For the next few weeks, I’ll be posting links and summaries for my published work to this point. I begin with my short work for the Yale Daily News’ WEEKEND section, which appears Friday afternoons here.
Entries appear in reverse chronological order with a short preview. Topics include the Mayan apocalypse, the Republican primaries, the presidential election, lifting heavy objects, the little-known musicians of Alestorm, the better-known musician T-Pain, the best-known musician Adele, and shoes with toes on them.
If almost everyone’s dead and the world is covered in water/blood/zombies/killer bees/fire/ice/Britney Spears backup dancers, what’s the point of surviving?
H: I think I voted Johnson.
A: And some Republicans?
A: Did you vote to have Connecticut unilaterally decrease military spending?
H: … Johnson.
A few minutes later, we checked in again. The boy didn’t remember what a taco was, and so we formed a flying wedge to guide him from the Neon Sea onto Beinecke Plaza’s safer shores. Rarely had I been prouder of myself.
I’m the kind of killjoy who can’t watch Johnny Depp stab evildoers without thinking about how pirates are just like regular robbers who prey on helpless innocents, only with boats. But all my scruples walk the plank when I put on Alestorm’s latest and greatest album, “Back Through Time.”
What was T-Pain’s childhood dream? Is he living it?
Weightlifting took the stress off my weary joints, but didn’t help much until I remembered to eat like a teenage boy. By February, I was three-dimensional again, and, with enough willpower and bowls of oatmeal, managed to pack on a little volume (and oddly, a lot of density — there’s now at least 15 percent more Aaron per cubic inch).
We’ll shake our hips. We’ll jump and shout. Some of us might embarrass ourselves trying to jerk (I’ve never had excellent foot-ground coordination). Almost certainly, there will be a few transcendent moments in which the major chords and splash cymbals align just right and our hearts leap into our throats and we scream wildly as did our tribal ancestors to the drums of our sacred ceremonies…
So here we have a website that could potentially be the most useful thing ever and is definitely not just the quickie creation of someone who wants to run for YCC. I happen to live above someone who wants to run for YCC, and was thus recruited to join staff.
Why don’t we listen to the man who penned the year’s cleverest song and nominate an artist who works alone, instead of using ten different producers like that Adele chick? Like James Blake, who went from dubstep to shivery singer-songwriting and made lots of people cry. Partly because the songs are sad, and partly because his dubstep was much better.
Q. You proposed your first research project to a professor after eighth grade. How did you come to know so much about science and scientific procedures at that age?
A. “Mostly, I read a ton. I spent three weeks just scouring over literature relevant to the field; every time I didn’t understand something in an article I’d read another article to figure it out.”
One afternoon, I walked out of WLH to find something white falling from the sky. ‘WHAT?’ I cried to the heavens. “What is this? Is it WINTER? Why was I not informed?”
But arguing with the weather hasn’t worked for years now, and the snow was only getting deeper.
For the rest of the night, six other candidates and the bleeping moderator blasted Paul with soundbites and seemed inches from beating him to death with their metallic fists (DOES NOT COMPUTE! thought Michelle Bachmann).