Polly Jean.

I'm obsessed with the new PJ Harvey album, White Chalk. SRSLY, you guys, it's so good. And I've been watching a lot of PJ videos on YouTube and here's my favorite. It's of PJ playing "Grow Grow Grow" on an autoharp (LOVE) on some French tv show. Her voice is effing phenomenal.

Bonus points for anyone who can provide the English translation of whatever the host is saying. Also, doesn't her weave put Tyra Banks to shame?

Death, still.

I am no longer drunk. Now my head is heavier than the rest of my body and it hurts a lot.

Adam just guilted me into staying at work after I told him I was going to leave early (like, now). After he scolded me ("blah blah blah you're hungover, not sick blah blah blah you're an adult now blah blah blah nothing but scorn for you, etc"), I decided that I'll try to stay. At least until three o'clock. Besides, I have this week's Gossip Girl to watch.

Last night, John, Kristin, and I went to Berlin (the bar, not the city) and saw this guy "rap," which is why I'm having such a rough morning. I can't decide what part of the night was better. It might have been when two breakdancers mounted the stage during the first song and Cazwell demanded that they leave. But I think it was the drag queen who was wearing a surgical mask, ergo looking like Leatherface.

This is unrelated, but eh. I've given up on transitions today.

OMG Death.

I think I was still drunk when I woke up this morning. Meaning, I think I'm a little tips as I write this right now. I can't stand up without stumbling a little and everything is hilarious.

So glad I'm not preggers.

I finally saw Knocked Up last night (since everyone I know saw it in the theater without me).

And then I had a pregnancy nightmare where I knocked up a girl from my high school. It was terrifying.

Coincidentally, someone in my office left a breast pump on the drying rack in our kitchen. That was an awkward find.

I do not like my creative writing class.

First of all, we're reading a lot of stories, which is dumb, but whatever. Personally, I think it'd be more constructive to do in-class writing, especially since our professor is giving us grades on rough drafts. (I got a C+ on a sketch I turned in last week. Granted, I wrote it that day at work and it was C+ material, but I don't really see how you can give someone a grade on a creative piece, especially when it's just the first draft. But whatevs.) We had to read "The Dead" last night, which is a good story, even though it's hard to read Joyce for a creative writing class when you can't really write like Joyce for a creative writing class (which my professor even stated: "If someone wrote this passage in here, we'd tear it apart!"). Anyway, after about an hour spent on Joyce, someone in the class finally said, "I don't understand why we're reading this. It's boring." Then we had to sit through an explanation of why people study Joyce as an author.

Also, I took offense to my professor calling one of my story ideas "Harry Potter-like," because, um, it didn't involve magic or children or British people. It wasn't even a fantasy story. I don't understand where "Harry Potter-like" came from. And he commented that the story idea that I submitted, which is the story that I'm turning in next week, was "an oddity," but I'm going to finish writing it anyway.

He told us to write about bad jobs. But that's what this is for, duh.

This was supposed to be for fun.

It's a slow news day.

We have an army of temps in the office working short shifts all week to "train." My bosses set up an impromptu classroom in the file room, and it all seems like overkill because we don't have much work to do at all right now. In fact, I was all set to watch The Hills when I was told I had to train two of them. I was not happy, and I think my performance reflected it, as I finished "training" my temps way before the rest of them were done. I'm not sweating it, though, as I have four job leads. Four! That's a lot of chances for inevitable rejection!

Also, I'm apparently Gawker's Special Correspondent For Sexy Midwest Trends. Finally, a title I can put on my resume.

Across the Pooniverse.

Here's my confession: I am aware I willingly experience things I consciously experience things I know I will hate. But most of the time, there's a part of me that wants to give the benefit of the doubt, and I think, "Maybe I won't hate every thing about this crappy thing in which I am about to experience." That is what I was thinking on Saturday when I went to see Across the Universe. Also, I had had two margaritas. And some vodka.


Anyway, here's my review. I'll let you know now that if you're planning to see the movie and don't want to read any spoilers, stop now, although I find it very hard to believe that anything I say can spoil it for you, since THE DUMBEST FUCKING MOVIE EVER PRODUCED CAN DO IT VERY WELL ON ITS OWN.

The movie starts with this dude, Jude (get it?), who hails from Liverpool (get it?) as he sings, "There was a boy, a very enchanted boy... blah blah blah the greatest thing you've ever learn..." Oh wait, sorry, wrong movie. But you know, it was kinda like that. Anyway, JUDE goes to America to find his father who is a janitor at Princeton which is a bummer until he meets Max, short for Maxwell (get it?), a son of privilege who doesn't really go to class and gets high a lot instead. Max takes Jude home for Thanksgiving to meet his family and his sister, Lucy (get it?), whom Jude immediately falls for. Then Max announces he's dropping out of college. And then they go bowling and dance for a bit and then go to New York. Obviously.

And let me just get the rest of out the way: There's Sadie (get it?), who is basically Janis Joplin, and JoJo (I just got it: a reference to "Get Back"), the Jimi Hendrix character. Oh, and there's Prudence (get it?), the Asian lesbian from Iowa who comes into a scene randomly from a bathroom window (get it?). Now, I can understand an Iowan lesbian, but an Asian one? That seems like we're hitting a lot of avian minorities with one very large stone. Also, the cast sings "Dear Prudence" when she locks herself in a closet. Literally in a closet.

