Organized perfection

Some admire the rich, some the thin, some the brilliant. I, however, have undying and unrelenting admiration for anyone who puts all of his papers in binders. I tend to rationalize my shuffling through knee-deep pools of unsorted papers by telling myself that organizing them would be a waste of time, that the messy approach forces you to remember where things are and what you need them for, thus keeping your brain sharp. But I started to notice that at the beginning of class, my classmates with binders find the week's readings effortlessly, while I'm still digging through an overstuffed folder or, worse, a tote bag. It hit me that, unlike the cool designer jeans some parents buy their kids but some do not, binders are accessible to everyone with a few spare dollars and a willingness to brave the most boring store in the world. I'm now in the withdrawal process, going binder by binder from chaos to organized perfection.

In other organized-perfection news, Jo and I recently solved the TV stand problem, thanks to a minimalist-looking piece of furniture, painted black, with a piece of tape with "Take me, I'm gorgeous" written on it, on the street in Park Slope. It also solved part, but not all, of the book-overflow problem, it's just that fabulous. That's the Park Slope trade-off. You will be accosted by wheelie-shoe wearing small children at all times and will lose whatever inclinations you may have had to one day have kids of your own, but you can furnish your apartment for free.