It’s been a while since I’ve had much to report on, between a case of underdocumented July 4th and an uneventful recent weekend I have been almost completely avoiding the camera and keyboard. Not good for the creative spirit, I know. I’ve been busy with this little project called living. Or, to put a less depressive slant on it — moving to Urbana and readjusting to the American way of life. First and foremost I have been ordering and listening to an absolutely unnecessary amount of vinyl records, including (but, I am sure, not limited to): The Antler’s, Broken Social Scene’s latest, Bear in Heaven (which I dragged back with me from Sweden, having carefully arranged my luggage for the better portion of two weeks in order not to crush it in transit), Medeski Martin & Wood, Fever Ray, Pavement, and Animal Collective’s older Merriweather. Plus I have several more (I’ve forgotten which) waiting for me back at the Rock Island ranch. It’s getting to be a sickness on par with my troubles with books; speaking of which, I picked up David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest. Seriously, why did no one ever shove this book in front of my lookin-ball-sockets (and their contents) before? They’ve been locked, loaded, and fired almost exclusively at those pages for the past few days. I did, however, take a good break to go border-line dumpster diving this afternoon, and earlier still this morning to meet with a former Scan-studies professor who is now moving on from the University of Illinois in order to get yet another PhD (I think she’s collecting; what a role model). Total bonus of the day: first proper fika since my return to the States (go figure it’d be meeting with a Scan prof). This also means that I’m only two people away from completing my Coffee Hour Club reunion tour (Holly and Ian, if you are reading this, set aside some time to talk about Dune and/or narwhals and make this happen, respectively). Now, I was writing something… ah, dumpster diving; yeah, I picked up this sweet (not tasting, but looking) old chair and spent a good chunk of time forcing it through various doors in my apartment. It’s a bit too ratty looking for me to actually want to sit in, but it certainly adds flavor to the white walls problem that’s been plaguing my apartment since my arrival to Urbana. And continuing in on that little ‘project called living’ of mine, I’ve been trying to cure that white plague, as it were, with a few decorations. Here are a few pictures of my progress:
Any and all help or suggestions or flavor you might have to offer would be accepted with open arms. I need to cover my walls, people. Probably the ceiling and floor, too.
Listening to: Cut Your Hair, Pavement