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Anais Vionet Nov 2024
(a university-life vignette)

It’s a Friday night, Leong and I are at a small restaurant close to the dorm called “Ordinary.” We’re in a cozy, pleasantly dark, little red booth—waiting for Lisa—who’s running late. This is Leong’s favorite bar and her taste in exotic drinks is labile—tonight she has us drinking ‘Maker’s Mark,’ a delicious, straight-up bourbon, with a twist of orange peel.

We’re on our second—and I’m starting to buzz—did I mention Lisa’s running late? On a hot note, we’re celebrating. I turned in the first draft of my thesis prospectus last Wednesday and this morning I got it back - accepted.

But more importantly, when I tore into the envelope, back in my room, there was a yellow sticky-note on the prospectus that read like an academic valentine. It said:
“Anais, you write beautifully, with the economy of a poet.”
I may have danced around my room.

So, we’re sitting there, sipping our drinks and noshing on a charcuterie platter when this cute, hipster, Princeton transfer-student guy named Milo showed up—drink in hand. He’s like, 5 '11 with light-brown medium-longish hair tucked behind his ears and he’s wearing a light blue, textured cardigan over a tan t-shirt and leaf-green work pants. At first, he’s walking by, but he spots us and stops.

“Has anyone ever told you look like Anais Vionet?” He asked me.
“No,” I replied, “never.” “You sound like her too,” he followed up.
“Well, I wouldn’t know,” I answered, shaking my head ‘no’ and shrugging.
“But she’d never come to a dive this cheap,” he updogged.
“Oh, yes she would,” I assured him.

Then, I gasped, remembering. Milos on one of Yale’s 500 soccer teams. “You guys lost to Princeton the other day! Isn’t that your alma mater? Congratulations!”
“Thanks, for bringing that up,” he said somewhat chagrined,
“We lost one-to-nil—it was just bad luck,” he said defensively.
“Oh, bad luck,” I chided him.

He did look tired and defeated, so I motioned him to take a seat. He slid right in next to Leong, who’s hand he shook, “Milo,” he said.
“I KNOW,” she said, in a sly and evil way—we’ve talked about him, conspiratorially—even she thinks he’s cute—and cross-culturally-cute isn’t easy.

“Are you superstitious?” Milo asked us—turning so Leong was included.
“Oh, sure,” I spoke first, “I was raised catholic, and even if you don’t hundo-p believe, it carries over. I always carry a lucky crystal with me—you know, for tests and what-not—I depend on that, as opposed to diligence and studying.”

“You have one with you now?” He followed up.
“I do,” I confessed, “I always have one in my bra.”
“Wow,” he laughed, “Why?”
“I don’t know,” I chuckled, “For luck—in case I need to appear supper fun and sassy? Though I guess I’m proof crystals don’t work.”
“Do you really have a crystal in your bra?” He asked, sipping his whisky.
“Yeah,” I said, sliding my hand discreetly into my left cup and bringing out a tiny, flat green, polished Jade stone crystal. “Isn’t that uncomfortable?” He asked.
“Nah, there’s plenty of room in there,” I admitted, sliding the crystal back in place.

“Leong’s superstitious,” I said, nodding to her.
“All Chinese are superstitious,” Leong pronounced, “whenever I had a big exam at school, my mother would go and leave a chicken at the temple.”
Milo and I chortled—I’d actually seen women do that when I lived in Shenzhen.
“Well, I guess it worked!” Milo pronounced, and he and Leong high-fived.
“We have a saying, ‘it’s better to be lucky than good,” he added.
We say, “Yùnqì zhòngyàoguò nénglì,” Leong noted, in Cantonese.
“Luck is more important than ability,” I translated.
Speaking of luck, Lisa finally arrived.
.
.
Songs for this:
Where Are You by 54 Ultra
Cut Glass by mark william lewis
Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 11/12/24:
Labile = open to change.

My thesis topic is "Molecular dynamics simulations of protein folding." 🙃 It's about protein-protein interactions (cellular functions) and developing new medicines and treatments. It isn't easy to give it a poetic twist.

