in fact a distinct possibility.

Love always,
Clara

the eight crazy strangers: number one

I've referenced the eight crazy strangers, and I've committed to writing about them, but I'm still trying to figure out how to string them into a narrative that makes any sense.

The thing is, when I got to DC, I'd pretty much just left Italy, where the men are affectionate, to say the least. My roommates and I even talked about what a let down it would be when we got back to the states where strangers didn't call us beautiful every single day.

Harassment is harassment, but I'm not going to say it doesn't feel kind of awesome to have a complete stranger on the street say that you are "fantastic"

Complete stranger: [stops his car in front of me] You are fantastic.

That happened.

So, given that context, I may have taken these events in stride more than one ought to. But for the month of August, the men of Washington DC were more like the men of Bologna than I had ever known them to be.

Introduction concluded, let us begin. I was working, as you may or may not know, in an office in DC for the month, doing intern things (or non-things, as the case may be). Because I am not the social-est of butterflies, I tended to get lunch by myself and read a book or something. My preferred lunch spot was a little while away, and on the way there, I walked by a lot of those buildings with the shiny windows.

Does anyone have the ability to walk by those without subtly checking oneself out? I can't help it. I just want to know if my skirt still looks okay. I'm still a little bit uncomfortable in business casual! A lot of people interpret it as arrogance, or crippling insecurity, or whatever, but when I see a moving shiny thing that looks like me, I want to look at it.
So I'm checking myself out in the shiny window building when a man stops me.

Man: Hi, I don't usually do this, but you're very beautiful. Do you want to get drinks sometime?
Me: Oh! Thanks! Um... actually I don't have a fake ID. Thanks though!

And I flit on my way.

I feel like I said that just to make him feel uncomfortable about asking someone underage out. That's totally my prerogative, right?
Right.

Love always,
Clara

look out, world!!!

I'm going to start cat calling men.

Why? Because I can. Not because I want to bang them or go on dates with them or whatever, but because I kind of think it's hilarious and flattering to be cat called and men need to get this experience as well.
Isn't that their goal when they do it? To give me a hilarious and flattering experience?

Anyway, I'm going to start off campus, I think, so that I don't get a reputation as "that crazy girl who keeps sexually harassing strangers." I mean, maybe that will be inevitable, but I want to give my fun new experiment a test run beforehand.

The eight crazy strangers of August '11 inspired me, to be honest. When I write about them (inevitably), you'll see how truly flattered/pleased/etc I felt after all of these experiences. They were just so friendly! They totally validated my existence as a woman! (If one is not attracting strangers on a daily basis, one is failing.)

So, guys of the Providence area, you should start looking nice. If you don't, I won't cat call you, and then you won't be worth anything.

Love always,
Clara

P.S. Mom, I'm being sarcastic. Except I'm really going to do it because I think it will be funny and interesting.

not naked

In the following dialogue, consider the fact that the italicized words were shouted out the window to our downstairs roommates.

Erika: Guys! Come up! We're naked!
Me: That's not true!
Erika: I guess I shouldn't say that out the window. We're fully clothed!
Me: Yeah!
Erika: We're actually wearing nun's habits! 

Tonight is Erika's birthday and we're having a grand old time. Get ready for stories. Last night I talked to a Canadian about women's rights in France and tried to scale a wall.

I am going to miss Bologna so much.

Love always,
Clara

show and tell

Sometimes I get excited that I'm somewhat able to communicate in italian. Then I remember that my abilities are about on par with your average first grader.
Your average first grader who has some very particular language-related learning deficits such as a spontaneous inability to conjugate.

Today we were hanging out with our language partners (some wonderful Italians from the University of Bologna). This point was abundantly clear.

Lusine: Ho comprato un grande limone! [I bought a big lemon!]
Marco: And?
Lusine: That's it!

Our stories have the sophistication of a show-and-tell in elementary school. "Um... my favorite movie is Elf... it is very funnier... yeah... I love Elf."

Ich liebe Bus*, basically.

Love always,
Clara

*If that didn't make sense to you, roll with it, because it's sort of an inside joke that I have with myself regarding my own inability to speak German when I was fifteen. Literally translated, it means "I love bus."

bologna!

I'm here! I'm so excited!

(That is the sort of thing that might sound cliche on another blog, but anyone who knows me knows that I am just as likely to say it out loud, making it authentic.)

