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I spent the last few days of the semester sitting in the Barb until late at night, becoming genuinely confused as to how I was working non-stop for weeks, getting little to no sleep, and still having so much work to do. I was still finishing work at my parents’ house well into my winter break, writing and rewriting my two fifteen page essays for my Modern Jewish Literature class and Psychology of the Creative Process class, hoping beyond hope that I was still making sense even when it felt like I was operating on a limited number of brain cells.  

After everyone else went home, I had to finish up my RA responsibilities, which I am fairly certain I did not do properly, and then hung around LaGuardia for several hours, trying to finish writing the psychology paper on barely any sleep. I then tore into town on two wheels a couple of days before Christmas, where I blundered around trying to finish up some last minute shopping that nearly decimated my bank account. 

I’ve spent the season listening to the Christmas songs that I swear I don’t like but actually kind of do (cough, cough All I want for Christmas is you cough, cough, Last Christmas) and watching all of the Christmas episodes of The West Wing. I want to do a set number of things at Christmastime: wrap all of my gifts in purple, drink Brandy Alexanders, read “A Christmas Carol,” and watch “It’s A Wonderful Life” on repeat. I ask for very little, aside from the ridiculous amount of gifts that I expect to see under the Christmas tree. 

I did all of this in an attempt to make my spirits bright and not break my spirits. At this point, I was going to need to inject the holiday cheer directly into my bloodstream if anybody still expected me to be merry and bright. I should have been jolly and filled with mirth. Instead, I was bitter and cranky and in dire need of sleep. 

So here is a full and exhaustive list of all of the things that I attempted to do in the name of my own peace and prosperity: 

The Decking of the Halls 

I replaced my spider web condom door with a blue seasonal door that had white paper snowflakes that I made myself. It was a tasteful arrangement of condoms stuck to white paper snowflakes, surrounded by bits of snow beneath the same condom-centric poem that I had above it previously. Being my mother’s daughter, I refused to waste any paper but it was a colossal waste of my time to find new uses for the remaining scraps of paper. I took the silk dams that the school gave me and formed a wreath in the hallway that promptly fell off the wall. Consider the halls decked. 

Ninjabread men

My friend Alyssa and I made “ninjabread men,” gingerbread men striking combat poses, which did in fact get me in the holiday spirit, because, honestly, how could that not? Since we did not have a blender or a whisk, we made the dough with a fork. We then were expected to roll the dough on a lightly floured surface that I mistakenly covered with piles of flour. This resulted in mostly clumps of dust that tasted like pure flour instead of the human-shaped cookies on the side of the box. They mostly fell apart in the oven and the two that didn’t got slathered in vanilla icing and flecked with hard candy balls that were made of pure sugar. Most importantly, however, we had loads of fun making it. Why is it that making disastrous food can sometimes be more fun than making food well?

Holiday music fest

Throughout the week, I had to walk past groups of my peers while they were singing Christmas songs obnoxiously loudly and intentionally poorly and thinking that it made them all comedians. So you can imagine my relief when I went to an event where people could actually sing holiday songs. The event was called “Holiday Music Social with Julian Day, Josiah Levon + friends” and was brilliantly performed and impressively emceed. There was “Santa Baby,” “River” by Joni Mitchell, “Last Christmas,” “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas,” “Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer,” and “Baby it’s Cold Outside,” performed with the gender roles reversed. The whole thing lasted about two hours that fell in the middle of conference week and at the end of a day that I had spent worshiping at the altar of my school assignments. Alyssa performed and since my friend has a liquid-gold-voice, it made for a well-spent two hours of my life, providing me with a welcome distraction for the first time in weeks. 

The Nutcracker

I overdressed for a matinee of the New York City ballet’s Nutcracker at Lincoln Center with Sig. This resulted in a fabulous time, despite the blistered feet, in yet another example of what we could maybe call, “Raquel doll moments.” Raquelle is Barbie’s brunette friend, and although it’s spelled differently, I sometimes succumb to the fabulous nature of a well-tailored, stylish doll that teaches little girls about femininity and fashion. The ballet was excellent and worth every penny despite falling directly in the middle of my conference week, because I did not think an ounce of it through when I bought the tickets months in advance. 

A Christmas Carol

On December 19th, my first day back in town, my only plan for the day was to crack open “A Christmas Carol” and read it for the first time since it was published on that day 178 years ago. Instead, I had a last minute assignment to turn in and did not end up cracking the book open until after midnight. 

(Bah Humbug!)

