I can hardly believe that three months have passed since I arrived back in England.
I had intended to write about the road trip in full this summer, imagining that I would have enough time to both describe the epic, episodic journey and to backtrack. I wanted to tell everyone about the time I scuttled off to Princeton on a whim to see Jessica Valenti speak one evening, and where to eat in Philadelphia, and my Henry James class, and spring break in Puerto Rico, etc etc. But, naturally, life has once again gotten in the way of things.
No, instead, I’ve been flitting about the country like a blue-arsed fly and reading things of utter inconsequence (Like Diane Keaton’s autobiography, Then Again and the late Nora Ephron’s acerbic essay collection, Crazy Salad).
In no particular order, this summer, I have: received my very first press accreditation, danced to Let’s Have a Kiki outside the Tower of London, ridden dodgems in a ballgown at the Trinity May Ball, started editing Kubrick on the Guillotine, eaten suicide burgers from Almost Famous, completed a research project in exchange for Amazon vouchers, seen Kanye West cry in person, watched Boogie Nights outside in the pouring rain at Somerset House, driven around the English countryside in a very small car with three of my best friends, had an article featured on The Guardian website, shared ice-cream with a girl I hadn’t seen in six years, cried when Jessica Ennis won Olympic gold and said goodbye to my study abroad-bound friends, among many, many other wonderful, memorable things.