— (via dylanludwig)
Persepolis, Marjane Satrapi
This isn’t even a real book. It’s a graphic novel. But it did two things for me:
—Taught me more about Iranian history
—Made me feel inadequate for not being a fucking badass twelve-year-old like Satrapi (holding imaginary conversations with Marx and God, smuggling contraband posters from Turkey, going to Holland solo as a preteen)
2. The Importance of Being Earnest, Oscar Wilde
This is also not a real book! It’s a short play. But holy hell, this play packs a sneering critique of gender roles, class structure, and “family values” into three hilarious scenes. I loved it.
3. Unbroken, Laura Hillenbrand
This is the only real book, and, of course, I haven’t finished it. It’s about the Japanese capture of a former Olympic runner and his struggle to survive. Usually I really hate nationalistic, band-of-brothers-black-hawk-down literature, because I think it tends to demonize the other side while ignoring the atrocities that America has committed/is committing.
But, God. If you didn’t already feel queasy about Japan’s prime minister visiting the Yasukuni Shrine, this will do it for you. It’s horrifying.
It also has some nice runner inspiration porn in it. When you feel like shit, running can turn you into a fucking invincible god.
Add me on Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/7342325-yelena. Do it. Do it.
— Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest
Oh God it’s finally over. Here’re some things that happened.
1. I went to a physical therapist for my traitorous asshole knee, which is up to its old tricks. I got groped for an hour (the most action I’ve had in a long time) and the doctor determined that my quads are overcompensating for my glutes, which have comparatively less muscle.
I could have told you that. My ass is useless and gelatinous, like a lava lamp.
2. I had a really good talk with B, whose future is so bright it literally hurts my eyes, and makes me do the hyperventilating-mouse sob. But not in front of her! Not yet.
3. I saw Madeline Albright yesterday. She is so articulate and blunt and funny. Hopefully a photo is forthcoming (her publicist has to release them).
4. Ahhhghh Beijing in a week ahghhhh I don’t have anything ready whatever
Here’s my dilemma. I really want to like this dress.
The problem is that I’m so damn tall. When I bend over, the hem is literally 2.5 centimeters away from my crotch:
You see that awkward pose I’m pulling in my profile picture? I do that in literally every dress I put on because I tend to drop shit a lot, so I have to bend over a lot and suddenly BOOM the ass/crotch is making a public appearance.
My asshole lazy knee has kept me from running for 2 weeks.
I’ve been riding the goddamn bike at the gym and it’s just, like,
Biking is for geriatrics. I hate it so much, especially when it’s inside.
But today my idiot knee was strong enough to use the elliptical!!! The elliptical is the poor man’s run, but it felt so much better than sitting in a pool of my own sweat on the stationary bike.
I am icing and kissing my knee right now. praise st. roch, patron saint of knees.
Last year at this time, I was driving around my tiny college town in circles, listening to “Call Me Maybe” on repeat. I am going to say with as little shame as I can muster that that song defined me for that last bit of finals. I was courting/being courted by someone, and feeling really confused about that because basically I was a physical, emotional, and professional mess. I didn’t have any real plans for that summer, I looked a damn mess because I wasn’t taking care of myself, and I was seriously fucking up my econ grade.
She was going to an Ivy League math summer school.
I will never understand what she saw in me. She was probably just curious and then decided to be curious for 8 months. That is how liberal arts students are. We’re curious.
I started crying at church today because a friend of mine is graduating. The girl I was dating for awhile is graduating too.
I can’t bear to say good-bye, ever. I have a really obnoxious crying voice. When I cry I sound like a helium-filled mouse who’s being waterboarded.
But this summer, I will go to Shanghai Pride and sing “Call Me Maybe” for her.
Where you think you’re going, baby?