#I’ve just been chewing on ideas and going through some of my old utopian and sf studies notes and had to blab about it

[casketscratch]

People talking about Severance who have no idea about the concept of dissociation is so fascinating to me because they just come at it with a completely different perspective in a way that tickles the English Grad part of my brain. Finding a hundred ways to describe and contextualize something I took for granted? Delicious. Digging into capitalism and alienation and survival mechanisms, humans coping with systems of pervasive coercive control, concepts of self and personhood in a dystopian hellscape that’s on some level an elaborate system of cognitive estrangement, the way people capitalism is inherently traumatizing, and on and on and on.

It’s basically everything I was fascinated by in my research in part because I didn’t have a way to articulate my own dissociation and I kept coming back to it going, there is something here, and I don’t know what, but there is something here. But now with the added perspective of years of therapy and learning about dissociation as an inherent survival mechanism that’s built into the brain. With the bonus of: Of course people would think they want this. Of course people watch this show and understand why people choose to be severed. I so get it. I want to write so much about it.

[hysterialevi]

Lotus pt. 10 (Batjokes)

Author’s note: So I’ve been sitting here for like 15 minutes trying to figure out how to say “thank you” for the billionth time without making it sound like a generic broken record lmao But seriously, thank you tons for your all your support. I really appreciate that you guys are sticking with me on this, and even though this chapter isn’t as long as the others, I hope you like it just as much. Please enjoy :)

From Alfred’s POV

THAT EVENING, GOTHAM CEMETERY

Standing before Thomas and Martha’s graves, I silently sighed to myself as I thought back to when Bruce was just a boy, completely oblivious to what this cruel world had in store for him.

Life had already been hard enough for the lad, what with criminals constantly lurking around the estate. But even though he never knew the truth about his father, Bruce had always been smart enough to steer clear of Falcone and Hill, and often vanished from the manor unannounced, seeking solace elsewhere.

I remembered he used to go to his childhood friend, the Cobblepot boy, and spend time with him as a distraction. Oswald was always a troublemaker, and his little “pranks” never failed to get Bruce in hot water...but at least he was happy. He had someone he could lean on, someone to enjoy life with, someone to talk to -- but with a tragic turn of events, the Cobblepot boy eventually disappeared...and Bruce was left alone. And as time passed on, the rest of his friends and family began to dwindle as well. Like a candle flickering to darkness.

That horrid night of Thomas and Martha’s murders still haunted my dreams to this day, and I’d never forget the traumatizing impact it made on their son.

Bruce changed forever after that. He rarely spoke to anyone, lashed out occasionally, and usually found the best company within himself. It was like the lad had created his own, utopian world far away from this dreadful city, and with every year he grew, the more his utopia grew with him. But reality wasted no time in waking him up.

Despite being just a child, the world had already dumped a never ending amount of adult worries onto the boy, and it destroyed his innocence, just as Lotus was destroying him now. It seemed as if Bruce could never keep anything he wanted, and Gotham made a habit of tearing those he held dear away from him. It was almost like the universe was forcing him to be alone. And as much as I despised to admit it...it succeeded.

Not even a week ago, Bruce was an upstanding, adamant young gentleman -- but with just one incident, he had transformed into a sadistic, deluded animal who hungered for nothing but the death of those who wronged him. All that training, all those years spent masquerading as Batman...and Bruce broke his code like it was nothing. And when I should’ve been by his side during his time of need, I ran as a coward would, and left him to the mercy of the Agency.

I may have been cooperating with Waller for now, but that didn’t erase the fact that I was furious at her for what she did to Bruce. Locking him up in a cell, using him for experiments, and then having the audacity to keep his body even after he died...I didn’t agree with Bruce’s approach to revenge, but I certainly understood where his anger stemmed from. What Waller did was selfish and inhumane, and I only prayed that one day, someone would be powerful enough to bring her to justice. Lord knew she deserved it.

Bowing my head in a mournful manner, I approached the graves and frowned sullenly, unsure of what to say. In all my years living in Gotham, I had never seen a situation such as Bruce’s, and I found myself at a complete loss for words. I took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp, chilly air.

“I’ve failed you, Thomas...I’m sorry. For the past twenty years, I’ve done all I can to ensure Bruce lived a more peaceful life, only to have him end up like this. While I wish you and Martha were still here, I’m glad that neither of you have to witness this horror. It’s something I never even imagined could happen, and yet...here we are. I just wish I knew how to help Bruce.”

