Pizza month.

The tradition began last November, when my friends Max and Elizabeth had a dream, a dream of eating pizza every day for an entire month. They made their dream a reality, and while I wasn't a full participant, I did join them for a lot of pizza, and discussions about pizza.

They decided to move this year's Pizza Month to October, a. to align it with Official Pizza Month, and b. because that month fell sooner, and they love their pizza.

I chose to join them in this delicious undertaking, as did our friends Quinn and Courtney. The rule is simple: pizza every day, at least once a day, for the month of October. I have been following the afore mentioned rule for the last 29 days, and will follow it for two more. It has been a fine mix of homemade, Zing Pizza, Veggie Planet, and Trader Joe's. I am not tired of this pizza eating. To the contrary, it is still what I want to eat, generally more than any other food. And while National Pizza Month may end, thankfully eating pizza will not.

Fall reads.

Reading now:

Things I love more than sleep.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

White Rabbits music show.

Robot pictures.

Internet friends.

Sarah Street.

Sleepovers.

Matching yawns.

Laughing.

Jamaica Plain.

Centre Street Cafe.

The Arnold Arboretum.

Where the Wild Things Are.

Singing loudly to Indigo Girls.

Singing loudly to Dar Williams.

Wrentham.

Homemade pizza.

Secret meetings.

Seven second hugs.

The phrase: "That's not what Kant says."

The phrase: "I soured on Hegel in my second year."

Contraband literature.

Passing notes.

Umbrella sharing.

First snow.

Walks in that first snow.

Private cello concerts.

Cookies made by Beth.

Dreams of journal clubs.

This last weekend.

Quiet place.

Bapst is my refuge.

Facts.

1. I have been vegetarian for exactly one year.
2. Within that year the longest I have gone without candy is two weeks.
3. I am not fond of fall's recently bordering on winter temperatures.
4. They already make me want to stay in as much as possible, and make it infinitely harder for me to leave my bed and/or house.
5. I am trying my best to combat these feeling by putting as many warm things inside of me as possible (think herbal tea and soup) and by putting as many warm things on me as possible (think scarves and caps and sweaters).
6. It is a little bit working.
7. I have eaten pizza every day since the 1st of October for pizza month.
8. For some reason this reminds me of undergrad and Club PB & J with Spencer and Davis, where our motto was "I eat PB & J all day everyday."
9. It also reminds me of other things I do in my life on repeat.

10. My publishing class was guest lectured this week by 2007's Hottest Man in Children's Literature, Scott Magoon.
11. He is still handsome in 2009, and the art director of Houghton Mifflin's children's department as well as an illustrator on the side.
12. After class I went to the Coop where I judged books by their cover. Or at least their design, per an assignment.

13. My favorite designed book was called Three Questions.

14. I once spent an entire summer reading nothing but Kierkegaard and feminist theology, and am now spending an entire fall reading almost nothing but young adult literature.

15. For the latter reason I am pretty sure my local librarians must either think I am 16 or ridiculous.
16. I wasn't really bothered by this until I had to read Gossip Girl.
17. That day I felt utter shame, as well as a strong urge to explain myself by muttering something like, "I'm really smart, I read philosophy..." But I remained quiet.

18. Yesterday I stayed up all hours of the night to finish The Perks of Being a Wallflower. It was simple, and sad, and happy all at the same time, which made for a very beautiful, tear inducing book.

Everyday.

There is someone that I think about everyday, but can't tell. It is a strange feeling.

On friendship.

This last weekend Hediyeh and Pete came from New York, and Lia Kim came from New Haven. It was nice simply to be with them, regardless of what we were doing. This was true even when we did very little--a walk here, a feast of grilled cheese and tomato soup there. Most of our time was spent talking, and also listening. Ofttimes the wind blew strongly in the background. Still, in those conversations I was reminded just how much I love being with people who have known me the length of time that these friends have. There is something so comforting in the depth and steadiness of relationships spanning years.

