WATCH OUT! YOU MIGHT GET WHAT YOU'RE AFTER! BURNIN DOWN THE HOUSE!

My current grad school record just got more impressive! Check it out:

Accepted:
Minnesota
UT Austin (Michener Center)
Wash. U. St. Louis
University of Pittsburgh
Art Institute of Chicago

Wait-listed:
University of Virginia (!)

Rejected:
Iowa

Waiting:
Indiana
New School

So, let's follow the trend here. The trend is clearly toward admittance into grad schools. With the exception of Iowa, who, when you really compare facts and figures, seems to be a little confused. Or, as we like to say in statistics, "irrelevant."

I'm kididng. I hardly remember anything about statistics. But really, it would be hard for me to feel bad about that one, wouldn't it? Especially when I am demonstrably burning down the house in every other sense. Honestly, I have no idea how long UVA's wait-list might be, and I don't know what my chances are of making it in off of the wait-list, but everybody seems to know that I'm leaning so far Austin-ward that it's moot. Well, not moot. UVA is a crazily competitive school, and I regard this as a supreme and wonderful compliment.

Or, as I said to Adam when I pulled a crazy U-ie in the middle of South Oakland Thursday rush hour traffic, "WHO'S THE HOSS?"

EVERY TIME I WANNA KISS YOU PUT A CIGARETTE BETWEEN YOUR LIPS

Five moments in Austin:

1. Club DeVille, Steely Dan on the jukebox (or was it even a jukebox?)--this bar has a super controlled environment. It looks like Mars. We walk by an open air punk show or something on Red River on our way there, and the guy in the band was saying something about "your highly absorbent post-modern novel" which made Alex look angry, even though Alex always denies being angry. We are filled with early evening brio and I especially from my recent tax refund decide to buy martinis for Alex and Kristin. The bartender looked a long time at our IDs and didn't give us the right kind of gin. Kristin and I slow-dance to the Steely Dan song about learning to play the saxophone, and it seems to surprise both of us that we know the words to that song. A big neon crown rises out of the gravel parking lot. Reddy Ice is across the street.

2. On the very first night, I'm sitting on a huge balcony with people I have just met literally two minutes ago but everybody is so kind and asks great questions. I have no idea yet where we are exactly in the city, except that I can see one of the downtown skyscrapers and it's so big I can't see anything else. I meet about fifteen people and it's incredible but I remember everybody's name. Also, the weather is perfect.

3. In the packed car with Alex and his friends from school, it's almost dark outside and we're going to a record store. They let me sit in the front seat even though they have almost no reason to be so damn nice. We're cruising through slow traffic with the windows down and I turn around to see a miniature six-foot tall Eiffel Tower in a park. "Hot damn!" I say. "What is that?" Nobody knows. Every streetlight we see has a sign taped to it that says, "You've never heard of 1850."

4. Being convinced of my ultimate sense of direction, I have Amanda and I walk in the wrong direction for eight blocks and her feet are bleeding before I realize my mistake. I feel so bad that I hire a bicycle-drawn rickshaw to get us to the bar where our friends have been waiting for us for two hours. The rickshaw takes us down back alleys full of pot holes and puddles. I make small talk with the driver: "So, is this a good business?" He says it's pretty good. Some drunken businessmen in a nearby rickshaw yell, "Hey, girls!" but don't have any follow-up. I make a crack about follow-up and the rickshaw driver laughs. This is exactly the kind of thing that I never do. Once we join our friends, I have another martini, Alex offers to throw my cigarette butts over the wall of the courtyard. The waitress comes over and tells me that "The gentleman in the white t-shirt would like to buy you a drink," for the first time in my life. I say that I'm done for the night, so she brings me some overly sweet shot. She does the shot with me, but I don't know if that's the usual. "Do you want me to tell him your name?" I say no to that. My friends cackle.

5. I take the bus by myself on my first morning in Austin. I see a silver Toyota pickup truck covered in discarded CDs. It looks like it has fish scales. I almost jump off of the bus to take a picture of it, given my new resolution to actually use my camera. Instead I make a mental note about the fish scales and promise myself I will write about it eventually.