2026
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The best shows at the Edinburgh Fringe 2026: my tier list
I went to Edinburgh for the final five days of the Fringe. I pulled together every booking I could reconstruct from email and every confirmed show on our Fringe planner, leaving 16 unique shows to rank.
Tier list at a glance
S tier: Li Jin Hao: Falling From a Moon; The Palestinian Circus: Step and a Half; Jess Robinson: Elton Reimagined; Tether.
2013
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Ratios and momentum in Messud
I finished Claire Messud’s book, The Emperor’s Children, two days ago. I enjoyed it. The plot picks up in the second half, and she has a talent for pacing -- building up characters to pivotal moments, then rendering the climax forcefully. But I had qualms with her style.
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Kampala
A grab bag of memories from my time in the dirt-red city.
Weekday nights, we played basketball until dusk, and played harder as the sun sank lower -- cut hard, crashed hard, ran harder -- not because of the competition, or because of pride, but because if we ever took a play off and just stood on the court, watching everybody else move, the mosquitoes would alight on us and start sucking. Playing hard meant no sucking.
A graduation party for a white man, in the front yard of a black man’s house.
2012
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beachcombers in the bulwark
It's been a while since I've written here -- a few months removed from a year, actually. There's a new blog in town now, one catered to the needs of my nascent novel. You can find it here:
http://quotidie.tumblr.com/
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The best New Yorker articles, ever
Constantly updated. This is a true work in progress. Every New Yorker article is great -- given a certain threshold -- but these are the ones whose forms and content have actually inspired the stuff I've written.
"Somebody Has to be in Control," Ian Parker.
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My favorite New York Times articles, ever
Articles is not the right word. More like metaphysical life-altering essays.
"The Fierce Imagination of Haruki Murakami," Sam Anderson. http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/23/magazine/the-fierce-imagination-of-haruki-murakami.html
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The View From a Hill
Inspiration: Eric Weinstein.
The View From a Hill
A mango turns soft The hill grows grass and I do not grow grass I drop guacamole on my heel
A dress turns soft My firm hand on her back very Titanic hand Handshake awkward when I make to leave
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Tasteless
is my bowl. A spicy sauce floats on top, steam glassed
noodles heap in sun rays. No credit.
2011
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Week 20 and Week 21: Marginalia and The Novel
Moments of clarity in life -- unblinking, elemental, mere momentary openings to pure consciousness -- often rise, unpremeditated, after the fallow yeast of experiences has had enough time to steep within itself. One such moment unfurled four days after I boarded a plane bound for Puerto Princesa, carrying a backpack containing Chekhov: Plays, four sets of clothes, my cell phone, a blue ballpoint pen, and my small Moleskine notebook.
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The end of Peter Writes
You guys, you guys. I have important – and somber news – to announce. Today, November 8th, 2011, one hundred forty-six days after this blog opened for business, its doors will close (though they may be left open just a crack so the winter winds can occasionally rearrange the papers). It’s been a good run: 150+ posts, 5,000+ unique visitors, 25,000+ page views, and an unexpected symbiosis and synergy with my offline life.
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Epic Poem #1: The Sex Bear
One to read aloud to the kids. It rhymes, and I'm working on the iambic pentameter, via the verse form Onegin stanza. (Go Vikram Seth!) Dedicated to all those FOOT trips gearing up to go into the woods.
The Sex Bear
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Non-profits in the Philippines: Overview of development work
My goal for this blog post is to have it reach #1 for the Google search, "Non-profits in the Philippines."
1. Overview of Philippines
2.
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The curse of having 1,000 unique visitors in one day
On June 15th, 2011, I decided the time had come to share my personal musings with an audience; that my percolating thoughts and unanswered questions deserved to be approached with a transparent intensity; and that the creative willpower governing my private journal entries would be re-purposed for the denizens of the Interwebz. I was the architect of a master plan to Internet relevance.
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Spring Cleaning at the Lu residence
Sometimes, when I feel like "a naked strand between two immensities," I ask myself, "What's worrying me right now?" After harvesting the oblong fruit of my anxieties, I lay them out in front of me and ask a second question: "How can I fix them?"
Three days ago, around 3 p.m., I realized the benevolent chaos that is my "Blog Writing" folder on my desktop was creating undue stress.
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Lips too tight
Fiction. Nowhere near done.
"Expensive this, unfair that, people need to open their eyes," Hanna's father said. American eyes tended to stay narrow, slitted so only certain bandwidths of experience could be made out.
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Aboard the Greyhound Express: Accident and an Audi
The inauspiciousness of the journey that lay ahead; e.g. almost being killed is not a good start
“They tried to speed up and cut us off, like this was Fast and the Furious. Ain’t no Fast and Furious,” the black man next to me said, to whomever would listen. I nodded.
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the paisley dirt hole
the paisley dirt hole
A maroon rabbit, loose and lumpy, cotton, fluff, on my child's palm. Sits on top a totem toke, squeezes sky— sky scraper scribes circumscribe a yard sale, the blanket wrapped in the rabbit on the rack, ragged clothes smooth: hop: hop: hop: at home it circled our citrus, lime, pummelo, and burst, in a bitter rain of house pets.