Christmas Eve Eve

Twas the night of Christmas eve eve and I found myself going to an event where I could quite simply eat a buffet, drink a cosmopolitan, and then go home. Per my usual, I overdressed, wearing an outfit that looked more like New Year’s Eve than Christmas Eve Eve. The outfit consisted of a big black coat, a sequined black and white dress, glitter earrings, white glitter eyeshadow, and hair that I had curled earlier that day. Meanwhile, my grandmother showed up half-blind, having just had eye surgery, and still looking fabulous.

Christmas Eve

For the first time in a year we could have people over to our house on Christmas Eve, so we did. I spent the evening acting like the duchess of my household, with the same dangling sparkling earrings, a dark green dress, and a plaid dark green cape from my great grandmother, Stella. I made Brandy Alexanders with nutmeg and cinnamon sticks, which aren’t just pretty, but are actually quite tasty, I discovered. Frozen Brandy Alexanders are like classy, alcoholic milkshakes. That, plus the cinnamon and sugar-rimmed mimosas I made throughout the night, became the fastest ways to make my spirit bright. Mission accomplished. 

Overall, it was a great holiday season. I narrowly avoided getting COVID, which puts me a step above where I was last year (Good times). Now, as I’m bringing the curtain down on 2021, I hope to maintain these well-lit spirits and lack of COVID into the New Year. 

Wish me luck in that endeavor. 

Happy Holidays and Happy New Year!

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

I woke up one morning and put on an evening gown. That’s how you know that it’s going to be a good day. It was a pale pink, satin, spaghetti-strapped, form-fitting evening gown with a large leg slit up the thigh, that I hadn’t yet worn out of the house. It’s the dress that makes me look the most like a Bond girl and I paired it with the coat that makes me most look like Cruella De Ville.

I promised myself that after being locked in doors for so long, away from my beloved New York City, that I would spend every opportunity I could traipsing around the city. At Christmastime, there is no shortage of high-brow things that I could do and wanted to do in the city. There’s seeing the Rockettes perform at Radio City Music Hall, the Juilliard String Quartet play at the Philharmonic, Yo-Yo Ma play the cello on a Christmas tour, and a Lincoln Center production of the Nutcracker, all of which would be ridiculously expensive.

I decided on going to the Nutcracker with a friend. When I told people what I was doing I said that I was “going to see the ballet for a matinee today,” as if it wasn’t all already poetic enough. Sig, my friend and fellow RA, accompanied me, since I thought that he would appreciate it the most. Sig is interested in form and the ideas of masculinity and femininity and how they are both at play, no matter what, during ballet. 

We set off that morning, getting breakfast bagels while waiting for the train. We made it to Lincoln Center, which in itself already looks like a palace for music. A few minutes before the curtain, we took our seats in an upper balcony that was so steep that I was afraid of tipping forward and landing in the floor seats. It would break the spirits of anyone with a solid fear of heights.

I’d seen many local productions of the Nutcracker in Valdosta and my father, back in his hey-day, played Drosselmeyer at the Valdosta Dance Arts. I wasn’t sure if I could still be surprised by the show anymore. The ballet was gorgeous. I became swept up in the drama, the discipline, and the way that the music swelled. There’s something about the exaggeration and the scale of, not just ballet, but a show like this. I enjoyed everything about the performance, from the perfect set pieces to the scattered applause from the audience when they weren’t sure when to clap. 

The second performance I got to see that day was of all the adorable children who were twirling in the hallways outside of the auditorium during the intermission, inspired by the ballerinas on stage. Tchikavosky would have been proud. They were all wearing classic Christmas outfits consisting of green and red plaid dresses, hair ribbons, and white stockings that awoke something biological in me that said, “well maybe having just one child won’t hurt me.” Of course, had just one of those kids been snot-nosed and sticky-fingered and crying in the concessions line instead of twirling cutely in the aisles then I instead would have felt the urge to tie my fallopians into a square knot and cauterize them. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that.  

The second half of the show blew Sig and me away. Between the flawless music, glittery outfits, and all around poise, the whole performance was absolutely stunning. I always loved the eccentricity of the show– the chaotic fever dream quality of what Clara experiences at night with the dancing mice and sugar plum fairies. The final sequence, in which the sugar plum fairy danced with the prince, demonstrated outstanding human balancing capabilities with every fluid movement made on pointe, making for money well spent.

“Blondies,” a sports bar I attended as a child, was our next stop. At the time, they were listed as the seventh best wing place in the city, but I had the second best wings in the city and they weren’t as good as these. My aunt took me on a field trip to find the best wings in the city when I was a kid because hot wings were, and still are, my favorite food. 

