Happy Spring

Ah Spring, when a young woman's thoughts turn to sandals, the Enlightenment and the slave trade, and the impending exodus to Chicago.

If my last post left some of you in doubt as to my happiness with living in New York, never fear. This last month has been packed with fun little escapades. In an attempt to mix business with pleasure, my Moby-Dick class took in "Moby-Dick Rehearsed" the night it closed. We finished out the night, appropriately, at a bar on Water Street, the site of a tour I took last fall of Melville's New York. The play was jarring at first. It resisted the kind absorption that I usually look for in plays, but in way that was the point.

I went to see Patrick Wolf out in Greenpoint at Studio B which was on odd experience. Patrick Wolf is the kind of artist who's music makes one think he is more popular than he is. In my opinion he should be. But the venue was on the small side and the opening band was a three girl pseudo punk band that was so bad I was embarrassed for them. It was one of those moments where you understand certain prejudices about female bands and hate yourself for it. Patrick Wolf more than made up for it. Who knew the viola could be so sexy? He also had a violin and bass accompaniment that were astonishingly good. My unplayed violin has spent the last two weeks mocking me.

That was pretty much the end of my fun until mid-May. This week I will be putting the names of my professors into a hat to decide who's going to get the late paper this time around. And, yes, rather than nail biting my way through another summer here, I'm going to Chicago for two months. My lack of shame at going home to let my parents nurse me through the process of preparing me for exams should embarrass me. But I'm beyond any kind pretense towards absolute independence at this point.