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Week 19: Bookstore magic and Quora inflation
This week, I spent 4 days in Dumaguete, Philippines, on a work-related assignment. The city straddles the seaside, and there are hardly any cars – most people get around via motorcycle or “trikes.” The city is not sleepy, but it is quaint. During the 4 days, I read Chekhov, discovered the most amazing cookies, bought bunches of ladyfinger bananas, and visited two rural communities.
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Tidbits from Yale
It’s a rainy night here at Yale University. On my left, Mike is reading a philosophy book. Tommy is lounging on a sofa, legs up, head buried in a Newsweek. Zach is on his bed, computer in his lap, having fallen asleep with a finger in his mouth.
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Sunshine of the spotted mind: Notes on my phone
Notes that I’ve entered into my phone, from May 25th to September 1st, in chronological order.
it’s about how you say it
what’s the best way to develop resilience
oak hill
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How to reverse myopia
Is there a way to reverse myopia? Traditional ophthalmology doesn’t seem to think so, but in China, there is lore of eye exercises that, if done daily, will slow or even reverse myopia over time. My parents have always encouraged me to do them – three times a day, 2 to 3 minutes every time, if not to improve my eyes then to simply give me a quick break from work. I’ve compiled the guide to doing Yan Bao Jian Cao here.
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Astounding words, phrases, and sentences
Sometimes, when I’m reading, I come across astounding words, phrases, and sentences. I always try to write them down. Much of my writing at this point in my career is imitation – I take a paragraph that particularly strikes me, deconstruct how the sentences flow, and try to copy its structure for my own topic. This is what I’ve accumulated over the last few months.
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Yale and its humanities
The best kept secret at Yale is a simple little site called yale.edu/oir. It touts itself as a “Yale Book of Numbers”—and by golly, there are a lot of them. For example:
Most popular undergraduate majors in 2008-09:
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The pilgrimage from the dessert desert
I've started to eat dessert again.
On Sunday, I willingly bought a slice of apple pie from a bakery. The crust was made of globular, dusty crumbles, a thick sheath to protect the apple underneath. It tasted good.
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My hometown in Tonggu, China
My grandmother’s house, nestled in the mountains of Tonggu, China, feels like it belongs in the set of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Not as a location for the action or dialogue, but as the unseen village tucked in the bamboo mountains in the movie's backdrop.
Tonggu is a four hour drive from the nearest large city, Nanchang.
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My first (and last) colonoscopy running journal
Every year, Father Time chases me with just a little more alacrity, emboldened by my slowing physical growth, deteriorating brain cells, and lackluster youthful spirit. He must have been pleased to know that, about two months ago, I almost -- repeat, almost -- got a colonoscopy. At 22 years old. Here's my running diary of what could have, should have, might have oh my god been.
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Anton Chekhov in the Philippines
In Dumaguete, Philippines, at 4 p.m. in the afternoon, the humidity is so overwhelming that the keys on my laptop stick. The “n” is barely functional; the spacebar is finicky; my touchpad has become schizophrenic. The black shirt I am wearing has been soaked and is already dried in sweat, and is oily with the residue of body odor.
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Gone: A poem inspired by Anne Carson
Gone
Red pen in a small book kept scribbling poems and
I scribbled back. Stick figures on edges (wide-eyed)
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Week 18: Hangin' out with Siri
For the week of October 9th, I spent 20 hours and 57 minutes being distracted; 12 hours and 57 minutes writing; 10 hours and 26 minutes on neutral activities, and 7 hours and 35 minutes on email. I read articles online for 3 hours, 35 minutes.
It’s interesting, though, to break down where I spend my free time online. In order:
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Life is Friends, by Jeanne Martinet (Miss Mingle)
On the shelves at Abrams books, I discovered a lovely pastel-colored book slouching on one of the shelves outside my desk. During a free lunch, I slipped it out and started reading. "Life is Friends," by Jeanne Martinet (aka Miss Mingle), is a self-help book abashedly disguising itself as a treatise on lifestyle. It's not a horrible book, but its premise -- it's a guide on how to connect with others -- seems a bit pedantic and unnecessary.
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Day 11: First tournament experience: 8th place
Today, I had my first tournament experience. I participated in a “super satellite”: think of it as the quarterfinals of a playoff bracket. It cost me 300 pesos to enter. The rewards are potentially huge.
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Running Diary: Michael Jordan scores 64 points against young Shaq
For this post you can thank Horace Grant’s hipstermatic, beyond-their-time glasses.
On Friday, I am walking back from dinner and literally stop in my tracks, tripping up the orderly line of people moving behind me, because I see a basketball game on TV. I stare through the windows of Outback Steakhouse and am transfixed, taken by the grainy footage – it’s Michael Jordan. More importantly, it’s Jordan’s sidekick, Grant, wearing a clunky pair of white goggles.
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Day 9: The Simple System
9:30p.m., October 10th, 2011
I’m not intimidated anymore. My complete wipeout lasttime taught me a valuable lesson: leave when I'm on tilt. That's it.
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Week 17: Online time is inversely proportional to offline purpose
*You’ll notice the word, “Links,” has been removed from the title. Sunday posts are turning into an area of reflection. There will still be links, but the meat will be journaling, specifically for your pleasure.*
60 hours and 33 minutes online this week.