So, I sat there, in my pink satin Bond-girl dress after the ballet, with the entire bodice of my dress padded with napkins, and inhaled about ten mild, bleu-cheese-drenched chicken wings. Sig and I fit in so well at the sports bar, him in his eye makeup and me in my evening gown, discussing human psychology, creationist stories, Charles Dickens, and the collective works of Aristotle and Plato. Then there was, of course, our discussion of the ballet, which also, clearly, endeared us to our fellow patrons. 

For some last minute Christmas shopping before we headed home for break, Sig and I descended on The Strand. If it were up to me, this is how I would spend all of my days. If money wasn’t a thing and neither was school work, I would spend my time being as blasé as possible. I would still be engaged with the things that I care about, because the things that I care about, I care about enormously, but everything else could be replaced with me sitting with my feet up, watching ballet, eating hot wings, and perusing the bookshelves at the Strand.

The day we chose to do this also happened to be Santa con, a day in which people travel into the city dressed as Santa Claus and do bar crawls. Who says that Americans don’t have culture? Nothing has ever made me laugh harder than a bunch of clearly drunk people dressed like Santa Claus swarming the city and moving in herds. I laugh but at the same time, I sincerely hope that these people don’t vote. It gets pretty messy pretty quickly, which is almost hard to believe. 

There was a lot packed into our trip into the city: the Nutcracker, Blondies, the Strand, and Santa con, all of which came right at the heels of an already busy and eventful semester and year. The Nutcracker was a much needed break and send-off to the year before I go back to my parents’ house for the remainder of the holiday season. 

Happy Holidays!

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

Since my last excursion ended with an experience with Chanel and Kate Spade, it was only fitting that Christian Dior was next. Around mid-November, I got a chance to go to the Brooklyn Museum to see the Christian Dior exhibit, making it my first trip to the Brooklyn Museum. The exhibit, entitled, “Christian Dior: Designer of Dreams,” was being featured for a limited time only and contained the best works to showcase Christian Dior’s legacy. After hauling ass to get to the Brooklyn Museum on time, I met up with David Gersen, a personal friend of my mother and father’s from their college days, known for being fabulous and fun. Having followed him on Facebook for years now and hearing my mother talk about him ad nauseam, I felt as though I knew him already by the time we met up at the museum. Walking through the Christian Dior exhibit was like walking through my dream closet. There’s something so satisfying about well-cut, form-fitting dresses, almost all of which I would have worn. 

I found it interesting to learn about the different ideas that informed Dior’s work, such as his belief in the idea of American friendliness not being a myth, the culture of the time, and the softness of western style, amalgamating in dresses that celebrated femininity in their time. There were floor to ceiling shelves of stark white outfits, mannequins covered in head to toe black, and vibrant bursts of color lining the walls. 

Dior’s life was short but his hold over the fashion industry continues to this day. He spent his limited time designing dresses that communicate a love for life and a love for women. He made dresses that were so bold you would expect the dresses to wear the women and not the other way around, yet instead of being swallowed up by the fabric the women were molded into the dresses, almost like it was fated. I loved the glamour of it all. There was something inspiring about it, the way that you could stand a few feet away from a dress that he hand-stitched and feel the commitment he made to it. 

After strolling through the exhibit, David and I had lunch in the Brooklyn Museum’s restaurant where he promptly spilled the tea on what my parents were like in college. Apparently, my parents were quite the fun, talented, and creative individuals back during their college years, not unlike how I would like to be viewed now during mine. 

Following our outing to the museum, we headed to Greenwich Village to attend one of the final performances of a new play. “Fairycakes,” was a comedy about fairies from various stories and was kind of like if they made “Into the Woods” with “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” It was hilarious and fun. There was rhyming, beautiful costumes, and actors doubling as other characters. The plot was complicated and entertaining, making it just the right show for me after not having seen any theater in so long. 

I am not sure how to sum up my love for good fashion and style. I’m not even fully sure where it comes from, because I’ve never given it any thought. In high school, I wrote an extended essay about the changes in women’s fashion in the 20th century being indicative of their increasingly active roles in society in a bid for my international baccalaureate diploma. Basically, I was exploring how we went from corsets in 1919 to Calvin Kleins in 1990. 

I was amazed by how the whole event managed to be a visual paradise without being an assault to the senses and how the exhibit made me feel like I would look as fabulous as Marilyn Monroe when wearing a black velvet dress with a bow in the back.