“You’ve done more than enough for him, Alfred.”

Surprised at the response, I looked behind me and saw none other than Tiffany walking up to my side, her face plastered with stress.

“Tiffany,” I greeted, “I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.”

She gave me her best smile. “I wanted to talk to you, and I also needed some time away from the Agency. When I couldn’t find you at the manor, I figured you’d be here. Looks like I was right.”

I beamed at her. “Clever as always, this one. How is the Agency treating you?”

Tiffany’s answer wasn’t as positive as I’d hoped.

“The other agents -- like Blake, Avesta, and Harrison -- have all been hospitable towards me. As for Waller...” she let out a sharp exhale, “I guess she’s all right. She certainly knows how to get things done, and she’s a force to be reckoned with...but ever since I saw how she treated Bruce, I’ve been skeptical about her methods. You saw my messages about Bruce being kept in a cell?”

I nodded grimly. “I did, yes. They were...hard to read.”

“I’m sorry to drag you into this, Alfred. I just thought you deserved to know.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I replied. “Even if Bruce is no longer following his mission to get rid of Gotham’s crime, that doesn’t mean I’ve abandoned it as well. There are good people in this city who deserve peace, and I refuse to simply stand by and let him terrorize them. My only hope is if we do manage to arrest him, that Bruce doesn’t resist. I don’t think I could bear see what would happen afterwards.”

I cleared my throat, changing the subject. “Anyways, what is it that you wanted to talk with me about?”

Tiffany’s expression lit up with remembrance, and she reached into her coat pocket, pulling out a very familiar, golden pocket-watch. She held it out in her palm, giving me an apologetic gaze.

“I still have your watch. I tried to give it to Bruce while he was in the Agency’s custody, like you asked, but Waller wouldn’t let me anywhere near him, so I never got the chance. I’m sorry.”

I took the watch into my hand. “Ah, it’s hardly your fault. And besides, I shouldn’t have passed the burden onto you. It’s my job to give it to Bruce. Though, I’m not even sure if he’d accept it at this point. That boy has no love for me anymore.”

Averting her eyes to the graves, Tiffany’s brow furrowed in regret.

“What would...they think about all this?”

I followed her sight. “Thomas and Martha, you mean? Well, Martha was always a woman of compassion. Her strength ran through her family, and she did everything she could to protect Bruce from Thomas’ crimes. If she saw Bruce handcuffed, sitting in that interrogation room, rambling insane nonsense...Martha would be horrified at what he’s become. And she’d be devastated knowing there was nothing she could do about it.”

“As for Thomas, he had an obsession for control. His entire career was driven by it, and it drove him to the grave. That stubborn old mule would’ve sacrificed everything -- I mean, everything -- to save Bruce from Lotus’ clutch. And with every failure to rescue him, it would end up hurting Thomas more than it did his son.”

Tiffany brought the question back to me. “I can’t imagine it’s easy for you either. I heard Waller let you observe the interrogation. That must’ve been a disaster, especially with Bane running free.”

“You’re quite right about that,” I confirmed. “The way Bruce stared at me through that window, and went on about his desire to obliterate Gotham...I won’t deny that I didn’t feel entirely safe, even with a dozen trained agents surrounding me. And it certainly didn’t calm my nerves to see that monstrosity barge in. What on Earth is Bruce doing with Bane? Why work with him? What could the two of them possibly have in common?”

Tiffany pondered the idea for a second.

“Well, as far as I know, Bane’s been trying to cure his Venom addiction, and the only way to do that is to use the blood of a Lotus survivor. Maybe that’s what Bruce offered him in return for his assistance. The serum.”

I agreed. “That could definitely be true. Although, why wouldn’t Bane simply kill Bruce and take his blood? He’s not exactly the cooperative type. Seems like murder is usually Bane’s initial impulse. I’m honestly impressed that Bruce could befriend such a savage.”

“I guess the two of them could be after something that we don’t know about yet.”

“Perhaps. Well, we can talk about this another time. It appears as if one of your colleagues has come to see you.”

Glancing at the cemetery’s gate, Tiffany and I saw Agent Blake waiting outside next to an Agency vehicle, his entire temperament coated with guilt. He had the face of someone who had just seen a friend die, and the way he blankly stared at the ground only worried me further. What happened? Had Bruce done something else?

I turned to Tiffany, gesturing towards the gate.

“You should see what he wants. I imagine it’s rather urgent.”

“Yeah. We’ve been busy recently, dealing with Lazarus and the Joker. I hope nothing else has happened.” She began walking away, waving a sincere goodbye. “I’ll talk to you later, Alfred. Stay safe. Things are going to get worse before they get better.”

From Tiffany’s POV

Making my way out of the cemetery, I slipped through the rusted gates and wandered over to Blake who looked like he hadn’t slept in days, the entrance creaking shut behind me. His hair was unkempt, his eyes sagged with fatigue, and I couldn’t find a single hint of motivation in him. What was going on?

“...Blake?” I called out hesitantly. The man barely acknowledged me, keeping his gaze on the pavement.

“Tiffany,” he said, clearly distracted, “there you are.”

I looked at him caringly, concerned about his fragile state. “Hey, are you okay? You seem sort of...down.”

He was quiet for a minute and chewed on his bottom lip, thinking about how to break the news to me. I waited in suspense, not liking where this was going.

“...I-It’s Avesta,” Blake finally answered, his voice softly trembling. “...she...she didn’t make it.”

My heart froze.

“W-What...?” I stuttered. “What do you mean?”

Blake struggled to get his words out. 

“Even though the doctors were able to save her from dying on the day we found her, Iman’s injuries were still too severe. She managed to survive for a while longer, but all of her wounds combined with the trauma and the surgeries -- her body eventually just...gave up. S-She couldn’t take it anymore. She...she’s gone, Tiffany. Avesta’s...gone. And she sure as hell isn’t coming back like Bruce did.”

I simply stood there with my mouth hanging open, utterly shocked by the news and uncertain of what to do with myself.

Gently wrapping my arms around the man, I waited for a second to see what Blake would do before pulling him into a comforting embrace, holding him there as I tried my best to reassure him.

“Blake, I’m...I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what to say.”

He shook his true emotions off and held it in, trying to keep his composure.

“Thank you. But it’s not your fault. Bruce is the one who tortured and killed her...and believe me when I say he is going to suffer for it. Whatever he has planned for tomorrow, we can’t let him win this war. That lunatic has destroyed enough lives for one day. We have to take him down. At any cost.”

I nodded in agreement, separating the hug. “We will catch him, Blake. The Agency won’t let Lazarus get away with his crimes.”

Blake wasn’t entirely convinced. “Well, you’re certainly more optimistic than I am, but I appreciate the thought. It’s just...it’s been one hell of a week, you know. Hard to process everything that’s happened.” 

He opened the car’s door, gesturing inside. “Anyway, this isn’t what I came here to tell you. Waller wants us all back at the precinct. She wants to make absolutely sure we’re prepared for Bruce’s next step. I just thought you should hear the news about Avesta in person, rather than over the phone.”

I stepped inside. “Thank you for letting me know, Blake. News like this isn’t easy to deliver, and I’m sorry you had to be the one to share it.”

He took a seat next to me, almost instantly falling into desolate silence.

“...Let’s just keep on our minds on the task at hand. Waller may want Bruce alive, but I’m finishing what she started, and putting an end to Bruce Wayne. For good, this time. Whether the Director likes it or not.”

From Bruce’s POV

OLD FIVE POINTS

“Everything’s ready?” I asked.

“Everything’s ready.” Bane confirmed, observing the subway station. He gave me an impressed look, crossing his arms. “I’ll admit, Wayne, I’m surprised you decided to go down this road. Even after you took a pipe to one of my boys, I didn’t think you were capable of something this malevolent.”

I chuckled, sitting down on a crate. “Really? If I recall correctly, you said, and I quote, ‘there’s something about me that gives you pause. Something that casts a shadow over my heart.’ If anything, you were the first to catch it, Bane.”

He rested his hands on his hips. “I suppose I was. I just never realized how dark that shadow was...until now. You’re definitely your father’s son, aren’t you.”

“No,” I countered, “my father was a man fueled by his own supremacy. Instead of putting out the fire, he would’ve tried to control the flames, and use them against his enemies.”

Bane quirked a brow. “But not you?”

I rose to my feet, viewing all of our equipment. “...I am the fire. And tomorrow, we’re incinerating Gotham’s kings. After all, the best way to take a beast down is to aim for the heart. If we want to wipe this city from the face of the Earth, we have to kill the Mayor.”

“I’m ready when you are, but tell me something first, Wayne.” Bane wandered over to me, his heavy boots shaking the floor. “Why the sudden change of heart? It wasn’t too long ago that you were trying to save Gotham. Why destroy something you helped build?”

Gazing longingly at John’s little, abandoned house and the “Welcome, Bruce!” banner hanging above it, I thought back to our encounter in the alleyway and let out a regretful breath, wishing I could speak with him as a friend.

“Not everything is worth the work put into it,” I answered Bane. “I sacrificed so much to support this city and its people. To keep them growing. But it was too late when I finally realized I had been nurturing a parasite the whole time. Thankfully, Lotus came along and opened my eyes.”

I faced the taller man and slowly sauntered towards him, repainting my memories of what happened at Wayne Enterprises.

“I was devastated when the Agency told me I had been infected with Lotus, you know. I truly believed that it couldn’t get any worse, and I prepared myself for death. However...one night, after the doctors finished toying with me...I started to slip away. The entire world began to fade, and I thought my life was coming to an end.”

I held a finger up, grinning serenely. “But then, I woke up. I found myself trapped in a tight, dark space, and my entire body felt cold. At first, I mistook it for a casket, but pfft, who would attend my funeral? No...it had to be a morgue. And something inside me suddenly felt the desire to break out. So, I did. It took some effort, but eventually, the door busted open. Before I knew it...I was free. Not just from the morgue, but also from Bruce Wayne. I no longer had to put on a charade. No longer had to take part in something that had been lost ages ago. I had roamed into a new world...and I’ll be damned if I allow the Agency to taint this one as well.”

Smiling at Bane, I laid a friendly hand on his built shoulder.

“That’s where you come in. I know I haven’t exactly been truthful with you in the past, but I can assure you that we both hunger for the Agency’s demise. If everything goes according to plan, their Director will be dead before the sun sets tomorrow, and we can finally proceed with the final step. Gotham's days are numbered.”

Bane smirked in approval and grabbed my hand, shaking it firmly. “Carry the torch, Mr. Suit. I’m right beside you.”

[dear-saxifrage]

superlatives of 2017.

i’ve been lucidly alive for too long to not have a running list of my annual fuck-ups, successes, favorites, random moments, memories, and other written memorabilia. my list will include: favorite songs, most underrated songs, most significant musical breakthrough, best jam session, best workout, worst workout. what i have written, my reflections on my work, whatever. it is a working list and it’ll change each year from here on out, but will deliver the same message: my year.

a few notes:

-using Twitter as an online receptacle for my incessant bitching has doubled as an excellent cybernetic way for me to keep track of what i think, do, feel, and exist

-i don’t use capitalization because it’s irritating. but it probably looks like i don’t use capitalization because it’s the sexy new tech writing trend. (shudder).

notes are done.

let’s start quantifying.

using Twitter more consistently

while i have had an account for a while, i never took to it. but my writer friends told me that having a place to vent and to spin ideas is a great space. plus, so much of literary searching is done through twitter. now, all to do is to create a professional twitter and to not tweet seven-word-cuss-outs on it.

the middle of 2016 was hectic as fuck. my tweets are sporadic, focused on form and style. they’re so obviously buttressed by my then-cold and then-hardened interiority. 

poetry

i tried my hand at poetry toward the start of 2017, which i think is indicative of the sleeping beast inside of me that would burst come january 2017. my ezra pound-inspired poetry was actually pretty good. i should take it up again! :) my favorite:

“a pound, a knot. hands at the bakery. lacquered pots greet us as we enter.”

saying goodbye: farewell to the crybaby bitch

probably the most obvious change in what i can see, from my tweets, is my change in priorities. it used to be so focused on trauma: how i am amazed at the now because of the past’s scratchy nails. well, i most distinctly see that i have moved on. yes, i ontologized what happened to me. i theorized, understood, felt, chewed through, and really felt it. then? then i fucking moved on. i did the things to help my brain re-balance itself. it’s chemicals, not you. congrats on being a big girl, sydney.

piedmont house

obviously, the most impacting thing that happened in 2017. in 2017, i moved into the most beautiful house in berkeley i’ve ever seen! in 2017, i wired 2k to a chick i barely knew in between sets at the gym because i was desperate to leave cj’s house. i was resigned to having to live with her, in that pathetic ramshackle on fulton and parker, and just dealing with the ground and a blow-up mattress and dilapidated bathroom floors. but nope -- carly needed a roommate on facebook. she was always the girl from my utopian anthropology class, with whom i did an internship with, but then it all changed. i flew to san francisco, and my rugby friends delivered: ten minutes in berkeley, and a huge denali pulls up to my place. “let’s go.” i was moved in less than four hours, all thanks to the good people who moved my furniture, belongings, (my life), from one house to another house, another room with four walls and a beautiful lofted ceiling, a skylight. 

i ordered a new bed. a zinus memory foam mattress, queen size (or full?). i gave away my futon, left my couch and furry blanket at the old house, left it all, because i couldn’t stand it. i severed myself from all of my old friends, my alleged best friends from rugby. it was pretty lonely, but then god threw down a group of fucking weirdos to me, and i’ve established some of the most secure, loving, and pure friendships i’ve ever experienced.

i know i talk about them a lot, but it’s because i am still reeling. i can’t believe they exist. i can’t believe any of them are real. i always tweet about the viola guy, well it’s because i kinda love him, and i always tweet about our random adventures together, all of us, and it’s because i absolutely love them all.

so that was it, the piedmont boys. boys meaning girls and boys; boys meaning a group of meme-tastic misfits. 

on my last night before leaving for phoenix -- i drove out here, 13 fucking hours through the pitch black night in the empty desert of coachella, indio, blythe, goodyear, stars twinkling gratuitously -- i got hammered at karaoke with my boalt law coworkers. it was fun, certainly. i sang country roads and had yet another cathartic emotional episode because that’s how i am. anyway, i came home, and i was scared shitless because i was home alone, so i called my friend lance -- a piedmont fellow -- and he came over. he just ate his dinner at the table while i showered, packed, got ready. then we talked for hours. talked and talked and talked. and he left me with the most touching thing i’ve ever been told: “you are like the glue between all of us. you have a remarkable ability to connect with other people, and i think you can be the one to show us that it doesn’t have to be hard to stay in contact. that we can live the rest of our lives with each other.”

i still haven’t told anyone about this conversation. it was too pure, too beautiful, for me to retell, i think. i never thought i’d be this person i am now, and for someone to think that i am in such a strong, charged way, absolutely broke my heart. so. cheers to the piedmont boys. thank you for the adventures. thank you for reopening me to the possibility of love and for letting me love you.

concerts

jesus h. christ. this was THE YEAR for concerts. who the fuck did i see? let me count.

-greenday

-panic at the disco

-venice’s baroque chamber group

-chicago symphony

-lorde

-john legend

-hans zimmer

-nobuo uematsu

-yoko shimomura

-tetsuya nomura

-foster the people

-vance joy

-weezer

-THE KILLERS

-cirque du soleil (does this count? lol)

as we can see, i make it a point to have fun. i work a lot and spend my money on tickets because why the fuck not. i have to say, HEARING BRENDON URIE SING A SOLO VERSION OF “BEHIND THE SEA” SAVED ME, and HEARING BRANDON FLOWERS SING “MR. BRIGHTSIDE” blew me away. i felt so grateful. AND, as one would expect, i’ve become an immensely better musician this past year. let’s see.

musicianship

it started with the viola guy and the guitar guys. we wanted to jam, so we did. and i’m not used to people being as competent as me, so it took me by surprise, to have to really use my brain and THINK. it was sexy. i started learning chord progressions, jazz logic, improv styles, how to fill up the space with easy-listening chords, how to pick a melody and play around it. 

piano has been good. it’s not as good as i’d like, but i can play 2/4 16th notes baroque-style without a problem, and i’m pretty proud of that. learning to transpose parallel minors and relative minors from major keys. it’s tough but inspiring: just think. just FOCUS. and you can do it. (can do anything).

singing. oh, jesus. singing this past year was fucking incredible. i had an amazing choral professor who really loved my voice so he worked with me incessantly. gave me solos left and right. gave me a choral scholarship, free lessons, all that. he refined what kuzma (my previous prof) fostered: fine motor movement in the mouth paired with perfect vowel placement. and brandon flowers sang in this style, i noticed, and it proved to me that i can also share music just like him. and holy god, it’s probably my “second puberty” also, but my voice sounds so fucking good. it’s crazy.