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Day 5: The unbearable lightness of being
Day 5, October 6th 2011
Alan, who is my poker sensei at this point, sent me an email in all caps telling me I SHOULD EXPECT TO LOSE MONEY. Even the best players only win 60% of the time. If I’m getting 60% I’m still walking out the casino 36 days out of 90 having lost money.
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Day 3: Re-centering
Tuesday, October 4th, 2011 12:47 a.m. (Day 2 was reading Phil Gordon's poker book.)
My first thought when I sat down on the green-and-brown lacquered chair at the 25-50 table in Resorts World was, “What the hell am I doing here?” I’m not usually paying taxis to drive me to a casino on a Tuesday night. The impropriety of my appearance here – it dug at me a little.
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90-Day Poker Challenge: Day 1. Rotten teeth and mental beats
Day 1: Sunday, 3pm – 1am, October 2nd, 2011
*Note: if you don’t know poker terminology, this post does it’s best to ease you into the scene. But subsequent posts will be more technical. Try to keep up?
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The 90-day Poker Challenge
There comes a time in every 20-something male's life when he decides he is going to dedicate every waking hour of every day to the game of Texas Hold 'Em. For me, that time is now.
A confluence of situational factors have precipitated this decision.
The brightest, loudest, and richest casino in the Philippines is a $3, 15-minute taxi ride from where I currently live.
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Yale's Argentinian Pears
Part 1.
At the end of freshman year of college I developed a craving for Argentinian pears. These had lumpy frames and were rock-hard, but I would ripen them in my common room, and they turned incredibly sweet and fleshy after two days. The pears were a delight to look at: red splotches in the shape of rorschach ink blots bloomed across the skin, melding with the green undertones.
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Links, Week 16: One McIntosh apple, puffing hard
Apologies on not posting during the weekend – blogging in the Philippines, I’ve come to realize, will probably involve 3 posts on Monday that encompass Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, given my extreme lack of internet access (unless I walk to the office or pay) on the weekends. Enough! Let’s talk about what I read online this week.
25 hours, 38 minutes writing and reading (really 35 hours, given the time I spent reading Italo Calvino's book, If on a winter's night).
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9-9-99: My autobiography
I wrote this in 5th grade, on September 9th, 1999. Unedited. I'm going to write my 2011 autobiography later this week.
Autobiography speech
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Off campus, online
Spent the last day writing this column for the Yale Daily News.
http://www.yaledailynews.com/news/2011/sep/30/lu-off-campus-online/
Off Campus, Online
“Yo dawg, how’s it going?”
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Leaving Yale, Part 3: I must pee.
Part 1: Lychees and a Sock
The weather is perfect, unbelievable. The summer solstice has bent away, and the days are supposed to be shrinking, but it is bright, standing on this square of concrete sidewalk. The trees are green.
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Knit and Tonic
A man much wiser than me said that poetry's purpose is to deepen your sense of self. This is updated from July 7th. It's much, much better. Inspiration: Carol Moldaw.
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Harvard Business School and Kennedy Science Club: the joys of experiential learning
In the middle of 10th grade, my best friend moved away to India. More importantly, he took his basketball with him. Without it, the loose group of friends I associated with on the blacktops – we all dispersed, like ants suddenly without a home. Within a week, it seemed, everyone had made new friends, and had found new activities.
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Links, Week 15: 77 hours and a top-ten list
Did you know that I repeated "Links, Week 5" twice? We're skipping Week 14 and going straight into Week 15.
This week, my Manila internet access (primarily due to the SmartBro wifi USB stick) amounted to a mere 77 hours and 45 minutes. I wasted more time (28 hours, 52 minutes) than I used it productively (26 hours, 16 minutes).
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Red-light district conversations: Old, fat white men in Manila
Two conversations with old, fat men tonight in Manila's red light district, two different takes on the women here. Plus bonus 30-second jaunt through a seedy, seedy bar. Read all about it!
(Note: this post is going to be wrapped into my long-read about Manila's red-light district, so it's going to disappear, probably in a week.)
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Yes, and: Enablers and the people who love them
As a freshman in college, I was easily pursuaded. Free food! Bright t-shirts! People!
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Peter Lu in lists
On my computer, I have 14 sticky notes accumulating all my wayward thoughts. I’ve organized them into triplets. Here’s what I'm thinking about, in lists of three:
What I am currently listening to.
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Links, Week 13: 88 hours online, for one essay
I could make an excuse for my behavior. I could even tell you lies. But I'm just going to say it: last week, I spent 88 hours and one minute online. That.
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The red-light district in Manila
Part 1 & 2 & part of 3. Or check out my actual conversations under the ochre lights.
Part 1: Red-light wandering
I arrived in Manila on a Friday at the beginning of September, in the middle of the rainy season, carrying just two small suitcases.
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Life Rhapsodies: What I learned when I learned to play guitar
Part 1.
At the end of my journey in college, I decided to learn how to play the guitar. It wasn't a last-ditch attempt to woo a girl, but it was a girl who taught me: or, put another way, it was only a girl that could have persuaded me that I needed to be taught. The timing was purely coincidental.