I was utterly charmed by David and his extensive knowledge of theater and art. We had a wonderful day in the city together. I cannot wait to go back to the Brooklyn Museum and to see more shows when I’m back in New York, and until we meet again: Love you, David!

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

Chanel No. 5– providing women with the perfect thing to sleep in for one hundred years, almost to the day. As the story goes, Coco Chanel no longer wanted perfumes that smelled like flowers, and when asked what she wanted the perfume to smell like, answered, “like a woman.” Ever since that day, Chanel No. 5 has been synonymous with femininity. 

In honor of the much beloved scent turning 100, Chanel kicked it old school with a big, splashy party at Rockefeller Plaza. There would be ice skating, photo booths, and places to sample perfume, all in the name of celebrating the world’s most iconic perfume. The weeklong celebration ended on Friday November 12th and since the 100th anniversary of Chanel perfume will only come around once in my lifetime, it felt like a once in a lifetime opportunity. Unable to stir up any interest or availability amongst my friends, I went it alone. 

It was my first solo New York City outing this year, which was as exciting as it was nerve-wracking. I found my way out of Grand Central Station all on my own, making myself proud by walking into the street and expertly throwing my arm into the air to hail a taxi. 

Even though I’d come to pay tribute to Chanel, I first went to pay tribute to Kate Spade by strutting into the Kate Spade flagship store at Rockefeller Plaza. About an hour later, I strutted out of the Kate Spade store with a gift for someone and a big red handbag that the sales woman said perfectly matched my coat. It’s all part of this routine I do where I dote on myself like the loving boyfriend that I am.

I always buy clothes and accessories from consignment stores and I never get caught up in buying outfits simply because they’re from luxury brands- just because you wear name brands doesn’t mean you know how to dress- but Kate Spade is where I make the exception. Their bags are all solid colors, devoid of patterns and gaudy logos, and they are not outrageously expensive.  

Kate Spade makes my favorite purses. Chanel makes my favorite perfume. The whole event was a match made in style heaven. I had my picture taken, sampled some perfume, and watched some expert figure skating as part of a surprise performance. While waiting for my skate time, I walked over to Magnolia Bakery, a New York City landmark made famous by “Sex and the City,” and got two cupcakes. For dinner I had Halal guys, another New York City destination.  

I had a wonderful time skating, clutching the railing and shuffling on the ice, but never once slipping. It was not yet cold, so I was not miserable on the ice. I had my head turned the other way at just the wrong time and narrowly missed witnessing my first ever marriage proposal, where a man got on one knee in the middle of the skating rink and successfully proposed to his girlfriend. Figure skaters came out for a quick performance on the ice and then we resumed our skating. 

Between the perfume, Kate Spade, and the ice skating, it was all like being in my own version of the Garden of Eden. It was a day of indulgence in which I did whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted to do it, without waiting for others. There, I had a confluence of my favorite things. 

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

Valentina invited me to hang out with her in the city over the weekend so that we could go to her friend’s art event. It sounded like heaven so I said yes. 

We made our way through a cordoned off street that was hosting a festival, though neither of us could tell you what was being celebrated. When we arrived, we met up with Daniella, another Sarah Lawrence student. 

The idea for the art event was that each floor had a set number of artists on it and that you went into the room that interested you most. We started with Mahmoud Hamadani, an Iranian artist and personal friend of Valentina’s whose black ink paintings reminded me of Pollock’s drip paintings. They are beautifully simplistic and lacking that sense of chaos that comes easily to jet-black abstract paintings. 

From there, we visited Katinka Mann, a woman in her 90s, who was easily the most modern artist there. She explained to us the roundness of her shapes and how that symbolizes what we so often see in nature. After discussing former Sarah Lawrence professor Joseph Campbell and the way that he could articulate a thought on paper better than anyone else we knew, we moved on to other artists in the building. 

Almost every artist seemed to be operating in a different medium. There was crochet, sculptures, pottery, videography, and a few paintings that you could only tell were paintings when you walked straight up to them. 

It was around this time that I discovered the tarot card reader who was promoting their boss’s recently designed tarot card deck. I could be fleeing a country and I would still be able to locate the nearest tarot card reader. This time I asked about the trajectory of my education. I am on the cusp of a rebirth apparently. I need balance and strength but I must look to teamwork for all of these things. My pursuit may even be something charitable. I cannot wait to see how that takes shape. 

Afterwards, we hung out at Valentina’s apartment in the city and went for Dim Sum on Restaurant Row in Hell’s Kitchen. The whole thing was as amazing as it sounds. A quick little excursion into the city to view beautiful art and eat incredible food is my idea of a good time.

