Lisztomania

Africa: Where Chris Matthews went on vacation this summer; also where he served when he was in the Peace Corps. See YOUR BOSS'S PERSONAL LIFE, CREEPY KNOWLEDGE OF.

Alex: My partner in crime, fellow indie-rock obsessive, and, among other things, the other half of the esteemed Collegionnaire scavenger-hunt team. See RIDICULOUS NEW YORK ADVENTURES, ENABLERS OF.

Babies, fat: I can has one? See SCAVENGER HUNTS, ITEMS ON.

Banana chips: I ate a pack a week. See SCURVY, WAYS OF AVOIDING.

Blogging: I never do it. See FAILURES, MINOR.

Brighton Beach: Where a.) I was handed Shabbos candles by adorable Jewish men who beamed when I told them I was Catholic b.) everyone speaks Russian to the level where you feel like a foreigner c.) you can purchase an entire fish on a plate for lunch.

Bronx, the: So gritty! So oddly quiet! Granted, I only saw about four blocks.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: what I watch on rainy nights in and when I feel like ogling David Boreanaz. Which is to say, always.

Checking out: I don't want to talk about it. See ERAS, ENDS OF.

Cheri: The worst bad movie you will ever see. See FAILURES, MAJOR.

Cyclone, the: Wooden roller coaster in Coney Island. See DEATH MACHINES, TERRIFYING.

Dancy, Hugh: I engaged in some mild creeping at a movie screening; he is as charming as you would expect. See HUSBANDS, FUTURE.

Earth Room, the: the most pointless modern art installation ever, because it is a.) literally nothing more than a room full of dirt and b.) closed for the summer.

Gramercy Park: Being a scruffy undergraduate/resident of anywhere besides the park itself, I am not allowed in and have to content myself with skulking outside its gates with the other plebeians on the sidewalk. Damn and blast. See DREAMS, CRUSHED.

Governor's Island: Good for a.) pretending you go to a New England liberal arts school b.) pretending you live in a post-apocalyptic nightmare world. c.) riding bikes without having to worry about being run over by taxis and such.

Hannigan, Lisa: Adorable-to-the-point-of-absurdity Irish singer-songwriter who puts on shockingly soporific concerts. See DISAPPOINTMENTS.

Hardball with Chris Matthews: See INTERNSHIPS, BEST EVER.

High Line, the: Take a railroad trestle that runs straight through Manhattan, above the streets. Abandon the railroad trestle. Turn it into a giant park of awesome. Welcome to the High Line.

Kent Avenue: Desolate street by the river in Brooklyn, home to an obscure concert venue, mysterious graffiti, and the scariest building you will ever see.

Lower East Side Tenement Museum, the: Learn about Irish immigrants; feel horrible for complaining about your closet of a dorm room. See GEEKERY, HISTORY-STYLE.

Mahmoun's Falafel: Legendary falafel shop on McDougal Street that sells falafel sandwiches for $2.50; where I, invariably, eat on the weekends. See THE GODS, FOOD OF.

Mooshstock: Because sometimes you end up at random hipster parties on (where else?) Kent Avenue that are inexplicably raising money for dogs who need surgeries. See DECISIONS, QUESTIONABLE.

Nutini, Paolo: He's a Scottish singer-songwriter and he's on CRACK. His concerts are also entirely populated by tools who dance into you as you attempt to decipher his lyrics.

Our Lady of St. Carmel, Feast of: Cause of adorable street festivals in Brooklyn centered around, inexplicably, a giant rotating pillar with an entire Italian band on it, carried by a hundred men. See CATHOLICISM, WHY IT IS AWESOME.

Packing: I am really, really terrible at it. See FAILURES, UNMITIGATED.

PATH train: I hate it and it hates me, by being confusing and slow and taking me to Jersey City when I wanted to go to Manhattan.

Potter, Harry: Still as addictive as ever. Thanks, J.K. See OBSESSIONS, JUVENILE, UNABASHED.

Rain, preventing of: Theory: if I bring my umbrella everywhere, the weather will remain consistently gorgeous, without fail.

Roofs: Parties are better on top of them. Also, the rooftop view in Brooklyn is the best thing you'll ever see.

Room, the: The best bad movie you will ever see. Also, Cameron Diaz is a fan.

Scavenger hunts: When they include items such as "a baby in a hat," you know it's a good one.

Sea Isle City: Adorably touristy Jersey shore town; where I have spent two weeks of every summer since I was seven (with maybe two exceptions). See TRADITIONS.

Summer: This one's almost over. See GOOD TIMES, ALL AROUND.

They Are Night Zombies!! They Are Neighbors!!

I planned to write a post tonight about a fantastic article in the New York Times today on the Seattle Post-Intelligencer's last issue (absolutely heartbreaking, by the way), and I probably will by the end of the week.

But after abandoning about fifty halfhearted attempts at a staggeringly brilliant and insightful piece on the state of print journalism, I turned to my latest means of procrastination: watching old episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on Hulu.

I confess: Buffy is kind of my favorite thing ever. The first six episodes of the first season are pretty standard fare: mildly silly serial episodes featuring an incredibly young Sarah Michelle Gellar fighting off laughably ugly vampires, witches and their ilk. The music, clothing and hair are wonderfully 90s-tastic, the one-liners are appropriately witty, and the characters are surprisingly endearing.

Otherwise, though, Buffy was kind of a guilty pleasure of mine. Until tonight.

I just finished watching episode 7 -- where Buffy, the Chosen One, uber-vampire slayer and all that, realizes that she's in love with mysterious bad boy Angel, who just happens to be a vampire. But! Angel has a soul! And a conscience! And he doesn't eat people! (And he is really, really hot.) The whole episode adds a huge new level of depth and danger and conflict to the show, while staying true to its quirky, likeable roots. There's a reason why Buffy is a cult classic, after all, and that really comes through in this episode.

Joss Whedon, the show's creator, said that the first season of Buffy is "high school as a horror film." In the Buffy world, a controlling mother isn't just an annoying helicopter parent; she's a witch who possesses her daughter in order to relieve her glory days. The quiet girl everyone ignores literally becomes invisible. The meanest kids in school might actually be demons. It's campy and ridiculous a lot of the time, but at its core, Buffy is really about issues that everyone who's ever been a teenager has faced: figuring out who you are, taking on frightening responsibilities and trying to stay sane through it all.

And have I mentioned how attractive Angel is? Because, seriously. Dayum, grrl.