Bologna! Woohoo!

I got in yesterday around six and embarrassed myself thoroughly, several times. I even dragged my suitcase up two flights of stairs into the wrong apartment building. Turns out, the third floor of that building was a hospital, and the workers pinned me as another utterly hopeless American. (On second thought, I might have needed medical attention after all. That suitcase is heavy.)
At that point, my ego had been so destroyed that nothing stopped me from doing the following.

Me: (Knocks on random door)
Man: Si?
Me: Do you speak English?
Man: Yes.
Me: Can you tell me where I am?

That is the realest of real conversations.

I did eventually get here though, thank goodness. The bunch of us went out to dinner with our language-partners, where they taught us to order pasta. I've learned all I need to know.

Love always,
Clara

stefan loves me.

Don't let him tell you otherwise.

I came back from lunch today and decided I'd stop in to see how he was doing. Sometimes it's fun to surprise people when they least expect to see you, and his door was open. It struck me, today, for whatever reason, that the best way to make an impression would be to hide behind his doorframe until the right moment struck, and then jump into his room in a burst so that he would never see me coming.

The moment struck. I jumped.

Me: [jumps into the room]
Stefan: [blinks] I'm just going to keep scratching my butt.
Me: That was exactly as satisfying as a conversation with you. I'm going to go now.
Stefan: Good.

I hope he doesn't mind me saying that he scratched his butt right in front of me on the internet, but it happened and I am a knight of truth. Kierkegaard never talked about that kind, but Kierkegaard never knew any bloggers either, so that's probably why.

Love always,
Clara

glitter

Andrew: Today my mother sent me a picture of my cat's paw.
Me: I saw my dog on skype today. I win.
Andrew: I saw both of my cats in person today.
Me: Oh.
Andrew: Never try to defeat me.

Mother, please step it up. Andrew is winning. Also, Mother, if you're reading this, please skip the rest.

I came home two nights ago covered in glitter and lube, and I am going to tell you why.

Friday night was a relatively chill night from the start in Keeney. We decided that classy cocktails would be a fun thing to make, so we spent a solid amount of time hanging out in Scott's newly half-empty room (Ken, we all miss you terribly). Slowly people worked their way down to play Beirut, listen to music, and generally do whatever it is that we do on a Friday.

However, this Friday was unusual in that there seemed to be a circle of people in their underwear on the quad. Nicole and I had decided to investigate, but she got wrapped into a game, so I boldly adventured out on my own.

Me: Hello! What is going on!

It was at that point that I realized the two guys approaching me were also covered in glitter and paint. They explained that it was a birthday party for their friend who had lived in Keeney for two years in a row. They also explained that they were open to welcoming new paint-party-goers. They were out of paint it appeared, but had ample glitter.
The glitter was sustained in some kind of gooey substance, a fact I discovered when someone smeared it on my arm. I discovered that it was lube much later on, once there was no turning back.

I convinced the others to come out with me, before going upstairs myself to shower. At around that time, some Zetes showed up, people got naked, and DPS made an appearance. I'd say it was the most quintessentially weird college experience I've had all year.
I hope next year has as many of these moments.

Love always,
Clara

the brown university mens social society

Also known as BUMSS. Also known as AEPi. Also known as the story how I may have broken my toe.

The formal was last night. I ran into Lucas in the morning and he was acting fishy.

Lucas: Hey Clara, excited for tonight?
Me: Yeah. You should come!
Lucas: Nah. Do you know the rules?
Me: What rules?
Lucas: We're not a frat, and it's not a formal. The venue thinks we're a men's charity society.
Me: Right. Cool.

Apparently the mill (an historic landmark) doesn't host fraternity events, so the boys had to get creative. It wasn't a lie so much as a half-truth anyway. They definitely do charity work, and they are indeed a social society of sorts, if you're flexible.
It counts.

The formal itself was a ton of fun. All of the classes had to sing their serenades (Friday, Girlfriend, Party in the USA) while the dates watched in a mix of shock, glee, and horror. I did my share of peoplewatching (which you must know by now is one of my favorite activities). It was all a marvelous time.

Then Benny and Alissa and John and I watched Silence of the Lambs.
Because that makes a lot of sense.