On the cusp of a rebirth,

Raquel

For all of this year’s flaws, this year’s Halloween fell on a weekend, making for a weekend full of festivities. It was a “Halloweekend,” if you will. The fall weather was so crisp it made me want to break into my president’s backyard and play croquet again. I bought pumpkins. I bought materials for pumpkin spice cookies that I never made. My suitemates pasted spider stickers all throughout the apartment and I hung up some cobwebs and fake spiders, plus a “trick-or-treating” doormat. 

In order to finish decorating for Halloween, I purchased a full-sized skeleton to put in my suite and after picking it up from my post office and hauling it back to my school, I got to work sticking candy bars in its ribs. There I was: a girl, listening to the Corpse Bride Soundtrack, while carrying her life-sized skeleton down the street. I then proceeded to fill it with candy. Now it sits in a chair in the kitchen and scares the shit out of me when I go into the kitchen at night. 

Halloween was in full effect. 

That Thursday, I began my “Halloweekend” early by watching my school’s production of Bull in a China Shop, a new play about the true story of Mount Holyoke’s first female president. It contains themes of feminism and lesbianism in the 19th century. It had a glittery set, wonderful acting, and some doses of comedy. I enjoyed it, is the point. 

For some more theatre, I went to Sarah Lawrence’s annual production of Rocky Horror Picture Show the next night. The cast acted out the show in front of us while the film was being projected behind them as part of a beloved SLC tradition. Having missed it my Freshman year, I vowed to watch it the next, which obviously did not pan out, so this year I was determined to go. Unfortunately, everybody else was determined to go. The entire school turned out to see it with people filling up the lobby and then lining the street down to the intersection to see the show. Let me just emphasize that no sporting event this school has ever put on has come even remotely close to that kind of turnout. 

My friends and I were huddled together under umbrellas as it poured down rain and the street lights flickered, setting the mood for our dark and stormy night. When we were eventually let in everyone was squeezed into chairs or squished along the back wall, making it so that people had to be turned away and they had to promise to put on another performance. If it was your first ever “Rocky Horror experience,” as it was for me, you were marked on your way inside with a red lipstick “V” on your forehead and had to play a round of freeze dance in the middle of the room until you were among the finalists. 

From there, it was a typical production of Rocky Horror with everyone getting up and dancing and shouting at the screen. Many of the scenes in the film, in particular the sex scenes, have an undercurrent of coercion but, since the show’s main theme is sexual liberation, the school decided to honor the film in the spirit with which it was intended. All of the sex scenes were edited out with dance numbers from Glee, we were encouraged to shout the word “daddy” anytime they said the word “master,” due to its connotations to slavery, and, when acted out, the whip that Frank-n-Furter uses is replaced with a nerf gun. The nerf gun however was not loaded because guns are also bad. It ended up being a glorious night of loud music, one-liners, and perverted outfits with a red, glittery “V” lipsticked to my forehead the whole time. 

The next day, being the day before Halloween, I hung out with friends. I always pick out my Halloween costume about two years in advance. There are few things that I take as seriously. My Halloween costume was (drum roll, please) Gloria Steinem. Throughout the day I was Gloria Steinem in street clothes. At night, I was Gloria Steinem undercover at the playboy mansion, about to fuck up Hugh Hefner’s day. 

It was a versatile costume.

The party was us sitting around, listening to music, while eating candy and junk food. Hill House put on our Halloween trick-or-treat event on the actual day of Halloween and I donned my Gloria costume once again. I was in full costume and had my skeleton beside me to hand out candy in. For once our RA event had a good turnout. It was a Halloween miracle. 

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

No matter how many times I listened to “September” by Earth, Wind, and Fire or wore my knee-length wool socks, the weather wouldn’t get any cooler during September. I’m starting to think that that’s not how it works.

There’s something magical about fall. It’ll make you want to stay in bed all day, re-reading Harry Potter books and watching Nora Ephron films. For food there’s lemon poppyseed muffins, hot apple cider in a pumpkin-shaped mug, and a cauldron full of Fireball on Halloween night. My fall wardrobe is usually my favorite: knee-high socks, black tights, sweaters, and scarves. 

One month is not enough time to get into the Halloween spirit, so I had to start putting out my Halloween decorations in September. I did this by putting up my Halloween-themed mask signs, putting out my “trick or treat” doormat, and by creating and taping some spooky, scary bats throughout my Halloween hallway. Donna Reed has nothing on my homemaking abilities. 

As an RA, I am encouraged to provide condoms for my floor, which I organized as my condom-spider-web-door. I have to replenish it quite often. Good for my residents. 

