Word: musics
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...trait I detested. In our brief, mutually wary encounter, I discovered that she was a chemistry fanatic who went to bed at 10 p.m. and got up at 6 a.m. (I never go to bed before 3 a.m. and I never get up before 10 a.m.), loved Celtic harp music and Gregorian chants, and belonged to the Spartacus Youth League, a group of rhetoric-spouting Trotskyites who have done much to discredit leftist politics. "Chemistry is a communist plot," she grinned. "It's had free radicals for years." Then she turned and cackled to herself--a trait that would persist...
Total strangers wandered through the dorm, madly introducing themselves, in search of instant friends. The nauseatingly sweet smell of incense (burned to cover the odor of dope) and the stench of old beer permeated the dorm. Music blared from every corner of the Yard, while huge groups of drunken men huddled and leered at women going from party to party. I got asked the big four questions--name, school, career plans, SAT scores--so often I could recite them in seconds (although I refused, as a matter of principle, to talk scores). After one night of parties...
...fourth floor with me were the opera-nut (who also accompanied her music with an out-of-tune recorder) and her clean-cut roommate, along with a hodgepodge of very smart people who stayed behind closed doors studying most of the year. The women also had to cope with Chuck's completely inept attempts at seduction ("Can I borrow your typewriter?"). It was lonely up there, and I hated everyone...
...apply their peripheral vision; some just roll back their eyes beneath closing eyelids and fall back on the floor with only the ceiling to reckon. Little Joe and his girlfriend preside over the ritual sitting on the bed, filling pipes and rolling joints and popping pills, wandering into the music and eventually into each other's affection. Somehow the room is filled with chatter, most of it superficial. People don't fall into each other's laps, but I keep hoping that someone will fall into mine...
Radcliffe Choral Society: women in long black dresses. And more classical music wafting up to the wooden ceiling of Sanders...