Bernadette! (Or, Jessi Tires of the Post-Secondary Life.)
My Photo-Hungry Darlings,
Alas! I have been giggling and screaming intermittently ever since that dread brochure made its impish presence known!
Ohio is repressive and damning as always, and has now grown quite cold!
As a matter of course, I am composing (largely for my own wholly sentimental purposes) the final entry in my "Jessi-Sits-On-the-5th-Floor-of-Baker-Systems-And-Burns-Required-Listening-Albums" journal of ethnomusicological glory. My OSU course has drawn to a close on this chilly eve, and I languished quite miserably in the classroom some fourteen minutes after the bell, only to sigh, resign myself to some horrible grade, and scrawl "Dear Professor Shank--I shan't be able to finish this and so I shan't. Isn't this archaic of me?" I had one paragraph about Tupac, and I didn't mention the Black Panthers, and I didn't mention a single of his songs. And my Janis-Joplin-NWA-Cultural-Contexts-v.-Individual-Desires essay was quite shoddy, as well. And I worked in a paragraph (required) about some song of Sufjan's (!!!) as the epitome of the current state of American culture. I also made up a title for a Janis Joplin song and wrote about the wrong backing band. And confused the Four Tops with the Temptations. And then, I rambled on to my professor for some minutes with my hands in my hair, staring at the wall, and only realized some ten minutes later that I am unable to hold coherent face-to-face conversation. So long, glory of Bob Dylan. I shall go and perish on some forbidden quad, thinking always of Brookings.
And I decided, midway through this 2nd copy of my blues album,
that I really don't care all that much for Motown, and am not willing
to walk all the way back to the library to burn myself a replacement.
Goodbye, tire-chain on "Dancin' in the Streets."
Adieu to you, Fats Domino and "Bernadette!"
So long, Ohio State, So long!
(But I received a letter from Reed today.
A secretive, exciting, high-holy letter from the
One Man Who May Change My Destiny!
So everything is really far more wondrous than failing grades on gangsta rap exams would suggest!)
Is all well out there?
Are we to begin a countdown?
Should we all hold our breaths until the last applications are complete,
and then revel in the new bursts of nostalgia that seize us in our downtime?
Think on it!
And I miss you all veddyveddy immensely.
I'm off to say goodbye to the library.
Lovelovelove & Midwestern Sensibilities,
Your Un-cultured Culture Critic.
Alas! I have been giggling and screaming intermittently ever since that dread brochure made its impish presence known!
Ohio is repressive and damning as always, and has now grown quite cold!
As a matter of course, I am composing (largely for my own wholly sentimental purposes) the final entry in my "Jessi-Sits-On-the-5th-Floor-of-Baker-Systems-And-Burns-Required-Listening-Albums" journal of ethnomusicological glory. My OSU course has drawn to a close on this chilly eve, and I languished quite miserably in the classroom some fourteen minutes after the bell, only to sigh, resign myself to some horrible grade, and scrawl "Dear Professor Shank--I shan't be able to finish this and so I shan't. Isn't this archaic of me?" I had one paragraph about Tupac, and I didn't mention the Black Panthers, and I didn't mention a single of his songs. And my Janis-Joplin-NWA-Cultural-Contexts-v.-Individual-Desires essay was quite shoddy, as well. And I worked in a paragraph (required) about some song of Sufjan's (!!!) as the epitome of the current state of American culture. I also made up a title for a Janis Joplin song and wrote about the wrong backing band. And confused the Four Tops with the Temptations. And then, I rambled on to my professor for some minutes with my hands in my hair, staring at the wall, and only realized some ten minutes later that I am unable to hold coherent face-to-face conversation. So long, glory of Bob Dylan. I shall go and perish on some forbidden quad, thinking always of Brookings.
And I decided, midway through this 2nd copy of my blues album,
that I really don't care all that much for Motown, and am not willing
to walk all the way back to the library to burn myself a replacement.
Goodbye, tire-chain on "Dancin' in the Streets."
Adieu to you, Fats Domino and "Bernadette!"
So long, Ohio State, So long!
(But I received a letter from Reed today.
A secretive, exciting, high-holy letter from the
One Man Who May Change My Destiny!
So everything is really far more wondrous than failing grades on gangsta rap exams would suggest!)
Is all well out there?
Are we to begin a countdown?
Should we all hold our breaths until the last applications are complete,
and then revel in the new bursts of nostalgia that seize us in our downtime?
Think on it!
And I miss you all veddyveddy immensely.
I'm off to say goodbye to the library.
Lovelovelove & Midwestern Sensibilities,
Your Un-cultured Culture Critic.
posted by goodbye, goodbye at 3:07 PM
5 Comments:
early early acceptance from reed? should i be congratulating you?
oh, and jake, if you read this- did you apply to deep springs?
oh man, if everyone congregates at mich again, im going to MAKE my grandma let me go. seriously. even though i havent (don't kill me) sent out my app to them yet...
No congratulations required!
Though the thought makes me greatly excited, Reed is kind, but not so kind. It was just something Rather Exciting and wholly secretive which seems to indicate that the folks at the admissions office are good friends of mine. Reed is impossibly wonderful.
I must go swoon and continue blaspheming political science.
ahh josh i swear ill get off my lazy bum and apply eventually. before the deadline. in a more organized fashion than my application to tasp. blraouisdhKASHja!!
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