In case you are wondering what the sign at the top of the door says, it says:

A message from your RA:

“Don’t let your affection cause an infection, put some protection on that erection.”

-Anonymous

*please check expiration dates before using

I set all of my Halloween decorations up and then waited for everyone else to do the same. I wanted oversized pumpkins, crunchy, fiery leaves, and spooky films. I was impatient for them. 

Then, lo and behold, on the last day of September, I felt it: 

A palpable chill in the air. 

Fall is upon us! 

Cue Earth, Wind, and Fire!

For my first RA event of the year, on said last day of September, Bella and I put on a “Free Britney, Free Cookies event.” You may otherwise refer to it as “toxic cookies.” It was a cookie decorating contest with Britney Spears playing in the background in order to celebrate her recent freedom. We had a terrific turnout. I was dressed in proper “Baby One More Time” attire, so, naturally, it was the one day it was cold. 

The very next day, I was fully in the throes of my Friday afternoon, buying an overpriced latte at a local coffee shop and a kitschy new millennial book from a local bookstore. I received a tarot card reading from my fellow RA Casey. Since few students show up at RA events, and since I promised myself that I will always get a tarot card reading whenever I encounter one, I was at their service.

I always ask for a reading on a different aspect of my life each time. Last time I asked about my love life- yikes– so this time I asked about my career. I didn’t ask about my career the first time around because I always knew that it would be fabulous, but I wouldn’t mind having it confirmed.

Son of Pentacles 

I will be committed and dedicated to my craft, perhaps at the expense of my other relationships in life, but I already knew that when it came to my writing career. I will give everything to it and it will give everything back to me, which is what I like to hear. All in all, the future looks bright. 

A few hours later, I screened “Addams Family Values,” to kick off the first of October, as my RA consent event. Morticia and Gomez have a pretty grand (consensual) romance, making it the only family values that you’ll ever need. Unfortunately, only one person came, which is to be expected with RA events. Afterwards, at a far more well-attended event, I went to a rock concert at the amphitheatre, where I third wheeled left, right, and center.

People were sitting on the large stone walls, laying down the aisles, and standing directly in front of the bands. If this were an indoor event the whole thing would have been a fire hazard. We were treated to some Sarah Lawrence talent, the bands “Remove the Balloon” and Moxie,” which we responded to with a mild mosh pit that was Sarah Lawrence’s attempt at a rave. 

The very next day was Fall Fest, my school’s cottage core themed fall celebration. There was a polaroid station, a book swap, an essential oil making station, a stuffed animal stuffing station, and a buffet, all with crisp weather and blankets set out on the lawn to enjoy it.

I spent time with Alexis and Anahat, meeting a few new people, while drinking apple cider and eating tiny pies. The event lasted for hours and made for a relaxing fall day, not counting my being ambushed by an overzealous dog who ate the rest of my pie. 

Fall had officially begun and other people, not just me, could enjoy that infectious Halloween feeling.

Happy fall, yall!

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

Sometimes, the best thing about living so close to New York City, is having an excuse that keeps you away from the city for a little while longer. This is what October study days does for me. October study days is my school’s response to not giving us a full fall break. It is two whole days of no classes and a week with no conferences. My plan was to spend them catching up on my reading, catching up on my sleep, and drinking tea alone in my room.

This time, I actually stayed true to my promise by hunkering down and hitting my books. 

The readings that I had to do for various classes, is, as follows:

Grace Paley short story collection

Isaac Babel short story collection

Virginia Woolf

Sally Rooney

Freud

Story that Brian wants me to read

Other Virginia Woolf

Other short story that Brian wants me to read

That sounds like a nice, well-rounded education. It also sounds like a stereotypical pretentious smart person education with all of the Freud and Woolf. The only thing I am missing is being schooled in eastern philosophy and gender studies, so that I can learn to be a pacifist who blames men for all of my problems. 

I decided to be on the grind at “Slave to the Grind,” where I got a solid hour of work done while Lana Del Rey played in the background. 

I did more than just spend the whole time studying. There were also times where I caught myself watching old episodes of “Sex and the City” and realizing how I’d gotten behind on my schoolwork in the first place.

I was also going through my James Bond phase having just seen “No Time to Die” and listening to old Bond songs like “From Russia with Love” whenever I walked around. This was how I ended up using Nancy Sinatra’s Bond song to explain Freudian theory in my psychology class, because, as we all know, Nancy Sinatra is essential to the teachings of Freud, whose name started to look like “Fred” after I read it for so long, late at night. 