On the way out though (taxi back to the frat house, frat to keeney), I tripped on some steps outside. Take that not as an indication of any inebriation (blasphemy!) but an inevitable consequence of the two facts that I was wearing heels and those particular steps had basically zero friction. I had to pretend I was okay, because the only thing more embarrassing than falling down the steps is falling down the steps and actually hurting yourself, but now my pinkie toe is still swollen and possibly broken.

Not so good.

Anyone who saw me limping down Wriston this morning (high-tailing it to an ultimately useless review session at the cruel hour of 11 AM) should know that I was fighting through the pain.

Love always,
Clara

P.S. This has been a rambly post. Look at how much I care.

my next tweet

In 1989, Robert Provine* determined that people are thirty times more likely to laugh in a social situation than alone (indicating that laughter may primarily be a form of communication).
With that in mind, consider the fact that I just laughed out loud, alone in my room, at this website. Several times.

What it does, it appears, is take snippets of your old tweets and paste them together into new tweets. It's an enlightening process.

"You see my kids will find one of your sex playlist, he had to... pour water all of people explode!"

See? So now we're going to play a game, and no cheating is allowed. This game is called "Guess which tweets are made up and which tweets are real." I'm taking away any quotation marks because those are like hints.

1. April sunset over Val really? You're like fucking classy ass ketchup website...
2. Moleskin was the rabbit? it was awesome. i tell everyone about feudalism.
3. And when I say bottle of course i mean lesbian sex tape.
4. Oh yeah one of the aliens started petting billy
5. I dance like fight club?! I'm all kinds of class happening here. I love keeney!
6. AAAAH got em. trying to rape small children with that i'm coming at you. Run!
7. I'm all day. Why stop now?
8. I buttered no one. val needed to season no sex.
9. Wow we have to live with zapped hippocampi sucked at dinner. We so that's not in the library.
10. Is it... space cooties?
11. I'm going to start a masquerade. I've made this weekend. Hope you're one to a relaxing nature cd!
12. Everyone got so much. Prepositions are gross generalizations. all before and willing. For pizza.
13. I love dystopian novels! ... My boobs feel hot.
14. Hot afternoon sun, I buttered no santa claus in music! see? yep, none. yeah, well acquainted with that!
15. Living the life. Rockstar lifestyle. White chocolate bread pudding. This is a vignette.

Five of those were real. I'm of the opinion that all of them were hilarious. It must say something about the absurdity of college that any of these exist.

Love always,
Clara

*For some reason, Robert Provine's wikipedia page only exists in spanish. Google translate does a pretty good job sorting it out though. Anyway, that is neither here nor there.

jo's run

If you needed to know anything more about that awful Friday song, here's an analysis that would have gotten an A in my MCM class last semester (except that it completely neglects Freud, and no analysis is complete without Freud.)

Last night I went to Jo's with Hannah and Andrew. They had tater tots at Jo's last night, which was new. There was also a new guy behind the counter. I don't know his name, but if he works at Jo's, he might as well be Jo (there is no real Jo except Josiah Carburry, who was once a professor of psychoceramics.)

Henceforth, I will call him Jo.

Jo: We have tater tots tonight! It's a middle school flashback!
Me: Nice!
Jo: There was always that one really mean lunch lady. Or! Oh! Every school had one of these! The lunch lady with a really big butt!
Me: I don't remember seeing any of our lunch ladies' butts.
Jo: Well, you could tell from the front.
Me: I don't think I even saw their hips. I think it was obstructed... by... the food? The barrier thing?

I have forgotten crucial details of the Potomac lunch room format. Can you see the servers' hips? I don't remember this. All I remember is that guy with the hat, and that we would always refer to all of it as "SAGE Dining Services". There was no nickname for SAGE Dining Services. The term was typically used with derision, as I recall. I don't know. I didn't often eat the food that was prepared daily. I spent a year eating apples, and another year eating fruit salad and m&m cookies, and none of those things involved much interaction with anyone involved in the process.

Hannah: I'm going to get tater tots, because they're new and exciting. I like new and exciting things.
Jo: You're gonna love me then!

Jo is most certainly new and exciting.

On the way out, we went to Little Jo's so that I might buy some Fig Newtons (Whole Foods is so far away. I have not gone in ages. I keep meaning to but what a time commitment, you know?). Hannah encountered a friend of hers to whom she has been trying to introduce me. The first time he stumbled by our lunch table, I was meticulously eating all of the blue M&Ms out of my cup so that only leaf colors would be left. Such an activity, as you may or may not know, can engross me completely, and of course it did in this circumstance.
This was our second meeting. I emerged from the little store as they were talking, and opened the bag I had bought of chocolate covered peanut+pretzel+raisin+awesome.