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400-pound beauty: Part 1 & 2
Back in the yesteryears of fiction (1800s), stories were printed in installments in newspapers and magazines. The serial nature of the short story made readers keep coming back, day after day.
Section 1 (June 22nd) & 2.
400-pound beauty
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How do you overcome the fear of failure?
I think a major reason I chose to study Psychology at Yale was because, at 18 years old, I wanted to answer this question for myself. I'm 22 now, with a degree and a head full of facts, and this summer, I worked as a street fundraiser in New York City in order to develop a willingness to fail -- and I've come to one central conclusion: developing a resistance to rejection is impossible.
Ever heard of hedonic adaptation?
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100th post: MLK, pushups, and a push for breadth and height
Milestones, and the promises of social recognition inherent in their celebration, have been the fuel of my livelihood for the past 22 years. The possession is not conscious; I am a naturally competitive person, and, aided by my parents' exhortations to settle for nothing but the best, or perhaps an inability to believe that my life, as it stands, is the best of all possible worlds – à la Candide – I all too readily will yoke myself to short-lived, fiery quests.
This post is my 100th.
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Tribute to Philip Levine: Eggs and Bread
The next Poet Laureate for the United States is a man named Philip Levine. I'll be completely honest and tell you that I have stopped, for all intensive purposes, reading the news. I've subscribed to Tim Ferris' ideology, which is to instead ask those around me, "Hey, what's going on in the world today?" I've done fine so far -- but nobody told has talked to me about poetry.
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My first Friday night in Manila
Friday, September 9th, 2011
4:25 a.m.
Manila, Friday night.
Nothing egregious occurred – this was not The Hangover, Part 2 – the night's excerpts, rolled with cigarettes, cocaine, strangers, and a sweaty club, and a grander, more becoming narrative emerges.
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Links, Week 12: Full week in Manila
I apologize for the first rough patch in this blog; the multiple day run where Peter (Lu didn't) Write(s). I did write offline though, so you'll see 4 posts in quick succession in the coming hours. To my defense, my new apartment doesn't have internet. Here's what happened during those 47 hours, starting from Friday night:
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9/11 Reflection: Peter Lu
One of the (many) reasons why I didn't write a blog post last Friday, September 9th, was because I was writing a 9/11 reflection for the Yale Daily News. It's probably my last piece for the paper, and, having just read it again, I'm content that it was about an event at once trivial (to me) and monumental (to the world). I'll copy it here, and place the link at the bottom of the page.
--
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Alcohol and Peter: the 4-year relationship.
Back on June 16th, I wrote that I was working on a long-read about my relationship with alcohol. Nearly 3 months later, it's finished. Here's the story about why I never drink.
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6 years in journal entries: my life in high school and college, unfiltered
Get ready for an epic post. (5,000+ words.)
I started writing in a personal journal at the end of 8th grade. The catalyst was a week-long trip to Yosemite, where, upon returning home, I read through my school-assigned journal and realized it would preserve my memories forever.
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The sap dries quickly enough
This is a poem. Does it make sense?
The sap dries quickly enough
You know, I did my best to get friend-zoned.
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The 2007 - 2011 Yale class rankings
I might be in the Philippines, but that doesn't mean I can't feel in a Yale mood. Let's have a little fun and rank the 36 classes I took, from worst to first.
There are multiple biases in this list. Seminars have a natural advantage over lectures; because I cared more about academics junior and senior year, those classes are ranked higher.
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Maroon City
Maroon City
We haven't seen the typhoons, not once, but in August and September when the clouds attack the asphalt walkways lining the gutters of this city, you could be walking with a cup of coffee through an open, shell-domed church abutting the restaurants where pesos and dollars are thrown into gold-crusted collection plates, and feel nothing but light shadows and the push of the eastern wind.
You probably think I'm crazy for refusing man's dominion over this archipelago, but the clouds here have eyes.
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Links, Week 11: In transit
Writing: 20 hours, 40 minutes Distracted: 8 hours, 25 minutes Gmail: 8 hours, 8 minutes Neutral: 3 hours, 46 minutes
This week, I returned from Los Angeles and flew to Manila. I spent 18 hours on planes, and 6 hours in airport terminals. I downloaded Gmail offline, and soon, I will never have to worry about old email again.
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Intermission: First impressions from the Philippines
I think I owe 3 days worth of entries. They'll be up soon. But it's not my fault! I'm in Manila right now.
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Public transportation in Los Angeles
At 10 p.m. at the Coffee Bean in Orange, California (20 minutes away from Disneyland), there is exactly one public transportation option if you want to return to downtown Los Angeles: take the 50 Bus 21 stops to Katella-Clementine, right outside the Disneyland entrance; wait 3 hours and 10 minutes for the 460 Bus; ride the 460 bus 60 stops; then take the 28 Bus 51 stops. 5 hours and 46 minutes later, you'll have arrived.
Tonight, I attempted this ambitious (stupid) journey.
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My class schedule for this semester
ECON 456 01 (11604) Private Equity Investing Michael Schmertzler M 1.30-3.20
ENGL 463 01(12033) WritingFantasy&ScienceFiction John Crowley M 1.30-3.20
F&ES 732 01 (11296) Tropical Forest Ecology Florencia Montagnini MW 1.00-2.20 GML
MGT 887 01 (10926) Negotiations:Beyond Win-Win Daylian Cain M 1.00-4.00 PR135
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My summer at a publishing company
Parts 1 and 2. Part 3 to come.
