When he tells me that he has a knife strapped to his leg, I feel the first part of fear—shock—fill in behind my temples. The conversation doesn’t go well after that. Continue reading
Like many unjustly marginal books, Helen DeWitt’s The Last Samurai is a novel that makes you want to proselytize. It makes you want to blog about it, laud it to your friends, brandish it in high-transit places in the hopes that another intrepid reader, impelled by the novel’s aura of genius, will come along and ask about it. Continue reading
Buried in Joan Didion’s homage to the Haight-Ashbury hippie culture of 1967, Slouching Towards Bethlehem, is a brief, almost throwaway reference to what Didion called “younger part-time, or ‘plastic,’ hippies.” Once amphetamines began to supersede acid and “grass”—the pillars on which the Haight culture Didion portrayed once stood—these ‘plastic’ hippies, who preferred the “illusions of action and power” supplied by the former, came to symbolize the “general deterioration of the scene.” Later in her essay, Didion describes a performance art Mime Troupe in blackface that handed out fliers announcing:
IF YOU DON’T KNOW, BY AUGUST HAIGHT STREET WILL BE A CEMETERY. Continue reading
the state of being full of life or vigor; liveliness.“they started talking with animation”
the technique of photographing successive drawings or positions of puppets or models to create an illusion of movement when the movie is shown as a sequence.
Renee Zhan is a senior concentrating in Visual and Environmental Studies. Her film Pidge (to be published in Part Two) was shown as part of the 2015 Telluride Film Festival.
I’m spending the summer after freshman year working in an old school surf shop in a small beach town in the South Bay, where I grew up. I work two days a week for minimum wage, and business varies— mostly slow in the afternoons, despite the droves of tourists who have discovered this idyllic pocket of suburban Los Angeles where my father, and his father, grew up. Continue reading
Originally posted on Feed Me Eat More :
Originally published on Put A Egg On It.
The term “salad days” is a little abstruse, but I have a feeling these are mine. It’s my first summer living on my own – my first time doing all of the things that the incubator-esque housing system at my college guards against (i.e. paying for food and rent). And it has been marked by a distinct lack of green, both vegetal and fiscal. In the weeks leading up to my aunt’s wedding in Chicago, I look forward to it as my opportunity to go unapologetically all-out – to glory in the family maxim that states that ordinary eating outside one’s native zip code is impossible.
For us, vacation eats are characterized by two forms of decadence: the Uber-fancy, and what my mom calls the “sick.” The former means maître d’s that probably object to whatever I chose to wear during the…
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