I did offer him one.

Love always,
Clara

imperial battleship, halt the flow of time!

you might notice there are no flyers for upcoming parties on this board.

It's 50 degrees and sunny. It is time to officially congratulate myself for surviving my first New England winter. It was not nearly as bad as my father had led me to believe.

Although, Providence is much milder than Williamstown, as I understand it. He also spent one of his new england winters hiking around in the wilderness. I spent most of mine indoors as much as possible. There was the occasional instance of walking across the main green and wanting to cry because the wind was so sharp, but that really only happened a couple times, and snow is so lovely anyway.

That said, I'm done with snow, for a little while. Spring is here and no one can try to tell me otherwise.

Last night, we tried to go to a party hosted by the half-Asian club (I did not know this was a real thing). We walked halfway to Whole Foods trying to get to the damn house, and when we got there, they turned us around because they said it was too crowded. I think the real problem was that we turned up in a mob of like, 30 people whom we'd collected on the way. Some of those stuck around even after we were no longer useful to them (I was under the impression that I was the only one who knew where Angell street was and how house numbers worked. They probably could have found their own way, but in my mind I was fearless leader, both Lewis and Clark, and also Columbus, not quite landing in India). I'm not sure why that happened.

On the way, I stopped traffic.

Me: Imperial battleship, halt the flow of time!


I shouted this while extending my hand to the car. There was also a red light, but I'd like to think time stopped at my command.

In retrospect, I do actually believe that the party was pretty crowded. It seemed to be the only thing going on last night. I stand here, then, to make a request of my fellow undergraduates:
Please throw more parties, so that everyone doesn't end up in one place. That would be great.

That is all.

Love always,
Clara

fortune cookies

Last night a few of us went to Shanghai for dinner. Stefan is allowed to eat more than rabbit food again, so he wanted to take advantage of his resumed dietary freedom. I was just in the mood for pad thai and social activity.

I had a ton of fun with the chopsticks. Moments like this remind me that I'm secretly (or not so secretly) basically five years old. I grabbed John's straw with my chopsticks and giggled for probably five minutes straight. It was not appropriate behavior for the dinner table.

At the end of the night, they brought out fortune cookies with the receipt. Mine said, "It is a nice day" with two smiley faces.

That was probably the most awesome thing that happened all day yesterday. I was so excited. I'd already been in one of those dreamy nothing-is-real-but-everything-is-lovely moods (I had, that afternoon, declared with perhaps undue passion that I love oranges), and the fortune cookie just confirmed my feelings about the day.

Hannah got one that said "Accept the next proposition you receive." She gave it to Stefan so that he could use it to pick up chicks. I'm not sure that it worked. I'm actually fairly certain that either it didn't work, or he never tried. For the record, I would respect him more if he tried and failed than if he forgot about the whole thing. Doing that kind of thing in public is what makes the world an interesting place. If one girl came home last night and said to her roommate, "a guy tried to pick me up with a fortune cookie," the sun will shine just a little brighter tomorrow.

I'm all about absurdity.

John had left to go to an orchestra concert. I took the fortune cookie that was meant to be his. It said "Your charming smile is attracting everyone around you." I'm trying to decide whether I can claim that one. I did eat the cookie, and I'd like to think it suits me at least because I'd been spaced out and smiling all day, but it was intended for John, and far be it from me to assert that his smile isn't charming.

I'd just like to think I'm attracting people.

I think I'll keep it. Both fortunes are in my wallet at the moment, so there's that.

Does anyone know fortune cookie protocol?

Love always,

Clara

i literally have everyone at this starbucks convinced that i'm high

That wasn't really my goal, but here we are.
I just took my first exam of the semester. I hope it went well. It was one of those test that really could go either way, and I'm just hoping that Festa doesn't mind that I don't know the four weaknesses of the diagram makers.

I have about ten minutes before my next class, so here I am at starbucks.

Me: What is your most caffeinated tea?
Starbucks guy: Either Awake or Zen.
Me: Okay, of those, which is the tastiest?
Starbucks guy: Well Zen is a green tea, so if you're into that, I'd go for Zen.
Me: Oh wow! Super!