When I arrived at Abrams publishing company, I was led not to my desk, but to a 5-foot tall roll of bubble wrap.
“Take this 6-foot Wimpy Kid snow globe and make it snug,” Jason, my newly-introduced manager, said.
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Links, Week 10: Regression to the mean
Writing: 15 hours, 6 minutes Wasted Time: 13 hours, 49 minutes Email: 4 hours, 17 minutes Neutral: 3 hours
Not much to say here. My goal is to answer all my email by the middle of next week. Email, halfway done.
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Trio: Poetry in Florida
Written during spring break under fluffy comforters in Port St. Joe, Florida, and revised for the modern age. They're jaunty, fun!
1.
Coffee Uppercut
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Kafka's Metamorphosis
Where is the border between memory and dream?
There is an island near Hawaii where sharp black rocks resist the pounding surf and sea salt softens the green algae on smooth underwater rocks. I am standing, and I am piercing the ocean’s surface. The water is driving at my ankles, trying to pull me under.
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The Happiness Hypothesis
Tonight, I watched the San Francisco Giants beat the San Diego Padres 2-1. Tim Lincecum consistently hit 94 mph and pitched 8 innings for the win. The one run he gave up was because of poor judgment by Carlos Beltran in right field.
I went to the game with Joe Lee, Raju Hansra, and Krishna V.
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Pledge of Allegiance: The story of my first crush
As a 5th grader at Faria A+ Elementary, I was smitten by a girl in my homeroom — Jocelyn K., a thin, black-haired, ponytail-wearing girl who, in the small world I occupied between school and my parents’ 2-bedroom apartment, was the prettiest person I had ever seen in the big, wide world. She sat in the 3rd row, close to the front door, and I sat two rows behind her. I never talked to her.
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1-minute read: The Upside of Irrationality, by Dan Ariely
I love psychology, but I hate pop psychology books. Distilled for the masses (the masses being the soft American middle: white, 45-year-old housewife somewhere in the Midwest), they’re 10 times longer than they need to be.
Everything is explained: Not just technical terms and study parameters, but every social phenomena. Like basketball.
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Links, Week 9: Generating investment
Writing: 26 hours, 41 minutes
Wasted time: 8 hours, 24 minutes
Gmail: 2 hours, 59 minutes
Neutral: 3 hours, 3 minutes
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4th of July, Investment banking style
James Z., a recent graduate of Yale University, lives on the 42nd floor of a Manhattan high-rise 3 blocks and 2 avenues away from Times Square, with his freshman year college roommate, Sanjeev, and his fraternity brother, Josh. Their apartment, which costs $5,100 a month to rent, has on its walls three framed prints, in a stylized, demure, tan-and-brown color scheme, of investment bankers lounging on art-deco furniture looking towards distant skyscrapers.
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I'm leaving you, New York. But it's not you. It's me.
New York, it's been thrilling, spicy, loose, comfortable, tasty, sweaty, scary, lugubrious, and pleasantly amusing. But I don't think this is going to work out. You're great, seriously, but, well...I've found a new lover. And I'm leaving, in fact, in 7 hours.
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Almost but Not Quite
I’m lying on Venice beach with my girlfriend, honestly spending the best quality time ever with her, tanning side-by-side on identical indigo towels. In the last three hours, we’ve played an ecstatic game of Frisbee, splashed salt water into each other’s eyes, collected unbroken shells, left southpaw footprints up and down the pier, held hands, kissed, even fondled each other when we thought nobody else was looking.
But then we broke up.
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Stickers of the Bayou
When he boxed
his red jewel
—an apple face
scraping the cement—
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Inclination: A little plant story
Thank you, Professor Zarin.
Inclination
Ginger had a vague notion that the concrete underneath her feet was uneven. That she was currently standing on a crack in the sidewalk, and that growing out of this crack were weeds: wild-eyed dandelions, whisker-haired buttercups, and spiky cocklebur.
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Healing Bells
Healing Bells
Every man misses opportunities. Let’s begin
by walking in tall grass along a farm, kicking
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Cleaning Yale: My New Haven janitor, Sherri B.
“I would definitely consider leaving here. In a heartbeat.”
Sherri B.’s hips are hanging over the sides of her chair. When she shifts her body, the fat sways, a consequence of her middle-age operations.
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Moving Day
1.
I spotted a silver die, half-buried in the trash, glistening for me, while I waited to cross the intersection. I wanted to point this out, ask someone if the tenants on these blocks regularly threw out brand-new die—but nobody seemed to want to talk to me. A woman plugged into pink headphones stared blankly ahead.
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Links, Week 8: Back home
My last week in New York, I spent 24 hours online. My first week back home, I've spent 43 hours.