Then on Monday I basked in the glory of all that is Katie, and was deeply and irrevocably reminded of the beauty of new friendships--or newer friendships--and found myself amazed at the way nascent relationships may feel like they have spanned years. While previously camping in New Hampshire together, just minutes before falling asleep, Katie told me that friendship is "laughing and crying and thinking." I am convinced that she is right, and we have been all of those things for each other, and will continue to be so, thus providing the same sense of steadiness and depth. Thankfully Monday was a laughing day (and maybe a thinking day) where we could just make food and lay in my room on our respective computers for hours, warm and full and happy.

Tyson's band.

Today I learned Arson Car's afore pictured ep, Vestiges, is available on itunes. It was a nice discovery. Namely because its good, but also because the singer is important to me. Like a brother. I saw him every day of my life before moving to Boston, and he is one of the people I missed the very most after getting here. Now he is in England studying sort of the same thing I am studying, which is nice too, because his desire to go (as well as his previous desires) helped him understand my own dilemma of library school over law school perfectly. He also sent me this encouraging article a very long time ago. Thank you, T.H.

Critical Mass Boston.

This happened awhile ago. In fact, the last Friday of the last month ago. I don't even really remember quite what I wanted to say, except that it was lovely, and exhilarating, and I could not stop smiling. It also did so much to raise Boston in my estimation--something about seeing downtown in a more personal way, and basking in the camaraderie of fellow bikers. My friend went the previous month and told me that the people were the same as the people in Provo, with slightly different faces and different names. He was right. Or mostly right. Provo Critical Mass has more girls.

There were a plethora of skinny jeans and plaid shirts, bikes with bells, bikes with bubble machines, bikes hooked up to music players, etc., as well as an impressive biker who drummed the entire time. There were also cries of "Whose streets? Our streets," "Two wheels good, four wheels bad" (said to a motorcyclist), encouraging honks and cheers, not-so-encouraging honks and cheers, and questions from curious passerbys wondering what our bike ride was for (as if critical mass has to be for something). I liked one boy's answer: "For FUN!"

True. So true.

Goals.

Actually sleep.
Eat more real food than candy.

All Good Books.

A dear friend gave me this book list when I was 19. It has had greater influence on me and the way I see the world than any other single sheet of paper. It was by its recommendation that I mustered enough literary courage/stamina to tackle Dostoevsky and Tolstoy, and that I was first introduced to Saint-Exupery's Little Prince, as well as nearly every other book I have loved the most in my life. Thank you, Chris Wallace.

I will be grateful forever.

Speech.

When I was in middle and high school and could choose what I would speak on I always chose high jumping. Now that I am in grad school I choose existentialism, Russian literature, and children's books.

Yesterday was my bf, Meagan's birthday.

She helped to make this video. It is good.

Typophile Film Festival 5 Opening Titles from Brent Barson on Vimeo.

I love him even more for this.

“Of all the wonderful buildings that we have on this campus, none, I believe, is as important as the library. A library is the very heart and substance of a university. Without access of vast quantities of information, neither faculty nor student can do an accurate job. It is the foundation of research. It is the source of information, both old and new. It is a place for the ever-present challenge to dig for knowledge beyond that which is given in the classroom.” -Gordon B. Hinckley

Oh, and also, I miss him.

Today.

Today was a quiet, stay inside and listen to the rain, write in my journal and read young adult novels kind of day. It was also a lay in bed, watching conference in pajamas day--which are some of my favorite days.

Tonight Katie fed me, and gave me two things: a fairy wand that she made herself, and the soundtrack to Mary Poppins. So, so cute.

Our Autumnal Equinox.

Spring we jumped over flames while miss Klemm played a pan flute. Summer we danced along the esplanade with abandon, chanting our gratitude and longing for summer's sun and its silent promise of a return to warmth. Fall was more somber. Perhaps rightly so. Perhaps different seasons require different ceremonies. And so we found ourselves on summer's dock, sitting in a circle, enclosing a single pumpkin candle. Each person expressed gratitude for one thing: Katie for water cycles, Austin for the great poets, Julia for circles and their inclusiveness, Jared for his ears and the joy of sound, me for kindness and sincerity, others for still more. Next we shared poems, or scriptures, or drawings signifying what autumn means to us. There was a lot of talk about harvests and preparing for winter, but also about returning to the center of ourselves, and handling this transition with solace. Elizabeth made an interesting point that while winter and summer are steady--you look out the window and things look the same from day to day--fall and spring are somewhat transitory. And it is true. We stood at the water's edge with a pistachio in hand. Katie asked us to reflect on our last year, and those aspects we wished to preserve and internalize, as well as those aspects we wished to discard, before we placed the meat portion in our mouth and cast the shell aside. The symbolism was simple, but meaningful. There was still chanting, and even jumping over the solitary flame (just for good measure), but it was quieter, less complex. The chanting grew softer instead of louder, and our leap was not backed by flute.

