Every time that I think the scene is kind of incestuous, the scene... has sex with another sibling.
Today was Columbus Day, also known as "If the Canadians Have Thanksgiving, We'd Better Get a Day Off Too, Goddammit." I had the "If Only We Had Socialized Medicine" remix, where I hacked weakly into tissues and moaned piteously for mercy.
At around midday, I thought suddenly that this was Columbus Day as the politically correct would choose to celebrate it: sharing smallpox symptoms with the misled American Indians. Someone fetch me a blanket.
Too soon?
Speaking with Ninja on the googular-chats:
ninja: also, about six thousand miles away, my brother is writing a paper and he suggested we document our "writerly faces" via our photobooths and send them to each other. and we are, with no planning, wearing pretty much the same hat.
myself: Clearly the hat is helpful for writerly things. What kind of hat is it?
myself: (Fact: I am currently wearing a book on my head. Is the hat a book?)
ninja: it's my droopy dark grey knit hat. andrew calls it my Dyke Hat because it brings the muff eaters to the yard and i look like a little boy in it. you've probs seen in. i never take it off.
ninja: books are totally hats! as long as they are on your head.
[Note: I believe that she misunderstood me to be asking if the book was a hat. This is foolish, as of course the book was being a hat.]
myself: The head is a sort of performative space, whereupon anything that enters its sphere is made into a hat.
myself: Pretend I didn't write that sentence.
I then proceeded to note that people are probably so sold on beanies because said hats are "like haterblockers, but knitwear."
By all this I mean to demonstrate why it is that I don't have access to the internet at my apartment. If I had internet access, I would go on the internet at nine at night, and would demonstrate just how loopy I get outside of my Prime Hours (1pm to 3pm, if sufficiently caffeinated).
All of which is to say that I am currently wearing Miss Manners' Guide to Etiquette on my head. And that I thought that I had content for this post. Whoops!
At around midday, I thought suddenly that this was Columbus Day as the politically correct would choose to celebrate it: sharing smallpox symptoms with the misled American Indians. Someone fetch me a blanket.
Too soon?
Speaking with Ninja on the googular-chats:
ninja: also, about six thousand miles away, my brother is writing a paper and he suggested we document our "writerly faces" via our photobooths and send them to each other. and we are, with no planning, wearing pretty much the same hat.
myself: Clearly the hat is helpful for writerly things. What kind of hat is it?
myself: (Fact: I am currently wearing a book on my head. Is the hat a book?)
ninja: it's my droopy dark grey knit hat. andrew calls it my Dyke Hat because it brings the muff eaters to the yard and i look like a little boy in it. you've probs seen in. i never take it off.
ninja: books are totally hats! as long as they are on your head.
[Note: I believe that she misunderstood me to be asking if the book was a hat. This is foolish, as of course the book was being a hat.]
myself: The head is a sort of performative space, whereupon anything that enters its sphere is made into a hat.
myself: Pretend I didn't write that sentence.
I then proceeded to note that people are probably so sold on beanies because said hats are "like haterblockers, but knitwear."
By all this I mean to demonstrate why it is that I don't have access to the internet at my apartment. If I had internet access, I would go on the internet at nine at night, and would demonstrate just how loopy I get outside of my Prime Hours (1pm to 3pm, if sufficiently caffeinated).
All of which is to say that I am currently wearing Miss Manners' Guide to Etiquette on my head. And that I thought that I had content for this post. Whoops!