Blogging: 25 hours, 20 minutes. Time Suck: 11 hours, 51 minutes Neutral Time: 3 hours 21 minutes Email: 1 hour, 43 minutes Literary: 1 hour, 19 minutes
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The real life afterlife: Sleep No More
"Sleep No More"—three hours' worth of orgies, murders, love-making, and ghosts, often astutely choreographed to dance and performed across three abandoned warehouses on West 27th Street in Manhattan—demands, or, rather, pleas to be seen. It's a spine-chilling rendition of Macbeth, brimming with emotion, that twists the conceit of Shakespeare until it is barely recognizable, and instead replaces it with an intricately built world of horror and superhuman, phantasmagorical actors that frequently disappear from stage in front of your very eyes.
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Afterlife, spoiler-alert: Me convincing you to see Sleep No More
I'm the last person that appreciates good theater. Case in point: at Yale, I fell asleep, at least for a little bit, during every play I attended, whether it was Angels in the Outfield, Arcadia, The Importance of Being Earnest, that play in JE Jeff Gordon was in April 2009 I can't remember, or...wait, that's it. (At least I didn't fall asleep in The Shadowbox. But that's because I was an assistant stage manager.)
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Entry
Suppose you fought
and felt claws and scratched an itch that leaked blood. He waved a heart-shaped flag at half-mast.
You were quiet then.
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Reflections on a Tiger Author
From the annals of my unpublished Yale Daily News work. The Amy Chua maelstrom has receded from the public mirror, but why not re-live the night she came to Berkeley College?
Amy Chua comes off as the tiniest bit neurotic – but in an adorable, high-powered, Wall-Street kind of way. On Wednesday, April 7th, Professor Chua read from her book, Battle Hymm of a Tiger Mother and answered around 20 questions from a 200-strong audience for the annual Asian American Heritage Month dinner in Berkeley Dining hall.
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Links, week 7: Milestones
I'm writing this at 12 a.m. on August 8, 2011, otherwise known as the luckiest day of the year.
I hit 7,777 page views and 2,500 unique visitors. (Well, maybe 2,500 unique IP addresses.) That's a big deal!
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Castle Rock
Lord of the Flies inspired.
Castle Rock
They foraged, they swam,
they dug at the base of roots,
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How to write a FOOT co-leader poem
Ah, FOOT.* (Ooh, I look like an Asian grandpa on the site!)
I found this in the figurative dust bin of my computer, and do not want to lose it.
to Jeannette:
if sleet mud thunder sweep ashore / and FOOTies, in tempests sway / or we’re attacked by a tyrannosaur / I’d still know we’d be ok / conjoined, in co-leader bliss / you’ll save me from any abyss / the denizen, of adrenaline / my bestie, Jeannette Penniman.
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How I dress: The rise and fall of faux hipsterdom
hipster beard
In 2001, I owned just two pieces of clothing deemed worthy enough to wear through the hallways of John F. Kennedy Middle School: a navy blue Nike sweatshirt and a magenta-red Nike sweatshirt. Both had identical accouterments: a hood attached to the collar and large frontal pockets.
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MLIG: Who am I? What the heck is happening?
I am stuck in a mini-rut. I am currently sitting in a two-foot-deep pothole, grabbing my knees and peering over them at the shiny world around me, thinking about what John Song said last week, when I told him he wasn't writing enough.
He said: "I literally don't have anything to write about."
I told him I would give him some of my ideas.
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Bottle Service
Who says drinks aren't free? Tears and sweat drip glowing green, stop the tan eyelash model: she chokes on her own spit, an executive in white pumps and a pencil skirt, a single mother of a 6-year-old at the aunt's house watching Arthur. "You look fabulous" -- a face stretched tight, a VIP arriving. Two weekends ago, before the bottle service white carpet onyx table, her hair was curly.
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Links, Week 6: Struggling to maintain focus
Dammit. Not acceptable.
Writing: 7 hours, 40 minutes Guitar: 2 hours, 19 minutes Email: 1 hour, 2 minutes Surfing: 8 hours, 29 minutes.
The problem with last week was trying to learn 10-ish new songs on the guitar.
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Jasjit, clean shaven
I've been saying many goodbyes lately. I said more during graduation, but back then, the atmosphere was so chaotic, my family needed attending to, and I knew I'd be in New Haven afterwards, so the hugs and handshakes, well, they lacked feeling. Now, 8 days away from leaving the East Coast permanently, the goodbyes have finally become what I've expected them to be: redolent, drawn-out, effusive; studded with meaning in mere motes of time.
I said one of these goodbyes Sunday morning.
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Guitar for the win: Street performance tomorrow
Christy, James and I are going to be playing guitar for New Haven's Flights of Fancy wine tasting event from 6-8 p.m. on Friday. (That's in 17 hours!) We're setting up everything -- the chairs, the amp, the mike, etc -- around 5:30 p.m. in front of the Willoughby's at the Art and Architecture school.
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Zack Wheeler for Beltran: Too much?
7 interesting links... (my psychology + trade commentary at the bottom):
"His upside, which he could still be 3-4 years from reaching, is as a very good No. 2 starter and maybe even an ace for stretches of time."
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Love and other duds: agency, the chase, and the role of kismet
John Song recently wrote an eloquent and arresting response to my post about Love and Other Drugs. It's worth reading in its entirety, but this section in particular got me thinking:
To Peter, "Love and Other Drugs" was a perfect kind of idealized mirage of what life is-- being a Game-versed, successful skirt-chaser, while ultimately finding "the one" in a lightning-strikes-tree moment of fate.