I am still a little afraid of winter.

Saint-Exupery and his little prince.

(For Erin and Rachel.)

• Saint-Exupery was born in Lyon, France in 1900.
• Flying was his earliest ambition.
• He was not the most studious of children and failed the examination that would have allowed him to enter the French naval academy, so instead studied architecture at a renowned art school before joining the military in 1921.
• It was in the military that he first learned how to pilot.
• He had to give it up for a time to appease his then-fiance's father, who believed it was too dangerous of a career.
• When the relationship fell apart he returned to the air, this time to carry mail to distant lands.
• At the Parisian home of a distant relative, Proust, the secretary of a French magazine asked him to write something. He did so.
• It was a short story, largely autobiographical in nature about a pilot who became depressed each time he left his plane.
• It was published in the April edition of that year, and was met with success and also surprise.
• From that time forth Saint-Exupery continued to write about aviation.
• Other pilots became distrustful of him, and felt like he was betraying secrets they didn't know they had.
• He was not always the most careful flyer, and had some very serious accidents, many of which were his own fault.
• In 1935 he crashed in the Libyan desert. He and his copilot wandered for three days without water and suffered many hallucinations before being rescued and given a native restorative treatment.
• In 1938 a crash put him in a coma for several days, fractured his skull in seven places, and almost robbed him of an arm.
• Shortly thereafter he moved to New York with his wife--to heal, and also to escape German occupied France.
• His American publishers were also influential in this move: they got his visa, booked his boat ride, found him a flat overlooking Central Park, and commissioned him to write a book on his philosophy of the war, which they hoped would explain French defeatism to an American audience who didn't understand.
• The book, Flight to Arras, originally received approval by the Germans, but that approval was quickly rescinded.
• Around this time Saint-Ex began work on The Little Prince.
• A story suggests that one of his publishers caught him drawing a small child on his table cloth and asked who it was. He answered, "Nothing much. It is the child in my heart." The publisher then requested he write the tale of this child.
• Another proposes it was the wife of the publisher, who wanted him to write a fairy tale before that coming Christmas.
• Still another story says Saint-Ex was sitting on the idea for seven years or so, and that he received further inspiration by hearing Hans Christian Anderson's The Little Mermaid while lying in a hospital bed in New York. This version also mentions the gift of a watercolor set received around the same time.
• Whatever its inception, The Little Prince was written during the course of a summer and most of a fall, almost entirely at nighttime, on a diet of coffee and cigarettes.
• He frequently called his friends during all hours of that nighttime to discuss what he had just written.
• He also employed their services for his illustrations. "The son of philosopher De Konnick supposedly served as the model for certain poses. Sylvia Reinhardt's boxer dog for the tiger, and a friend's poodle provided the inspiration for the drawing of the famous sheep," and so forth.
• It came out April 6, 1943 in both French and English and was given a lot of press from the New York Times.
• People were not quite sure what to make of it. It was so different than what he'd written before, and it was unclear whether it was a fable for children or adults.
• The aviator-turned-poet died just one year later on July 31, 1944 while on a reconnaissance mission for the allies. He was 8 years older than the standard age limit for pilots at that time.
• An unsent letter was found in his barracks: "I do not care if I die in the war...but if I come back alive...there will be only one question for me: What can one say to mankind? What does one have to say to mankind?"
• It is estimated that over 80 million copies of The Little Prince have been sold worldwide. Another claim states that it "is the best best-selling book after the Bible and Karl Marx's Das Kapital."
• The Little Prince has been translated into over 210 different languages and dialects, including Latin.
• First edition prints generally range from $2,000-$20,000.