I woke up late every morning, drank some tea, and read the works of Isaac Babel. The only thing that was missing was the gentle sound of rain hitting my window pane.

Anahat and I said goodbye to our October study days (cough, cough, fall break) with dinner at “Haiku,” a Japanese restaurant in Bronxville that neither of us had tried before. The night ended like many of our other dinners out, with us getting ice cream after I ate way too much wasabi and felt like my nose had been violated. 

I completed everything that was pressing and due within the week and made progress on everything else. It’s not exciting. There should be more songs about getting a good night’s sleep and saving your money, but that probably wouldn’t sell very many records. 

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

The morning after my epic night out with Bella and Eli, I went out to brunch with Tyler and his mom at the Bronxville Diner. I had a classic American diner meal: orange juice, bacon, and scrambled eggs. The afternoon that followed seemed to be going perfectly. I had Valentina over for tea, I watched “Pride and Prejudice,” with Colin Firth, of course, and I updated my resume– a very Raquel afternoon.

It was not until much later in the afternoon that I started throwing up violently and took my school’s shuttle to the emergency room. There was a dull, yet all-encompassing pain in my abdomen, but the real torture was throwing up every five minutes until there was nothing left but stomach lining. They gave me an IV to stop the nausea and vomiting and did a cat scan of my abdomen, which should make for a juicy medical bill. I was made to sleep sitting up with the lights and tv on, vaguely watching cable TV shows with the thinnest premises imaginable. An infomercial for a Jesus meditation service was on TV when I dozed off and an infomercial for a face cream that tightens up old lady’s faces was on when I woke up. They discharged me the next morning at 6am, telling me that they detected an acute infection in my abdomen, brought on by something that I ate. 

I took it easy for the rest of the week, not doing anything or going into the city until Friday night, when I made plans to go and see the ballet with Anahat. Back during our first year, Anahat and I passed on an opportunity to watch a rendition of Swan Lake. A few weeks later, we’d gone our separate ways to quarantine in different parts of the country, regretting missing our chance to watch the ballet. Finally, after two years at Sarah Lawrence College, Anahat and I made it to the New York City Ballet at Lincoln Center. 

We got ready for over an hour in her dorm room with our friend Alexis, with Anahat agonizing over whether she should wear that skirt with that top or those pants with those heels, while listening to Regina Spektor.

We took the One train to Lincoln Center, feeling completely overdressed when we stepped onto the subway platform, but all of that went away when we got to Lincoln Center, where everyone looked ready for a Vogue cover shoot.

Anahat was wearing a full ballerina skirt that we insisted she wear. She looked so radiant that undoubtedly no one looked at me the entire night. I felt like Jane Russell in “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.”

I was wearing a long black pencil dress and pink heels since you can never go wrong with a reliable little black dress and a pop of color. If the full ballerina skirt made Anahat look like Carrie Bradshaw, then my little black dress made me Charlotte York. 

We scrambled to our seats just as the curtain was coming up, coming in on two wheels to watch an incredible ballet. It opened with a number called “Serenade,” where the women danced in tranquil blue dresses, standing on pointe and twirling at a dizzying, break neck speed. I was struck mostly by the movement, how the skirts moved with the dancers in the most fluid ways imaginable. I could almost feel my own muscles seething with pain every time they lifted their arms above their heads. The feminist in me was awakened as I appreciated the women’s command of their bodies and their space. I admired their coordination and precision and the way that nothing in the world could break their concentration. 

During events like this, I usually forget about the orchestra, but this time, since I was sitting on the sides and could see directly below me, I had a full view of the orchestra pit and those performing in it. It all was astounding. 

The second act could be described as a fashion show and a ballet, since the second half was intended to showcase outfits that were designed by famous Japanese fashion designer, Tsumori Chisato. The best way I could describe it is as if Picasso designed ballet costumes. 

Inspired by commedia-dell’arte style, the purely avant-garde outfits were gorgeous. There were faces and flowers plastered on their mostly-yellow outfits. At one point, a woman’s tutu was cut in half. Using our admittedly limited knowledge of ballet, we decided that the second act had the most unconventional outfits for the most conventional ballet routine, while the first act was soft and traditional, as far as ballet is concerned.  

The third and final act was a modern segment of ballet, which sounds like it could have been terrible, but was actually our shared favorite. There were clusters of people walking around like on a crowded street, then suddenly breaking out dancing. After that, silhouetted women shuffled across the stage in front of the scrim. 

