a cream puff

A passage from Julio Cortazar's "Bestiary" leaps into my mind sometimes:

Rema's hands which made you want to cry and feel them on your head forever, a caress like death almost and pastries with vanilla cream, the two best things on earth

Lamont Café, the culinary provider of the undergrad library, serves a gargantuan cream puff. It’s as big as the palm of my hand and as thick as Mankiw's Principles of Economics. More cream than puff. All vanilla cream. As I squish into it, the heavy cream on my tongue reminds me of the caress of death, the tight embrace of homework, the noose of an impending all-nighter.

A cream puff will do just as good as a madeleine. Off to Lamont I go, in search of a cream puff and lost time.

i live in a zoo

I was walking back to my dorm from class today, and per usual, there was a large group elderly tourists congregated outside my entryway. Except this time, the tour guide had the gumption to stand on the very steps of my door, effectively blocking anyone from going in or out.

I made my way to the steps politely as possible, displacing the tourists from my path. Then the tour guide said, "This is the second female we've seen entering the building. We saw a male earlier, so the males and females live together. "

Am I an exhibit at the zoo? Species: homo harvardius, subspecies: Hollisian?

The visitors need to go away.

the internet is a strange loop

I am taking a seminar about the Internet.

I am writing a blog about a seminar about the Internet.

I am conducting research about blogs about classes about the Internet.

I am writing about conducting research about blogs about classes about the Internet.

The Internet is a strange loop.

a general observation

Acceptance into one of the most prestigious universities in the world grants you, out of all things, rejection.

Everything is a competition here and not everyone can win.

Harry Potter and...what?

I must have stooped to the lowest of the low today. Typed the following in my Google search box:

harry potter sparknotes

Why, you ask, would I do something as ignominious as defile the runaway phenomenon of modern publishing? Because, dear readers, I don't remember a stinking thing from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. Not even who the Half Blood Prince is. But unfortunately my Sparknoting plan was foiled because Sparknotes was only caught up to Harry Potter 4. I had to resort to Wikipedia.

As I skimmed through the plot overview, I couldn't help but be very confused: Who's Rufus Scrimgeour? Ginny and Harry kissed? Really? Ron and Hermione are going out? The Horcrux was fake? Snape was the Defense of the Dark Arts teacher? Did I even read this book?

The unfortunate answer is yes, thus demonstrating my extraordinary capacity to read a lot and remember little. This is a very useless life skill.

All this memory refreshing is expressly for the purpose of Harry Potter 7 in less than 6 hours. Obviously, my Harry Potter interest has waned since the days I awaited my Hogwarts letter, but some nostalgia draws me toward it. After all, it is the last Harry Potter.