Creativity is great, but plagiarism is faster

After an unintentional sabbatical from blogging, I'm back--in a big way. Anyone who bothers to read this has become familiar with my tendency to ignore it for long periods of time; for that I apologize. Much has been happening since I last posted anything. So much that I'm just going to skim the flurry of activity with snippets of my life, postcards from the last few months.




Who Doesn't Like Bullet Points?

• Paul Simon: the english language doesn't contain enough superlatives to describe the better half of S & G. I grew up listening to their music, but I've never taken the time to listen to his solo work. Now that I have, I feel like some curious void I never knew has been filled.

• Spring Break: nothing glamorous, hedonistic, or expensive. Emma came to visit from Annapolis, and the two of us--the only two on break--proceeded to live out of my car for a week, touring LA and the surrounding area, visiting ID friends. We also went sailing one cold, but not particularily windy afternoon. We're clearly photogenic types.

• LSAT Prep: I've finally given in to the dark side. Although I'd like to go to grad school for writing, I've become attracted to internation law/international relations, amping up my interest in law school. As a result, I'm studying for the LSAT, which, on my idea of fun scale, is somewhere between a paper cut and third degree burns.

• Of course, I'd never let something like that interfere with my writing. I recently completed a story about Shanghai: Where There's Smoke, There's Mortality

Here's a brief excerpt:

The rusted boat’s railings were adorned with musical shapes: violins, eighth-notes, treble clefs, key signatures—it would have been a party liner, full of mirth and dancing. Its passengers lonely expats and wealthy locals cruising up and down the Huangpu, worries jettisoned into the muddy water while the city sweltered in the stifling heat of summer.
Drunk with affluence, they would've danced—fast, slow, wobbly—until the waiters were empty and the glasses had gone to bed and the moon didn't stagger in the water. Restless and hung-over the next morning, they'd argue over foreign wars and swap celebrity gossip. The night would come all too slowly. And they would dance again, sharing the touch of a partner. Touch held them together, forced them to see their being—laughing, dancing, breathing…
But it was rusting and they were dead.

• Cello: a friend has a cello here at school. For awhile now, I've been toying with the idea of picking it up again, but I don't have my cello down here. Anyway, I was at his apartment, and played his. Everything came rushing back, and I realized that playing is a form of catharsis essential to balancing my hectic life at school. Now, I want to start playing again, and bring it back to school in the fall. The summer will tell if I can sustain the drive missing during my teen years.

My thoughts are scattered. There are too many stories to tell. I'll just have to be more diligent in updating this thing.