"In this country American means white. Everybody else has to hyphenate."
(Source: jumpstart-therevolution, via catladysoul)
[2,615 notes]
5:44 a.m.
I just outlined seven essays about global health and health interventions and none of them mention sleep oh the irony.
[0 notes]
I have this tendency to pick up book suggestions from people I sit next to on airplanes. I don’t know if it’s the dim golden light or the air from 30,000 feet up, but there’s something instinctively romantic about fellow passengers who, even for the briefest of time, travel parallel journeys from twin departure points to twin destinations. I always end up wanting to cling to them a bit longer, someone who is treading the very same path as I am at the very moment I am, who knows a tiny slice of my life that no one else, apart from us, has experienced.
Murakami I was introduced to some time around 2007, on the flight back from Beijing International Airport to Newark Liberty by a curly brown-haired twenty-something who looked a lot like the more attractive member in Flight of the Concords. He was reading the Elephant Vanishes through his trendy glasses in a tenebrous cabin so very suitable for the reading of Murakami. I read my first on a white-linened hotel bed in Canada, my second on a pool float in Pennsylvania. Each time I remembered him, remembered the excitement of flying, of going, and going, and going.
[3 notes]
Decisions, decisions
Choosing between hopping on the plane to Argentina with my two best friends, learning how to tango, and exploring the nightlife of Buenos Aires or working (and drinking) Mad Men-style at a cool advertising agency in Philadelphia.
It’s nice to have these choices, but feeling a bit like Sophie here.
[1 note]
4:43 a.m. and halfway through my paper is not a good time to start a Party Down marathon, is it?
(yes, it is)
[1 note]
It’s not so often that you’re in the presence of pure, unadulterated privilege. It is when you’re hanging out on a rooftop bar with the members of the Hah-vahd Final Club boys. Chatted up a boy who happened to belong to the same chapter as T.S. Eliot and Bill Gates. This city indeed boasts a handful of characters, but at the end of the night, they all end up in New York for a party, not the other way around.
