I was procrastinating on a quiz site when I discovered this little gem. This must be Sophie’s Choice for certain of my friends:
17. The New Yorker is...
a. One of the most important magazines for writers of modern fiction and poetry
b. One of the most pretentious magazines for writers of modern fiction and poetry
But let’s instead consider procrastination via writing something else… a travelogue!
Let me alter a long monologue about my travels before it gets more boring, for me if not for you. At the present, I can barely stand recounting it again.
One of the people I met through Ranjan was another NYU student. I cannot stress enough how much he resembled Jayne Cobb. The good man looked like him, talked like him, and thought like him when it came to semi-drunkenly considering his relations with certain people and what he should be doing right now.
Jayne succeeded in completing my thought when I was considering whether we should go to the second-best falafel we could ever have in our lives (the first being closed for Shabat). Once we were there, and enjoying the utter deliciousness that is Paris, our group of ten moved on the gelatteria… without me. My two friends, who were the entire reason I came, missed me not at all. Twenty minutes later, I found the group wandering through a nearby street. Even after encountering them, the only sympathy I elicited was from Jayne and the two friends close to him (and offering him good advice to counter his Cobb-like tendencies). The three of them cooed appropriately (well, not Jayne, but the two women) when listening to my tragic story of being left behind. My two friends shrugged while apologizing for the mix-up. I was less than mollified at their sangfroid, and it drove home the entire point: while meeting (and hanging with) their friends, life was good, but between the two of them I was an outsider. They routinely finish each other’s sentences. Attempts at clever rejoinders are no match for a twin from another mother.
So while recovering from a viral infection diagnosed by my British GP, I decided to attend the
I had a fantastic time.
We actually spent more time touring medieval Brugge than we did
But to finish before I lose my inspiration (or rather, loosened tongue and lowered standards)…
I spent most of my time there in the company of three girls, one of whom I vaguely knew before. Besides the time spent staring at Hieronymus Bosch triptychs, the most enjoyable time I had was with them. We started with cavalier introductions halfway through barhopping, and ended the first night drunkenly pledging to hang out in the future. Little did we expect that in the course of an exceptional dinner (both in terms of taste and cost), we would be getting along marvelously and spent the rest of the trip as a quartet. The four of us went through late-night
We made cracks about each other, one of them resulting in a still life of a table with an empty wine glass, lipstick, chocolate, and more. Each of us was represented by an object; I ended up with the lipstick because they had convinced me the night previously to pose with a purse. Damnably amusing. Somehow we ended with a ferryboat confessional; on our way from