I got my tea. It's still too hot, so I don't know whether it's really ast tasty as he says. I was standing at the coffee-additions-table (is there a word for this table? I've always known it as the lace where one doctors one's coffee.) and apparently I was blocking a woman's access to the milk.

Woman: Oh, can I...?
Me: Oh! Yeah! Sorry. Sure. Go for it. I'm like, not even in the real world right now. I'm just, you know, looking at my tea. Yeah. Um. Thank you?

Again with the words just tumbling out of my mouth before I can fully process them. These ones didn't even make sense. At least the icelandic soup comment was somewhat on topic.

Love always,
Clara

it's exactly what it sounds like

There is a website detailing how to have sex with a dolphin.

I don't know how we discovered this tonight, but we did.

Valerie: I don't want this on my search history!

Ken is applying to be a Meikeljohn, which is a word made up by people at Brown to describe an academic peer advisor. He took this site to be a sort of inspiration.

Ken: Why do you want to be a Meikeljohn? I would like to help the freshmen adjust to college life... and interspecies sex. No, I want the title because it will help me pick up dolphins.

It turns out that you should never try to orally pleasure a dolphin, because it can literally blow your head off with dolphin-ejaculate. I hope that this is the last time I ever have to type (or you ever have to read) the words "dolphin ejaculate."

Oh wait, there I go again.

Anyway, if a dolphin ever propositions you (because, according to this website, they do ask for it), definitely avoid that option.

I get the feeling this is going to be one of those posts that gets hits based on very weird google searches.

Love always,

Clara

speed dating

Last night, I speed dated.

That's what they call it when you take a lot of speed, and then go on a date, right?

That was a bad joke and also representative of most of the jokes that were made last night about speed dating. Speed dating itself was a bit of a joke. I found it funny, anyways.

My first date was Benny, who serenaded me. He set the bar pretty high for the other dates, I must say. It's hard to top a serenade date. The best part was that the song was completely original.

I later met a kid named Dylan.

Dylan: Hi, I'm Dylan.

Me: Hi, I'm Clara

Dylan: Like the girl in The Nutcracker?

Me: Yeah!

Dylan: Have you defeated any mouse kings lately?

Me: Not for a little while. They crop up now and then though. I have to stay on my game around the holidays.

He later got my number (I do not know how to not give someone my number). I received this text later in the night:

Dylan
Nutcracker girl...dont fight too many mouse kings without me x Dylan

I wasn't sure how to respond to that. Points for making me giggle though.

There was no set rotation of dates, so the girls just sat still while the guys got up and chose new girls to speedily date. I was sitting next to Val, and we talked about how horrible this was, because it was just like a middle school dance.

Me: What was your least favorite thing about middle school?

Date: Well... I didn't really have any friends... People kind of sucked... I guess that would be it. The social situation.

I immediately regretted asking this question. Clearly I had brought up a somewhat sore topic.

Verdict on speed dating: I had a laugh. Do people do this in real life? Is this a real thing?

Love always,

Clara

somewhat deranged

First of all, you all need to watch this:

I always make fun of AOL's content (because my mom gets a surprising amount of her fluff-type news there), but this is genius.

Anyway. Moving on.

Last night may go down in history as the night it was established that every man has his price, and mine is 500 monopoly dollars.

Monopoly is my new second favorite board game. Scrabble is the first.

Life has been chaos lately, which is why I've been somewhat absent.

Me: This is something I think I got from my mom. Whenever a bad thing or at least an unforeseen thing happens, I start going through all the great other things that might also happen. I think it's a good thing, but also kind of deranged. This also describes my mother.

Hi mom!

Love always,

Clara

new friends

Yet again. I think every relocation I've made this year could be described as "going home."

I packed today. It was easier this time around. I have a vague idea now of what I actually wear. I don't know why this was such a mystery to me before.

Tonight we went out. I was more punctual than the rest of those hooligans. Which meant I was standing at the treftpunkt by myself for a bit. I made some new friends.

Guy: *German*

Me: Oh, I speak english...

Guy: Oh! Where are you from?

Me: Um, America

Guy: What are you doing here?

Me: I'm meeting friends. I think they're coming in on the S7. They should be here any minute...

Guy: Girl friends?

Me: Mostly guys.

Guy: You're a blondie. I like blondies. I'm a black man.

