- Get on plane
- Go to East Coast
- Look at Maryland
- Look at Pennsylvania
- Look at parents
- Look at brother
- Look at self in big old bathroom mirror
- Drink
- Look at small dog that was at one point an emotional substitute for one’s own presence
- Stop drinking
- Get on plane
- Come back to Minneapolis
- Sit down
- Stand up
- No, no. Sit back down.
Big Troubles /// “Misery” /// Romantic Comedy
Can someone check and see if the Internet is still there.
It’s not. But it’s always like that.
The Horrors and Pleasures of the Columbia House Music Club in Six Albums
Al Sharp, The Beta Band
Just. I don’t know. It’s a song.
I like the idea that there is such a thing as a “correspondent,” a person who corresponds with you concerning a particular topic or event. I also like the implication of the word itself, i.e. that a correspondent only exists in correspondence to some event and otherwise evaporates, only to reappear when some similar event occurs again. Like, imagine a bunch of war correspondents who only exist during a certain war and then blink out of existence once the guns have gone quiet. I think I could start a religion around this idea.
Anyway: Unborn Whiskey and The Notes are good correspondents. Pretty sure they don’t cease to exist when the crowds go home, though. Which, you know, violates the first tenet of the New Faith of Correspondence.
In the future, we won’t have weathermen. It’ll just be bloggers talking about their sweat glands.
Right now: 89 degrees
Feels like: 102 degrees
Looks like: 70 degrees
Acts like: hot water
Smells like: garbage nestled in armpit
-the sky right now
-certain types of frosting
-antifreeze
-blue hats
-the cover of this book I’m reading
-green
-wait a minute
Sometimes, when I sit at my computer by the windows in my room and a loud car goes by on the street, I have the overwhelming feeling that there is probably some huge, jagged piece of metal in the road and that the car is going to run over it and the angle of impact will be sufficient to send the jagged metal airborne through the air and up through my window on the second story and into my face, killing me instantly.
Also, when I drive my own car, I lack the bravery I once had. A few years ago I got into a minor (but really frighteningly loud) car accident, and now when I take turns anything that I see out of the corner of my eye is a car about to smash into my car, breaking all the windows and killing me instantly.
Across from my house is a baseball field. I’m always worried that a foul ball will break one of the windows on my car, and then last week a foul ball broke the back window of a car not 20 feet from my car. Honestly, I think the only emotion I associate with cars is screaming. That’s an emotion, right?