I’m not sure about you but when I’m watching ballet, I try and figure out what the story is, if there is one. Could this be commentary on our need to burst out of the monotony of our routine lives? That’s what I’ll take away from it. 

When the ballet was over we had much to discuss and did so while getting a snack outside of Lincoln Center. After that, we met up with Anahat’s boyfriend Jordano, so that I might be introduced. One subway ride later we were at Air’s Champagne, a “parlor” in Greenwich Village. There are some places that you can describe in one word. This place could simply be described as “loud.” It was charming and colorful with a zany bartender and other charismatic patrons, but the word “loud” comes to mind first and foremost.

Being the first of Anahat’s friends to meet her boyfriend, I felt honored, but also obligated to size him up and make sure that he is good enough for our Anahat. I can’t build suspense so I’ll just tell you that yes he is. He was sweet and charming, making for a fun time at Air’s Champagne.

After a few hours, I called it a night and Ubered back to campus. It was one of those nights where I walked back to my dorm with my heels in my hand. Anahat and I both agreed that the whole night, from the ballet to the club, was thrilling. I was happy to have such a satisfying ending to a week that began with me curled up in the fetal position on a hospital bed, hurling into a trash can and calling out for help. Throughout the night we saw many college age girls, at various levels of inebriation, living it up in the city as well. Like all of those other girls, I had an equally wonderful and exciting night and can’t wait to do it all again.

It was a night to remember. I’ll report back with all my future nights like these. 

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

Stefon voice: New York’s hottest club is Club Elsewhere. This place has everything: strobe lights, drunk girls who want to befriend me, bathrooms that are designed to look grungy, spilled drinks everywhere, and, for one night only, the rapper Cupcakke, sold out. 

So, for the first time in a while, I had a fun filled night of concerts and nightclubs. First, since it was my cousin Olivia’s birthday the next day, I was invited to have dinner with my cousin, aunt, and uncle at an Italian restaurant in the city. Then, after a great time with them, I hailed a taxi and made my way to Brooklyn to attend a Cupcakke concert at Club Elsewhere. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the musical stylings of Cupcakke, let me just say that you clearly never went through the American public school system, where her song “Deep Throat” is referenced with regularity. 

Bella, my beloved suitemate from last year and fellow RA, invited me to see her in concert with her boyfriend, Eli. They checked my vaccination card and ID at the door and then I spent the next few minutes weaving my way through a very dark, masked crowd trying to find my friends.

Club Elsewhere, I am told, is popular on Tik-Tok and it’s not hard to see why. With its wild lights that make it look like the world is ending and sound waves that bounce off every square inch of wall, I can’t picture a better place for a night out when you’re in your twenties.

Having never been out to a nightclub before, I threw on some deep blue eyeshadow and dangly earrings to impress.

The crowd looked ready to burst out of the room. The DJ kept the energy up all night until it was time for Cupcakke to come on stage. She entered wearing a giant coat that I’m amazed didn’t make her melt.

She cursed a blue-streak, was hilarious, knowingly went over time, and sang- or rapped- her heart out. Cupcakke wrapped up after about an hour of us being there and the club shut down as soon as she strutted off stage, some time after midnight. The three of us then proceeded to walk around Brooklyn in search of another good time. My philosophy for the night was that since I would be Ubering back to campus, I could do that at any time, so I might as well do that when we were absolutely done having fun.

 We stumbled upon a weird open-air, outdoor nightclub. The idea was that you could drink with friends and play cornhole, since that always makes for an exciting Friday night. There was loud music, drink stalls set-up, and, unfortunately, port-a-potties. Eli and I, both coming from the south, thought that we could obliterate our opponents at cornhole, while Bella sat off to the side, staring at us like we were idiots. We gave it our best shot, hyping each other up, and throwing our bean bags with fervor. 

Anyway, we ended up losing. 

After our defeat at cornhole, we walked to the next place that we could hear from the street, which ended up being another packed nightclub. The music was great and people were dancing all around the room and all over each other. Also worth mentioning, I spent the entire night with my purse wrapped around my neck so that no one else could touch it and, no, it is not the type of bag that you can put across your body. I nearly strangled myself everytime I needed to get something out of it. 

I made it back home with sore feet and blurry photos, wishing that, just once, my makeup would have lasted until the end of the night without globs of it ending up in the corners of my eyes. I also made it back with my wallet and phone, which qualifies as a successful trip out of the house, and I did not get lost once, which made it a successful trip to Brooklyn. 

Bella and Eli, my two Brooklyn buddies, will be joining me in the future for more New York adventures. Club Elsewhere also hasn’t seen the last of me.

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel