I remember when there was a fire at Kabob and Curry last semester. I was walking up Thayer to meet someone pretty at Blue State and I heard sirens, I saw big men in bright jackets running around looking serious. I had never seen a fire before. I craned my neck but could see no sign of smoke nor fire. But then I remembered the old proverb: where there’s big serious men in bright jackets, there must be fire.
Much to my relief this great establishment is once again up and running serving shitty Indian food to customers both unsuspecting and resigned.
Near the SciLi tucked away next to the Thai place and the sushi place is the Red Carpet smoke shop. A caricatured statue of an Indian (feathers not dots) beckons you inside. This shop is filled with many beautiful objects. These may be divided into three categories: things to smoke, things to smoke out of, and fountain pens.
I visited Jodhpur, Rajasthan in January (this is sketched from a photograph: I hadn’t started drawing yet). This scene struck me as symbolic of much about that city, if not all of India.
One night locked myself out of my room and out of the building. Even if I could get in the building I wouldn’t have anywhere to sleep because my then-girlfriend was out of town. The ResLife office opened at eight in the morning (or so I thought — as I discovered the hard way some hours later, it’s actually 8.30) so I decided to walk off my frustration. Eventually I wandered downtown and ate a Boston Cream donut at a certain donut chain location. I wanted to be angry at myself for being so stupid but I kept getting distracted by the frosty beauty of the deserted streets. On my way back up the hill a cat decided to join me and even allowed me to pet him. I walked on the sidewalk but he was much bolder than I was, parading down the street with his tail held high. After a while we parted ways.
I learned an important lesson that night: don’t fucking lock yourself out of your room you dumb fuck.
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There’s a plug point at the base of every lamp, a fact I tried to emphasize in this drawing. Wink wink nudge nudge.
Pen and ink is my favorite medium so far because of the fantastic contrasts available. Perhaps it is a crutch for poor draftsmanship, but I cannot resist the feeling of a wet nib sliding over paper, back and forth, depositing its rich residue with every stroke.
The first naked party I attended was at a house on the corner across from this swing set. Colloquially known as the “Lizard House” after the three large reptiles crawling over its entrance, this house has a history of containing some real cool cats. My friend was subletting a room for the summer, and I had become good friends with the guys who lived there. The party was a real safe space and nothing sexual was happening in the main rooms. Later I went outside to smoke and talk, and someone burst out the front door asking if anyone had a condom please.
Near the end of the party the stragglers decided to go streaking outside. Just around the block, no problem. We heard cop sirens minutes after we had left, but a friendly neighbor cheered us on and we completed the circuit back to safety. I played a game of Go with one of the hosts and then went back home to work on my thesis.