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Kelly will be sad

Those of you in the inner circle have already read this article I wrote about Kelly, which today I learned has been cruelly truncated by my editor’s mouse. Apparently the paper is exceptionally small tomorrow (8 pages), and Megan Matthews is running a huge environmental piece (isn’t she always) with an illustration. These factors led to the deletion of my juiciest phrases and content, to the point that I was tempted to pull the piece from the paper myself. In light of the relative crapositude (that’s right, I invent words now) of the published article, I’m posting the real, unabridged copy a little early. I hope you like it.

Kelly had another party on Saturday night, which was exceptional in three things: first, the theme was “cocktail party” and formal dress was required; second, just as the party seemed on its last legs a freshman Kelly buys booze for showed up with literally dozens of frosh friends in tow – it was like a frosh explosion; third, Kelly failed to get naked while I was there, although admittedly I left a little early due to the sudden influx of freshmen. I rarely have reason to get all gussied up as I was Saturday night, so I embraced Kelly’s philosophy that “clothes aren’t meant to be saved” and broke out my full suit, which I’d worn only once since my grandfather’s funeral. I don’t mind being the first to say that I looked pretty sharp, especially next to the likes of Nathan and Bryan, who scraped together a shirt and tie each with my help. Marta wore a stunning black evening dress along with “her babies,” shoes which lend her at least three full inches of height. I have pictures of all this, which I’ll hopefully get up a bit later this week.

Kelly didn’t tell anyone except her closest friends about the party, which led to a small, subdued affair. I was a little disappointed, accustomed as I am to the extreme level of debauchery to which events with Kelly’s name usually bear witness. Everyone looked fancy, certainly, but that hardly gave people reason to cavort more than usual. Guests had started to trickle out the front door in lonely pairs and trios, and the party was breathing its last when suddenly Conor, the person Kelly refers to as “the baby I buy alcohol for,” burst in unannounced with around twenty-five of his closest friends. The event breathed new life into the party, but caused a rift as well, given that two thirds of the guests suddenly lay on the wrong side of an age divide of several years. Kelly industriously covered the front windows with pieces of cardboard, fearing that a roving policeman would look in and recognize the dozens of booze-swilling minors for what they were. Of course that didn’t happen, but better safe than sorry. Marta and I left shortly afterwards, shoving aside freshmen like so many punch-out clowns.

The sunsets in Seattle have been absolutely amazing lately. Last night Marta and I were having a picnic in Volunteer Park on Capital Hill (awww) during the best of the recent string, and we climbed the water tower to the observation deck to watch the Seattle skyline framed by the vivid, shifting colors. I think the strange appeal of sunsets owes to the uniqueness of their colors – the deep reds, oranges, and purples simply aren’t present anywhere else in nature, at least not in such glowing tones. I seem to remember hearing that such intense sunsets are the product of pollution – if so, pollution totally rules.

I’m supposed to be writing an English paper right now. This is why I never sleep.

Posted in Musings.

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