Quarters of an Argonaut

Once upon a Tuesday afternoon, I had the room all to myself, no roommates. So naturally, I pulled out the camera, and took some shots of my little corner of the room. Some highlights of my corner include my spider plant Quentin, my not-so-portable record player, and a pimped out closet door. 

Quentin was obtained at a Welcome Week event on the St. Paul campus. Good thing he's virtually indestructible, because I always forget to water him. He really is a cute thing. 

Two Renoir paintings, a free poster from the Electric Fetus, and some New York postcards Dalena gave me.

Nowadays the only record I ever really listen to is my Lena, Sarah, Billie, and Ella record. It's perfect any time of day. 

A Monet painting, a NASA picture from an old National Geographic magazine, and some posters I got from a poster book.

Midwest Argonaut vol. 3

It's two weeks late, but better late than never— behold, the third issue! Featuring the talent of Ally Kann, Rachel Cohrs, Chad Sexton, and Henry Heins, as well as quick appearances by Claire Colby, Anthony Le, Mareyuna Lukasak, Prescott Atkinson, Sharon Chen, Dalena Nguyen, Kyra Osmon,Margaret Anderson, the Blaesches, Ms. Brock, and Meredith Jett!

Music Review: S.O.S.

I found out about SOS while floundering around the Rookie Magazine website and couldn’t have been more pleased with my discovery. This nine-track debut LP is addictive, gorgeous, and beautifully dark. My favorite tracks include “Lights,” “Youth in Decline,” and “Dead or Alive.” Overall, a gorgeous piece of work. I highly recommend that you give it a listen.

Saturday, 1:10am

I sat in my seat, breathing and moving as little as possible. Hoping to God that no one could see my face smattered in tears, I wiped at my face with the bottom of my coat sleeve. Only one week into school and here I was, sobbing hysterically on a late night bus. There were exactly three people on the bus— me, the bus driver, and a fairly young, fully bearded homeless man resembling a hippie.

I listened as the hippie-resembling homeless guy relayed his grievances of the system to the bus driver, who in turn nodded in sympathy.

“Where you getting off, miss?”

Suddenly realizing that I was the “miss” he was addressing, I immediately straightened my posture and looked up.

“Excuse me?”
“What stop do you want to get off at?”
“Oh! Sanford, please.”

The bus driver slammed on his brakes and stopped at the curb.

“Oh whoops! Sorry, I forgot you were supposed to get off here. Got distracted. I was asking this young lady here a question—”

The bus reached a halt and the doors swung open.

“It’s alright,” said the hippie homeless guy. “Pretty ladies tend to have that effect on people.” He got up, gave me a nod, and said, “You have a good night miss,” before heading to the exit. I took it as an act of kindness and smiled at him.
“Thanks, you too,” I answered. And with that, he hopped off the bus.

The doors closed and the bus continued on. The rest of the bus ride went on in silence, with the exception of occasional remarks made by the bus driver and me giving the customary nods and uh-huhs, yeahs, and definitelys.

I gazed out the windows as we crossed the 10th Avenue bridge. The city skyline passed by on my left, the Mississippi River on my right. My eyes grew wide and my heart less heavy. The sight of the scenery sunk in and all of a sudden things didn’t seem so bad. In a way, I began to appreciate the circumstances that led me to this bus ride. 

Tea Time With Ella

Setting: 10:55 pm, five minutes before close at the Espresso Royale coffee shop. Our heroine is located at a back corner of the shop, textbooks, cup of tea, and writing utensils sprawled across a wooden table. A calm, quiet ambiance fills the air as jazz music plays in the background. Imagine a cozy lighting, the soft blur of conversation, quiet footsteps, and the sound of flipping pages.

Swirling the remnants of my Monsoon Darjeeling tea, I stared at the paper cup as it tilted in circular motion. I plucked the knotted tea bag out of the cup, its contents bulging out in a less than aesthetic manner, and took a sip. It was bitter.

“There’s a somebody I’m longing to see—” Ella Fitzgerald crooned slowly.

It was as if the barista knew to play this song for me. How did he know I’m absolutely nuts about this song? I couldn’t have imagined a better time for it. Ella’s hauntingly beautiful, rich voice slowly lulled me into a state of angsty romantic thought. I quietly inhaled and took a sip once more. I thought to myself that surely this is a picturesque moment, something worth writing a vignette about.

I began to sing along with Ella, uncaring as to what my audience would think.

“I’m a little lamb who’s lost in the woods—” we sang in unison. “And I know I could always be good…”

I rested my right elbow on the table and laid my cheek on my hand. Slowly, I began to drift away into another world. As I gazed into the giant mirror hung on the wall, pictures of romantic grandeur flashed before my eyes. I imagined polished pianos, men in black coats, and lovers in the alleyways— clouds of cigarette smoke, passionate whispers, and tangoes into midnight.

I looked outside through the reflection of the mirror. It was dark, cold, and blustery. A man stood outside of the door, puffing on a cigarette and watching the clouds go by.

Staring down at my textbooks, I thought to myself that this was anything but romantic. As Ella finished off the last lines of her song, my illusion slowly faded away and I was back into the dull reality of homework. Maybe one day, I thought to myself. I proceeded to wash down my feelings of faux nostalgia with a gulp of bitter tea. Clinging to what little energy I had left, I packed my belongings, and left the coffee shop.