From: emmalammadingdong@gmail.com
To:smithholyoake.bryn@vassar.edu
Subject: Time Flies and other Local Fauna
Dear Bryn,
Greetings from the City! Just got my closet, aka room, set up to my liking. I've got two roommates this year, but I think I can handle it as long as I've got a space to retreat to. (My brother told me to invest in a coffin. I told him to go dip himself in glitter and crash a slumber party. I'm worried that he might take me seriously.)
I can't believe it's been a year since everything went crazy. I hope you and Annie haven't run into nearly as much trouble since. It's going to be a little scary, going to school without the Pages. Oh, sure, Juliet is just an hour away, Fantine is right in the city at Julliard (but swamped, absolutely swamped with classes), and Zoe is fanatical about videochatting (ever since somebody showed her how to use the computer, she's been a little obsessed), but it's not the same as passing notes to Julie in homeroom, or calling up Zoe and letting her navigate my latest hopeless crush, or Fantine...being Fantine all over the place. At least you had Annie when you started! I've just got my stupid brother and his stupid friends and his stupid crush of the moment and his stupid interdisciplinary major. (Urban studies? Concentration in folklore? Why did he need to go to college to study that? We live it!)
Gosh, I need to stop whining. Tell me about Vassar, Bryn! Is it still living up to expectations? Have you found Narnia in any of the wardrobes? Hogwarts? And what is the best fictional reality, and where do you think I can find it?
Just in case things get too overwhelming here.
Yrs,
Emma
***
Alternate realities start to look really good when you've caught your fifth roach of the day.
Especially when your roommate refuses to spray for bugs.
"That will just make them worse." Frieda scrunched up her nose in horror while examining the contents of a makeshift bug ambulance, "Subsequent generations grow immune to the poison, and six months from now we'll have a race of uberroaches partying in the bread drawer. Trust me."
Thing was, I did. Trust her, that is. Frieda was short and curvy with a razor-straight hipster haircut, black-framed glasses to match, and a wardrobe that spoke of better times in the past, when plaid roamed freely through the streets of New York and jeans were so tight you had to be zipped into them by a ladies' maid or underclassman. She had the slightly standdoffish air of a former misfit, but once we got into a conversation (usually about bugs, the weather, what kind of weather drives the bugs inside, or how much to tip the barista), she had this crazy archivist-mind thing going on. I'd swear up and down she knew everything in the wall of books that accompanied her to the University that I was too shy to ask to peruse.
Frieda and I were the first to arrive; our roommates were due in the early evening. Beyond our scintillating conversation, Frieda had worked steadily, unpacking boxes (mostly books) and hanging postcards (mostly foreign), along with a strange kung-fu movie poster with some white-haired girl whose eyes followed you around the room. I shuddered inwardly every time I passed it, but since she had turned a blind eye to my alphabetized spice rack, bowl of exotic fruits, and well-thumbed copy of the Veganomicon left wherever I had been browsing before remembering there were more important things on the to-do list, I said nothing.
"One more of us, right? Theodora from Chicago. I looked her up on the school network, she seems innocuous enough."
Innocuous was fine by me. After saving the world in just one summer, I was happy to retire to a future of term papers, activist rallies, and nights curled up with a good book and/or the internet for company.
"One of the neighbors is a cellist. She's brilliant." Frieda nudged a pair of non-existent glasses up her nose, looking confused for a moment before groping for the pair. "What is that thing with the tentacles your brother dropped off?"
"It's a Buddha lemon." I was happy to change the subject to something I was good at; I'll take cookery over socializing any day.
"It's kind of like a citrus fruit, and kind of like an elder god."
( Click the cut for more vegan cookery, crazy redheads, and just a little gheyCollapse )
To:smithholyoake.bryn@vassar.edu
Subject: Time Flies and other Local Fauna
Dear Bryn,
Greetings from the City! Just got my closet, aka room, set up to my liking. I've got two roommates this year, but I think I can handle it as long as I've got a space to retreat to. (My brother told me to invest in a coffin. I told him to go dip himself in glitter and crash a slumber party. I'm worried that he might take me seriously.)
I can't believe it's been a year since everything went crazy. I hope you and Annie haven't run into nearly as much trouble since. It's going to be a little scary, going to school without the Pages. Oh, sure, Juliet is just an hour away, Fantine is right in the city at Julliard (but swamped, absolutely swamped with classes), and Zoe is fanatical about videochatting (ever since somebody showed her how to use the computer, she's been a little obsessed), but it's not the same as passing notes to Julie in homeroom, or calling up Zoe and letting her navigate my latest hopeless crush, or Fantine...being Fantine all over the place. At least you had Annie when you started! I've just got my stupid brother and his stupid friends and his stupid crush of the moment and his stupid interdisciplinary major. (Urban studies? Concentration in folklore? Why did he need to go to college to study that? We live it!)
Gosh, I need to stop whining. Tell me about Vassar, Bryn! Is it still living up to expectations? Have you found Narnia in any of the wardrobes? Hogwarts? And what is the best fictional reality, and where do you think I can find it?
Just in case things get too overwhelming here.
Yrs,
Emma
***
Alternate realities start to look really good when you've caught your fifth roach of the day.
Especially when your roommate refuses to spray for bugs.
"That will just make them worse." Frieda scrunched up her nose in horror while examining the contents of a makeshift bug ambulance, "Subsequent generations grow immune to the poison, and six months from now we'll have a race of uberroaches partying in the bread drawer. Trust me."
Thing was, I did. Trust her, that is. Frieda was short and curvy with a razor-straight hipster haircut, black-framed glasses to match, and a wardrobe that spoke of better times in the past, when plaid roamed freely through the streets of New York and jeans were so tight you had to be zipped into them by a ladies' maid or underclassman. She had the slightly standdoffish air of a former misfit, but once we got into a conversation (usually about bugs, the weather, what kind of weather drives the bugs inside, or how much to tip the barista), she had this crazy archivist-mind thing going on. I'd swear up and down she knew everything in the wall of books that accompanied her to the University that I was too shy to ask to peruse.
Frieda and I were the first to arrive; our roommates were due in the early evening. Beyond our scintillating conversation, Frieda had worked steadily, unpacking boxes (mostly books) and hanging postcards (mostly foreign), along with a strange kung-fu movie poster with some white-haired girl whose eyes followed you around the room. I shuddered inwardly every time I passed it, but since she had turned a blind eye to my alphabetized spice rack, bowl of exotic fruits, and well-thumbed copy of the Veganomicon left wherever I had been browsing before remembering there were more important things on the to-do list, I said nothing.
"One more of us, right? Theodora from Chicago. I looked her up on the school network, she seems innocuous enough."
Innocuous was fine by me. After saving the world in just one summer, I was happy to retire to a future of term papers, activist rallies, and nights curled up with a good book and/or the internet for company.
"One of the neighbors is a cellist. She's brilliant." Frieda nudged a pair of non-existent glasses up her nose, looking confused for a moment before groping for the pair. "What is that thing with the tentacles your brother dropped off?"
"It's a Buddha lemon." I was happy to change the subject to something I was good at; I'll take cookery over socializing any day.
"It's kind of like a citrus fruit, and kind of like an elder god."
( Click the cut for more vegan cookery, crazy redheads, and just a little gheyCollapse )
Dear 
carpetofstars challenged me to write a little ditty about two characters from two entirely different beloved children's books getting together. Because I really didn't have anything better to do while running off thousands of copies today, I scribbled this on the back of misaligned Social Studies tests.
Good heavens, do I need a life.
Title: The Tenth Good Thing About Anastasia
Author: Rrie Selavy (that's me!)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Anastasia Krupnik (the Anastasia series by Lois Lowry)/ Minna Pratt (The Facts and Fictions of Minna Pratt, by Patricia MacLachlan)
Synopsis: College girls fall in love and there are pretty words. That's about it.
1. There is a quote taped above Minna's desk: There is no remedy for love but to love more.
2. Anastasia never made jokes about Minna finding her vibrato. This alone won a place in her heart.
3. It was like this: Minna had read a personal ad at open mic night, on a dare. Anastacia had finally attended open mic night, on a dare. They met over chai and gulab jamun, which neither of them could figure out how to eat, at first. Minna twists her napkin into peaks; Anastasia rips hers into stars. They kissed for luck in an almost abandoned used bookstore, amongst stacks of pulpy paperbacks filled with heaving bosoms and heteronormative standards. When Minna opened her bag that evening, she found a well-loved copy of The Wonderful Flight to the Mushroom Planet tucked within, receipt carefully placed in the front cover.
4. When they couldn't hold hands, they linked pinkies. When they couldn't link pinkies, Anastasia would shove her hands in her pockets and whistle their song. Monday you can fall apart, Tuesday Wednesday break my heart, Thursday doesn't even start...
5. The Pratts were confused. Mr. Pratt had no objections, but he was certain that Minna's childhood held none of the traumas generally associated with a homosexual lifestyle. His wife sighed a little, and resigned herself to an herb garden instead of grandchildren. Surprisingly, their most heartfelt well wishing came from Sam and McGrew; they wanted to be brothers someday.
The Krupniks baked her a roast (middling good) and a cake (terrific), and toasted their union with mead and Sappho's poetry. It was good to be home.( Anastasia was quick to hold the door, pour the drinks, and defend Minna's honor.Collapse )
carpetofstars challenged me to write a little ditty about two characters from two entirely different beloved children's books getting together. Because I really didn't have anything better to do while running off thousands of copies today, I scribbled this on the back of misaligned Social Studies tests.Good heavens, do I need a life.
Title: The Tenth Good Thing About Anastasia
Author: Rrie Selavy (that's me!)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Anastasia Krupnik (the Anastasia series by Lois Lowry)/ Minna Pratt (The Facts and Fictions of Minna Pratt, by Patricia MacLachlan)
Synopsis: College girls fall in love and there are pretty words. That's about it.
1. There is a quote taped above Minna's desk: There is no remedy for love but to love more.
2. Anastasia never made jokes about Minna finding her vibrato. This alone won a place in her heart.
3. It was like this: Minna had read a personal ad at open mic night, on a dare. Anastacia had finally attended open mic night, on a dare. They met over chai and gulab jamun, which neither of them could figure out how to eat, at first. Minna twists her napkin into peaks; Anastasia rips hers into stars. They kissed for luck in an almost abandoned used bookstore, amongst stacks of pulpy paperbacks filled with heaving bosoms and heteronormative standards. When Minna opened her bag that evening, she found a well-loved copy of The Wonderful Flight to the Mushroom Planet tucked within, receipt carefully placed in the front cover.
4. When they couldn't hold hands, they linked pinkies. When they couldn't link pinkies, Anastasia would shove her hands in her pockets and whistle their song. Monday you can fall apart, Tuesday Wednesday break my heart, Thursday doesn't even start...
5. The Pratts were confused. Mr. Pratt had no objections, but he was certain that Minna's childhood held none of the traumas generally associated with a homosexual lifestyle. His wife sighed a little, and resigned herself to an herb garden instead of grandchildren. Surprisingly, their most heartfelt well wishing came from Sam and McGrew; they wanted to be brothers someday.
The Krupniks baked her a roast (middling good) and a cake (terrific), and toasted their union with mead and Sappho's poetry. It was good to be home.( Anastasia was quick to hold the door, pour the drinks, and defend Minna's honor.Collapse )
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