transposition. i hear so much better now. having perfect pitch accustomed to a 432 Hz for A instead of 440 Hz for A has really fucked with me. (my piano is brass strings, sounds like a baroque instrument). but i can hear with much better clarity. i play so well. i can harmonize so well. it’s all so crazy. 

i’m done organizing

oh that’s right! i got rejected from peking university in china for my master’s. lol, wow. what a fucking joke.

oh fuck, i also got arrested. possession of that good mj and drug paraphernalia. oh well. charges were dropped. went through TASC. paid 35 a week for drug tests, paid 1k for the ed seminar, paid 1k to the county attorney. record expunged. clean. it lasted from january to august. 

i got a medical marijuana card this year, also. so even though i was drug tested, my card excluded the THC testing. haha.

i ran in santa monica and malibu with my friends, four loko in hand, all to see the sunset at the same time. :) that was a pretty cute moment. we’re all so committed, needlessly or necessarily, to each other. 

i wrote “on a clear day,” which is basically an autobio of 2017, so there’s that. it’s still a little clunky, could kill to be tighter. i need to work on dialogue and sharpness. but overall, i’m pretty happy with the flow.

favorite pissed off tweet: “futures are just slow declines and prolonged extinctions.”

favorite random tweet: “in a world of smooth edges and clean white furnishings there is no room for rocks.”

work

2017 was the year i said no to a full-time offer in research in the exact area i wanted because i thought it would be better to do something that scared me. turns out you should always trust that fine distinction between risk-taking and being an ass. i felt it. now i know what it feels like. 

i was a logistics manager at a startup. it was fine and then it wasn’t. i quit. i worked at boalt law as the marketing director and head of recruitment. i pulled in 15 students to our new hybrid program. how much money did i bring in? 877,000. I almost brought you 1 million, boalt. you’re welcome. 2017 was the year i finally started serving an bartending. this is my favorite job to date. it demands precision, skilled interpersonal finesse, excellent memory, physical strength, humor, disassociation at a moment’s notice, and fun. to me, the perfect people are in this industry -- well, save for the alcoholics. but even in this case, use your own damn perspective to not bow down to the drinks. 

i start a consulting IT/design job in two weeks, and it pays a gargantuan sum of money. excited to start that new adventure for 2018. 

people i’ve dated

this was the year that men gave and gave and gave to me, sydney. i was pretty calm for the beginning, but then i became a chronic dater. didn’t fuck them all, didn’t even hook up with them all. just dated. let dudes buy me food and drinks. held hands sometimes, kissed sometimes, went to a few of their places. let’s see who: chase, riley, miles, jacob, peter, joe, nathan, andrew. most of them ended because i got bored.

jacob, though, is an interesting case. a while back, i wrote an original story about jacob and rachel (obvioulsy) situated on the iberian peninsula (portugal) about love, difference, salt, the sea, and marxism. it’s good. and jacob, the guy i’ve been seeing, researches in portugal, is an anthropology phd, and helped me so much with my own phd applications. i have so much to thank him for. 

i’ve been sort of dispelased with the lack of sex i’ve been having, but in the middle of a sydney rant, my best friend sat me down and said this: “listen, syd. you can get laid RIGHT NOW if you want. but you don’t want it to be that easy. you like to work for your sex. you want it to be sort of difficult, mysterious, built-up. so shut up.” and she was right. after six years, i finally fucked this guy i’ve wanted. he’s my brother’s best friend, and i don’t care. it was the best sex i’ve ever had, and he’s just as intelligent as me, is so sexy. fuck, this fool moaned my name more than i moaned his, and i was so turned on, and it was insane. we keep trying to meet up, but he’s out of town for a few days. here’s to hoping i can see him before i return to berkeley.

what else?

i’ll write some other shit that’s not totally neurotic later on. i still need to compile a list of my favorite cultural arts this past year. but for now, i am happy with this write-up of my year.

oh wait

yes, i graduated with two degrees in anthropology and geography, highest honor in both and a 50-page thesis under the supervision of a nobel laureate in meteorology. that was pretty cool. congrats, syd. you now have a degree from the university of california, berkeley. :) 

until next blog post

peace out. 2017. it has been real, and it’s been fun... but has it been real fun? i think so.