More importantly, Peter is one of the most analytical and perfection-seeking Type-A people on the face of this planet.
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HELP: singing lessons needed
I cannot sing worth a damn.
When I was at John Song's house during spring break, we played Rock Band (with James, too). After the requisite Taylor Swift song, John told me my singing was "endearingly pedophilic." It's the nicest thing anyone's ever said about my voice.
I know I suck: after all, as a kid, I never took singing lessons, never sang with a youth choir, never even listened to non-classical music until I was 11.
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Links, Week 5: Return to baseline (free movies, Lego concentration camp)
My stats for last week:
6 h, 31 m: Blogger and MS word. 4 h, 44 m, 39 s: Guitar tabs, Youtube (covers), and Jay Chou websites (for Jian Dan Ai!) 46 m 11 s: Gmail 7 h, 2 m: Wasted time (Quora, Google+, Facebook, Google Analytics)
Ouch.
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A lesson from street fundraising: How to approach strangers
Prelude note: In 5 days, I've tried to stop over 1,500 people. The lines below have all been battle-tested, and I promise that every one, said with confidence and aplomb, will get a smile or laugh.
I became a street fundraiser to push the limits of my confidence. (Read more here.) I spend my days from 11 a.m.
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Street fundraising is like baseball: my first week in the majors
F*ck it. It's 4:13 a.m., but this post is going up. Need to put this into words. Action.
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Love and other drugs: a review, and bonus personal psychoanalysis
Part 1 of 3:
I am, currently, 2 minutes removed from watching Love and Other Drugs. I wish I could say I was watching it with someone I cared about, or maybe even with a group of friends on a comfy couch, but I'm not -- I'm sitting on my really hard, angular dorm room chair without a shirt on, air conditioning off. Actually, it's not such a big deal.
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Indecision: selfish interest versus small sacrifices
What a vague title for a post. Don't worry, I'll explain.
*You may skip this next paragraph.*
(I want to give a shout-out to the MTA subway line.
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Looking forward to Cupertino
I still have a little over two weeks left in New York City, and I'm not ready to leave. Nuh-uh. I have people to see. Concerts to go to.
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Fruit, flora, rainforest: nature in the Philippines (e.g. re-living Ecuador)
salak
One of the reasons why I opted to run away to Ecuador during my sophomore year summer was because I needed, like many before me, to fulfill that silly 10-year-old ambition of living in the rain forest. (You remember Zoboomafoo, right?) I envisioned lush, dense, sweaty undergrowth; impossibly high canopies teeming with monkeys; waterfalls and dangerous animals that would form the backdrop for my wooden tree-house home.
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What I need from a computer
I don’t need much from a computer. For the last 5 years of my life, all I've ever done on it is (a) write and (b) use the internet. No Photoshop, Starcraft 2, or any other heavy-hitting programs necessary.
I've never needed anything fancy.
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Links, Week 5: The slow death of my computer
My manifesto is great. I've been more computer-free than I've ever been (this year).
6 hours, 49 minutes: Blogger.com, MS Word 3 hours, 2 minutes: Gmail.com 2 hours, 13 minutes: guitar tutorials 1 hour, 21 minutes: Facebook, Google+
That's 4 hours and 23 minutes wasted online.
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Street Fundraising: highs, lows, sadness, and excitement
Today, I started my new job as a street fundraiser. From 11 a.m. to 6:30 p.m., I was one of those annoying people on the streets that stopped everyone and asked them to donate to a charity. Let me break down what was possibly the best, worst, most tiring, most fun, most social, most depressing day of my life.
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Books are not like shoes
yes, there are supposed to be two. apples to apples, remember?
Books are not like shoes. They're just not.
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Loneliness in NY: Washington Square Park + Subway stories
After work today, I hung out at Washington Square Park. I think it's my new favorite place.
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Links, Week 4: no time online
With Rescue Time, I can track literally everything that happens on my computer. Here's what's up:
13 hours and 39 minutes online -- blogs, Facebook, email, Quora, OkCupid.
7 hours, 34 minutes writing - MS Word, Blogger.
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No more computer: my one-hour rule
I've had one sublime mentoring moment in my life. It came on my FOOT May training trip in 2008. His name was Joe. I looked up to him as soon as I got to know him: He could talk NBA (and apparently was sick at basketball), had worked in finance, had an older girlfriend.
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Why I meet new people: Happy hour at the Yale Club
When I graduated, I thought I was never going to see anyone from Yale, save 14 certain people, ever again. I was on my own in this big, lonely, frustrating world, and that's exactly how I wanted it. There was a reason why I wanted to go to the Philippines, and then LA (and not NYC) after graduation: a fresh start. I'll be the first to admit that the last few weeks at Yale were mad fun, but also stressful and enervating.
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Caterpillar Perfume
Inspired initially by Bianca Stewart. (Does she have more than one poem?)
Caterpillar Perfume
Yesterday we went running
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Links, Week 3: What to do if you've graduated edition
Check out where everyone is with wheremyfriends.be.
Meet new, interesting people in your city while eating great food: https://www.grubwithus.com
Create a new online identity on plus.google.com. If you're like me and are still locked out, look at screenshots, read reviews, more reviews, and first impressions.