Our cast:
Leong, (roommate) 21, is from Macau, China - the Las Vegas of Asia and she’s a proud communist (don’t knock it til you’ve tried it). She's a ‘molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major.’ I speak Cantonese—which may be why we were paired—I lived in Shenzhen China (about 30 miles from Macau) - we talk a lot of secret trash together.

Lisa, (roommate) 21, my bff. Grew up in a posh, 50th floor residence on Central Park South in Manhattan. She shares my major (Molecular biophysics and biochemistry) and is easily the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in RL (and is sensitive about it). Our tastes match, in everything (fashion, media, music, humor) except men.
David Plantinga Nov 2024
When things go wrong I like to whine.  
Complaining’s free and feels so fine.  
So when I do find fault,
It’s moaning I exalt.  
Sip vinegar instead of wine.
Anais Vionet Nov 2024
It’s the morning of a different day—who knew there’d be another?
Lisa and I went on our harbor jog @ 5am—that’s nothing new.
It was, like 44°—we’re enjoying fall’s cold, refreshing bite.

Anyway, my mind wasn’t on it and I nearly stumbled over
a chunk of dark, uneven roadway, made invisible by its function.
Charles, jogging beside me, wordlessly managed to right me
without us losing a step and I smiled my thanks.

argh! I’ve got to get out of my head.

Later, in class, lulled by the comfort of the stiff, wooden chair, my eyes unfocused and the professor’s voice seemed to fade into the backdrop. Suddenly, he was asking me a direct question that seemed almost without context.

Metaphorically slapped back into focus, I scanned the room and the whiteboard for clues before awkwardly—walking the edge of catastrophe—bluffing it out, because, well, I’ve an instinctive reluctance to admit defeat with any sort of grace.

I didn’t sleep well last night. I had dreams—nothing with a defined purpose–just an amalgamate of bonfires and storms in a coastal scrubland with an odor of fresh cedar and a sense of casual vulnerability.

My attention today is like an intermittent pulse.
.
.
Songs for this:
Headz Gone West by Nia Archives
Dark Red by Steve Lacy
Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 11/04/24:
Amalgamate is a formal verb meaning "to unite (two or more things) into one thing."
Jasmine Rose Nov 2024
Pass me the hot Cheetos
while we Netflix and chill

Order the pizza
while I get a refill

I'll choose the movie
And you pay the bill.
keeping it simple is sometimes the most exciting thing.
Traveler Nov 2024
Did you make a monster out of yourself?
Perhaps it's time to put your politics
high upon a shelf.
In the end we're all the same
invisible spirits playing our games.

Empty your mind,
put your narrator on pause.
When's the last time you pet your dog?
Hugged your kids or called your ma?

We are all forgiven for being slobs!
Now don't be late for your second job.
Traveler Tim
You still need two jobs if you going to try to own a home in the United States
Unless you're fortunate
So nothing is really going to change
Robert Ippaso Nov 2024
Wait
This can't be a mistake