Me: I see.

Guy: My name is Prince.

Me: It's nice to meet you.

The bit about blondies is 100% direct transcription of what he said. That was in no way paraphrased or reworked for shock value.

Then a friend of his, Ashley, turned up, and she seemed pretty cool, and I was in a public place, so I felt less sketched out about the whole thing. Although I did give Kyle the "Hi I'm at treftpunkt making new friends where the hell are you?" phone call.

Ashley was quite nice. She'd gotten her hair done that day, and she had this curled mohawk situation going on, and the sides were buzzed. She had designs on each side. One side had swirls and one had a picture of a cat. I am not even joking.

I love meeting new people and having new experiences.

Tomorrow I will fly back to Providence and see my wonderful college friends and this will be great.

Love always,

Clara

kill marry screw: concert edition

Kill: The director of Amtrak, the engineers behind MBTA, and anyone else responsible for making train travel in this country such a shitshow.

Marry: Sufjan Stevens. I'm in love.

Screw: That guy who was sitting a couple rows behind us, in the denim jacket.

Sufjan Stevens concert last night blew my mind. It was incredible. I had several epiphanies. One of the songs was said to be 23 minutes long, and it wasn't boring. He played new things that I didn't really expect to like, and I liked them. He played old things that were just amazing in general.

Getting there was a mess. The concert was supposed to start at 7:30, so John and I decided to catch the 6:00 commuter rail into Boston, which was supposed to arrive at a little after 7. Then we'd have a little while to take the T to the Orpheum in a leisurely fashion.

The thing about trains, though, is that they never ever run on time in this country.

It's actually ridiculous. Our train didn't leave until 6:30ish, and they didn't give us any indication of when we'd be arriving. They just kept saying, "We'll get moving as soon as we can. Sorry for the delay" in their crackly loudspeaker voices.

It turns out, there was an Amtrak train in front of us which had technical difficulties, so rather than, I don't know, have some kind of backup plan, they just made us sit there until they figured the Amtrak issues out.

Well, excuse me, but I don't think this is acceptable.

People take trains so that they can get places. Usually if there's somewhere I need to be, I need to be there before a particular time. I expect trains to deliver me to that place at or before that time.

It really inspires this indignation in me. It's this "No, we all deserve better than this" feeling. Why haven't there been riots? Why hasn't there been legislation? Why isn't it illegal to make a train more than 15 minutes late without refunds for everyone's tickets?

Why hasn't anyone done anything about this?

I was telling John all of these angry thoughts while we were on said train, and for a second I thought, "Clara, you should be quiet and stop sounding so entitled."

But that's ridiculous! We're all entitled to trains that run on time! That should be the expectation! We are entitled to reasonable expectations!

John: We need someone like Mussolini.

Me: Yeah. But... I don't know. Let's just get someone like Mussolini in charge of Amtrak and nothing else. That would work.

When Daph came to visit her train was absurdly late as well. Like, an hour and a half late. She was almost late to the class she was going to. No refunds were offered. The apologies, I would bet, were halfhearted at best.

That would not fly in Switzerland.

It's ironic, too. Americans have this reputation for being go-go-go all the time. We don't like to sit in restaurants for a long time. We're a little more frenzied than people in other countries. And yet we have this lackadaisical train ethic. It's incongruous with the rest of our lives.

If I had been going to Boston just for the hell of it, I'd have been annoyed but not enraged. But I had places to be, and so did everyone else on that train.

Anyway. Moving on.

The concert was amazing. We didn't get there until almost eight, but it turns out there was an opener (we were pretty sure there wouldn't be one) so we didn't miss anything important. Sufjan made it all very personal; even though we were on the balcony I felt like he was talking to me. The whole thing was more of a mixed-media experience than a concert in itself. There were trippy projections on the walls. There was a fifteen minute montage about the life of a schizophrenic artist-prophet in Alabama (or something). There was dancing.

Sufjan: So this song is about being in love, feeling empty inside, working it out inside, going to therapy, working it out outside, working it out in the world... It's like I'm the patient, and you are my therapists... except I charged you money.

He played Chicago toward the end. It was incredible. There were balloons. I had an epiphany about the state of my life and the sources of my angst and the fact that I should really just listen to more Sufjan Stevens.

Good good good night.

(Besides those fucking trains)

Love always,

Clara