There is a disease common to most of my 21 year old peers that find themselves in their final year of collegiate conditioning, and it is called senioritis. The symptoms are fairly universal– a tendency to procrastinate on academic assignments, the ability to be distracted by the most mundane of earthly observations (think: leaf rustling in the wind), and the inevitable increased dependency on caffeine because between the time wasted not doing work and the actual work alternative means of energizing are needed.
I am the perfect example of an individual plagued by the epidemic, which seems to be spreading throughout Wellesley this days. Only in my case, I resort to blogging as a means of procrastinations. And have, despite my looming biology midterm at 8.30 am tomorrow morning, decided to share my latest distractions with a larger cyber-based audience.
I begin with a review of last night’s festivities: the Sara Bareilles concert at the House of Blues in Boston. This woman may actually be my fashion idol. She wore suspenders and heals, and frolicked about on top of grand pianos. Did I mention that her lyrics also kind of rock my world? My inner feminist was particularly pleased with her number “Fairytale,” in which she rejects the notion that every princess needs a prince charming to redeem her. Sometimes princesses, she reasons, can redeem themselves. And under certain circumstances, Bareilles even conjectures that a single princess is better than a claustrophobic happy ending:
Now for you, dear prince, I’m tired today,
I’d rather sleep my whole life away than have you keep me from dreaming
I may just have to turn her lyrics into bumper stickers.
Upon returning from the concert that made me shout “girl power” on repeat, I happened upon a film newly released in New York and soon to arrive in Boston: “Guy and Madeleine on a Park Bench,” which all the film critics have categorized as 1930s Hollywood musical meets 1960s French New Wave. In other words, it’s a black and white documentary-style film, in which characters break into spontaneous musical numbers.
For me, it is the ideal combination of my new favorite genres, and I think excellent preparation for my seminar on Godard and Varda, two New Wave directors who I will be studying in depth next semester. Of course, I should probably focus on the directors I am endeavoring to write about this semester first, but as I stated above, I am a victim of senioritis, for which the only cure is graduation.
Then there is the inevitable book for leisure. Such books assume the reader has leisure time at her disposal. I don’t. Nonetheless, I have secured a copy of the book The Journalist and the Murderer by Janet Malcolm. It details the true, but difficult story and task of each journalist: to write a provocative story, while staying true to the essence of the subject. And, as much of the book is devoted to, it details the repercussions of sensationalizing through the narrative of a court case– in which the murderer sues the journalist for falsifying his story. It’s the mixture of journalism and law that made it a must read for me. And fortunately, it is less than 200 hundred pages.
And now I must be off to engage in another symptoms of senioritis: caffeine. Wish me luck as a I make my way across a rather rainy, leaf-covered terrain. The bright side of this gray day is that all the Starbucks baristas– in both Wellesley locations– now know my drink. It makes the process of ordering go extraordinarily quickly, and despite my ailment, I value efficiency.