The morning light
Is just too bright

We've overslept
Curled up in bed

Now we must rush
Gone that soothing hush

Toilet flushing
Teeth fast brushing

Coffee churning
Toast now burning

Swallow fast
Needs to last

Stuff all over
Where's the roller

Switch off lights
Well miss our flights

Connections short
Should we abort

No time to think
I need a drink

Get in the car
The Airports’ far

Traffic's a pain
This is insane

Check-in slow
With bags in tow

Our gates a mile
All rush - no style

People milling
My headache drilling

Boardings slow
I'm about to blow

The seat's a squeeze
But I collapse with ease

At least we're here
I need that beer

Our chatter muted
With strength diluted

We crack a smile
Gone is the bile

Thoughts of the beach
Within our reach

Where we can lay
For the whole day

Fall in a heap
Recover - sleep

Sand in our hair
Without a care

The sound of waves
Heavenly daze
Millie Nov 2024
The prize, just keep your eye on the prize. The buzzer sounds as I stuff my face, not daring to lose this race. Hot dog after hot dog, I don't slow down. Victory is in my sight, there's no stopping me now. The buzzer dings, my hands held high in the air. I've won, completely fair and square.
(This is a funny one. I asked my boyfriend for a word and a feeling and he gave me 'Hot Dog' and 'Triumphant' birthing whatever this is lol)
Anais Vionet Nov 2024
Have you ever been wrong?
I was wrong.
Ugly, smugly wrong.
Psephologically wrong.
Hit the iceberg,
smoking’s good for you,
the treaty of Versailles,
left on red,
Copernicus, Aristotle, Custer,
wrong.
I’m not claiming an excuse,
wrong.
It wasn’t you,
it was me,
wrong.
Just fricking
kiss a frog
wrong.
Wrong all along,
wrong about the world,
reevaluate me wrong,
wrong, wrong, wrong.
I can admit I was wrong.
Can you forgive me,
can I forgive me,
wrong
.
.
Songs for this:
Waters of March by John Roseboro & Mei Semones
Stabilise by Nilüfer Yanya
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 11/05/24
Psephology = the scientific study of elections.
Verlecia F Nov 2024
Hey little fly
I going, to hit you in your eye
I going, to make you surly cry
so you've better stop
jumping from cheek to cheek
or I' gonna give you a great big hit
in your little face
boop-boop-be-doop
shoo fly I don't like you
humble bumble pudding and pie
go away little fly and die
but to make you stop
I"ll make you drop
boop-boop-be-doop
shoo fly, can't you see
I am making pie
boop-boop-be-doop
shoo fly I don't like you
or I'm gonna make you cry
shoo fly it gonna be
the big pie in the sky
for you
boop-boop-be-doop
shoo fly I don't like you
for contest and  Betty Boop - don't know if I follow the rules?  but if I made you giggle I - already won! © Aug 2017   (1st place-gold)
Anais Vionet Nov 2024
(this is another throw-back - a piece of writing, from high school, used in my Yale applications)

I pound the pillow, curse the clock and mock injunctions to rest.

The sun finally rises and its rays slantwise fall through the curtains as I dry my hair.

A meal, like a forced dose, we soak ourselves in wasted, nervous time.

Finally! We arrive at the competition...

Tension is here and tireless pressure.

The players waiting stiff as straw, tongues playing over dry lips.

Teachers and coaches unapologetic in their pallor.

Music drifts behind us and occasionally gasps, as imperfections play like daring circus tricks.

The sparkling prodigy returns disappointed, grimace of a smile, stricken, he stares away as we search for words, oh! clumsy, unrepairable prince!

Suddenly, its time and I wonder why we are hurrying, feeling weak, momentarily frightened to go there.

On this stage in this great, hushed hall, enormity suddenly dawns with mass enough to crush me.

At last, I sit before this odd Steinway music machine - my dearest mechanical friend.

A tremble resisted - the reward of mortal afternoons - endless practices fruit.

Eyes closed I prepare my best self - pushing all fear, all doubt, to the margins - and begin.

I hope, to recreate, one note at a time, Chopin's ancient impact - with hands flying, like tethered birds, I hammer out his timeless melody explosions, his streams of crazily exact math exam fiery semiquaver motions.. then, almost suddenly, I'm done.

I stand, joyously, nearly crying.. The world hasn't ended.
.
.
Songs for this:
12 Etudes, Op. 10: No. 4 in C-Sharp Minor by Vladimir Ashkenazy
Part of Your World by Emile Pandolfi
We gather together by Emile Pandolfi
I thought I was going to be a concert pianist once - before covid.
Did you know there are piano recital competitions?
I wasn't a prodigy, I practiced endlessly, only to lose, eventually, to one of the prodigies.
I competed in 7 'big ones,' two were international, and I came in second every time.
My joke was, "I'm the second-best pianist in any room."
I only switched my goals (to medicine - sort of the family business) when that fell through (Thanks, one more time, covid).
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