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Times Square: Strumming on my guitar, with a Snooki sign
So. I know this blog is supposed to be about "Peter Writ[ing]," but a picture, in this case, is really worth a thousand words. From 11 a.m. to 2 a.m., I was riding 'round New York with 2 friends, playing the guitar, soliciting money, and holding up a handmade sign that said, "I slept w Snooki last week - PLEASE HELP."
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Why I love Times Square: Pictures with strangers
Ah, Times Square. You know, at Yale, when friends or acquaintances would talk about New York, they would say, "It's great, but I hate the touristy areas." I always nodded my head in agreement. The implication was that they were too noisy, too cramped, and too fake to be of any value to us, future i-bankers and consultants of the world.
I guess now's the time to admit that I love Times Square -- because of the tourists.
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Wendy's poem
As you can tell, I did not spend much time writing today. But while I was at Wendy's with Annelise, I did manage to compose a poem about the restaurant, on the greasy take-out bag.
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At the bar, e.g. what happens when I drink, even sip alcohol
(special effects included. George Lucas, are you listening?)
My name is Peter Lu. I am 21 years old.
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Jayson and the Giant Beach: First Three Chapters
1.
Up until Jayson was 10 years old, he lived with his mum and dad in a colourful house by the sea. Hermit crabs would waddle by his porch, and he would observe them with a magnifying glass. Soft, green glass pieces would wash up in the waves, and he would collect them in a small burlap knapsack.
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Links, Week 2: Ivy League Pornographer, Influence-Meter, Catcher in the Rye Assassination
This week, I spent 32 hours online (rescuetime). That's almost 5 hours a day. And that's on my personal computer! At work, I'm on 6 hours a day.
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The horror, the horror: Commuting from New Haven to New York
Every day between June 6th to June 17th, I commuted from New Haven to New York. Nobody should ever have to endure the pain I did. Here is my story.
The week after graduation, I’m crashing with Daniel Ayele; I’m a mendicant with a suitcase of clothes and twice as many books.
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"You're only as good as your last haircut": Rafael's, the best barber in East Village
My high school yearbook quote was probably the worst out of the 660 people in our graduating class:
“Well, art is art, isn't it? Still, on the other hand, water is water! And east is east and west is west and if you take cranberries and stew them like applesauce they taste much more like prunes than rhubarb does.
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$4 dinners in New York City: Peanut Butter Jelly Time!
I’m writing this post because I ran out of peanut butter. That’s a euphemism for “dinner.” You see, since I moved to New York on Saturday, my dinners have consisted only of the 4 major (Whole) Foods groups:
peanut butter
organic whole wheat sourdough
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Links, Week 1: Bro Bible, Guitar, Fairy Tales, Introverts and Adam Morrison
First installment of what I'm up to online. I'm averaging around 4 hours a day, ish?
Writing: Jay Caspian Kang on Lebron's meltdown and his poker addiction; the original Grimm's Fairy Tales, free on Google Books (read Cinderella); answers to the most viewed questions on Quora ("What does it feel like to be stupid?"); the New Yorker Summer fiction edition, on Weiner and a great story by George Saunders; myths about introverts; book country; Malinda Lo and Jenn Weiner on how to get published.
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4 years at Yale
When I have writers block, the best remedy is to keep pounding out words, even if the bulk is pure doggerel. The second best cure is to capitulate to the amateur poet inside me. I know I've been promising all these essays, but for now, here's an all-encompassing poem about, well, Yale.
Bella Villa
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So you want to write a short story?
From January to April this year, I was able to pick the brain of Michael Cunningham, Pulitzer Prize winning author (The Hours). I practically transcribed his lectures in our seminar; unfortunately, I shipped most of my notes back to Cali. Not a good decision, especially if I'm going to be writing a couple short stories this summer. Here's what I can remember from seminar, about how to write fiction:
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Exhaustion writing
There have only been 2 other nights in my life when I've wanted to go to sleep more than right now: on my 21st birthday, around 1:30am, after a cab ride from Santa Monica to Century City, with the feeling of puke jumping the queue in my esophagus; and when I was 5 years old, when my father woke me up at 3:30am so we could catch our SFO flight to Maui.
There might be a story about tonight.
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Eraser Knob
Currently working on a long read about my relationship with alcohol. Until then, here's a poem, about all my work this week sorting through children's books manuscripts.
Eraser Knob
My eraser knob, sad, nearly gone
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Why this blog exists
Writing a blog, when you don’t have a reason to write a blog, reeks of megalomania and dross. That’s why this blog almost never existed. And yet, here we are, eyeballs to page. It's partly because I want to keep college friends informed of my post-college life; to document NYC, and later the Philippines; to gather a body of current work in case I ever apply for a real writing job; to become rich, famous, beautiful.
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Archive of Previous Work
Allow this one post for self-indulgence: I’ve never organized my work in one place, and it seemed reasonable to compile it here for easy reference. So, now: all my work that resides in the bowels of the internet:
YDN, organized not by date, but by the 2011 NBA Finals.
Dirk – when the pressure's on, you just know he's going to perform.
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The koi pond
An old friend from the original site. Click the water.