Directionless mood with inconvenient timing (1am) has interrupted my reading on the Pilgrims of Plymouth Plantation and most of the night besides, and after thinking about the wonderful possibilities and million-and-one messages you can give in emails, I come back here instead for general blabber.
I wonder what it's like to be a naturally nice and considerate person? A lot less exhausting, I'd bet.
Essay on sororities, because this is Rush Week, y'all. What is the point of them? Why do they only exist in America? If they have such bad rep, why the stretched-out drama? I went to Alternative Bid Night yesterday to drop in on the Head Lawn Resident's gorgeous room with snack table of champagne, grapes, iced pretzels, strawberries, and so many of them flicked their hands and said, Greek life just isn't for me. Yet I felt a tinge of sour-grapes in the air, despite their extensive Lawn qualifications. After the over-the-top invitations from Asian-American sororities who generally do not seem to understand the possibilities of online propaganda when they splash badly resized photos of semi-sloshed girls in poor lighting and caption with incredibly cutesy nicknames such as Snow and Raspberry, I gave up. We know the Americans love mingling so much it becomes an acceptable extracurricular activity, but what about of the whole Sisterhood business?
My floor-mate Becca, who is wholesomely, anti-slonce lovely, pledged, so I'm counting on her to reveal these mysteries and drop the stereotypes I have somehow hoped against since tender years of reading Lillian Budd. Incidentally, Becca lived in Singapore when she was 9, in Clementi, and her fellow transfer student Alex visited Singapore in one of those 14-hour chintzy tourist whirlwind tours, and talked about guava juice and orchid gardens. The best part is, they insist that Raffles Hotel is a hideous work of architecture, while I had childhood aspirations of living there and instantly becoming a Princess.