This morning, I got in touch with my middle-school self. Now, this is something I don't do too often because the good Lord knows that it wasn't exactly the best of times. But there's a certain wist that goes along with memories of Fred Moore--wandering the streets of downtown Anoka on the cusp of summer, double-cheeseburgers and italian sodas. Us ( Read more... )

( did I stutter? )

RIP ROY SCHEIDER
1932-2008


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( a raucous Friday night with Crispin Glover. )

What can I say?

I've been immersed in school for awhile, and it feels like I've been tapped on the shoulder and pistolwhipped because I've obviously forgotten how it felt to be passionate and swamped and, incidentally, not drunk.

I forgot that fluttery feeling in my chest that happens when I'm thinking really hard about typeMy graphic design ( Read more... )

dear Spot ( Read more... )

( that first-sentence meme all the kids are doing these days. )

Welp, it's my final day at Hot Dish. Well, maybe not final, per se, because it's a good place to nest in if I'm seeking another job. Or saving up money to go live in Mexico.


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Spun in a cocktail of wild fun and wild stress, I tend to forget that I'm actually going to Dublin for school. At least Zoe and I have booked a five-day stay in a hostel. At least we've got somewhere to head from the airport when we're groggy and airsick and homesick and tired. We're staying in an 18-bed room, hallo barracks ( Read more... )

On the morning of the first of each month, when you get out of bed, you're supposed to say "rabbit" three times. It's good luck or some shit. I always forget; I can hardly even remember what day of the week it is, let alone some number in the scheme of thirty and-sometimes thirty-one ( Read more... )