Oh, but maybe you're saying to yourself, "Tyler, of course it's going to be contrived! It's a musical film that's based on the ridiculous idea of stringing together Beatles songs in an unrelated fashion! But Julie Taymor directed it! And it looks so pretty!" Well, I just have this as a response:


THEY ARE SINGING "SHE'S SO HEAVY" WHILE CARRYING THE STATUE OF LIBERTY ON A VIETNAM SET.

I'm going to repeat that: THEY ARE SINGING "SHE'S SO HEAVY" WHILE CARRYING THE STATUE OF LIBERTY ON A VIETNAM SET.

I think the most offensive thing about the movie is that, while it is basically a shorter, musical version of the TV miniseries The '60s, which tried to explain to my generation what it was like way back then, it focuses entirely on the white kids who "changed the world," or at least shouted "Revolution!" enough to get their classes at Columbia and Berkeley canceled. I've never held the counterculture of that time period in high regard, basically because I don't think it was very productive. Also, the people telling us that it was are just those rich white kids who are now rich white adults with a lot of money invested in the entertainment industry. Also, Dennis Hopper is a Republican. I think that speaks a lot about that generation. Anyway, because it's the '60s and there was that whole Civil Rights Movement thing, Julie Taymor obviously had to touch on it, you know? So she resolves that whole thing in two scenes that take place while the cast sings "Let it Be." And those scenes depict a young black kid, first in the middle of a race riot and then dead.


Whoaaa, bummer, dude! Let's switch it to LSD, and Bono.


Problem solved.

Seriously, you guys, this movie was so bad it turned me into a Republican. I've never seen a movie about Vietnam where I was excited for the draft, if only for the chance that the male characters would die. And not even five Salma Hayeks could save this piece of trash for me.


My final thought: Did Prudence kill two hippies during the course of the film?


I wish one of them was Evan Rachel Wood.


Honestly, people. Don't see it. Rent this instead, because at least you get the kitsch:



Previously: Birt'day Wrap-Up

Top ten Friday links.

I'm lazy today, for reals, and I also don't really have anything about my life to share with the Internets. Instead, I'm going to provide you with a few quality links to check out.

10. FourFour supplies you with all of the animated Tyra gifs you could possibly need.

9. Julie Klausner craves a burger.

8. Jezebel's Moe on Jena and Jenna.

7. Lindsay Robertson created a terrific Facebook group.

6. Wonkette provides a picture of our greatest president immortalized in Corn Maze.

5. Lolsecretz. Obvs.

4. Suddenly I'm not so embarrassed about my parents reading my blog...

3. ...but I kind of would like an editor to read it.

2. It's been thirty years since the Fonz jumped the shark.

1. A. O. Scott is a gay guy who doesn't know stuff about laughter.

I'm running out of Muppet videos.

Here's more Match Game!

Taze him, bro.

I don't necessarily think that "freedom of speech" means you're free to act like an asshole.

"Best friends don't yell at best friends."

This clip from this week's episode of The Hills is kind of long, but I think it does a really great job at showing what the show is in a nutshell: dumb as shit.



First of all, Whitney is my fave because she's the dumbest gal on the show. She's one of those people who over-annunciates her Gs. I bet she moves her cursor under the words while she reads her emails. Anyhoo, she's supposedly one of the stars of the show, and I know this because she's in all of the posters and is one of the four girls in the opening credits. But in actuality, her function is basically to be there while Lauren gets us up to speed on the stuff that's going on in her life - even though we JUST SAW IT in the previous scene. I guess it makes sense because we wouldn't want to see Lauren complain about it to herself. That'd be crazy.

Also, this week's episode was obviously scripted, as the feud between Lauren and Heidi escalated when they BOTH ENDED UP AT THE SAME RESTAURANT. OMG! Like, how big is LA? And "Ketchup" is the name of the restaurant? Even WHITNEY saw the, like, symbology or whatever in that name. Seriously.

And do the producers think you can't tell when they've looped and dubbed over dialogue? Spencer was able to have an entire phone conversation with Heidi in TWO SENTENCES.

I'm not surprised Lauren Conrad wants red lights in her room. Red lights = whores. Y'know?

I don't think Mike Judge is on the GRE.

I'm not sure how I feel about my creative writing class and here are some reasons why:

1. When we got to class our professor had us write a few paragraphs about each story we read. Two people didn't read them, and he scolded, "This is an advanced class. This isn't accounting. Do you know how many accountants there are? There aren't that many good writers."

2. When we started to actually talk about the stories, our professor made us read them aloud, with each person reading two or three sentences as we went around the room.

3. Our professor told us that "Bartleby the Scrivener" was just like Office Space. Sadly, this is the second time I've heard a professor say that, but the first one wore a lot of gel in his hair.

Uncertain times

I haven't been in the best mood for the past twenty four hours since I found out that our lovely HR department decided that I am not eligible for a job that my old boss is hiring for, which pisses me off because I actually KNEW the person who was supposed to be picking the best candidates for the position. But no, some anonymous HR ass decided that I could not even be considered, because I haven't actually done the job before.

I have lost all patience with this place.

Since it's fall and I have a penchant for allergies and making life-plans that tend to be broken within three months, I've been doing a lot of sneezing and thinking lately. Last night, I laid in bed trying to figure out what to do. I decided that I need to just start saving money (perhaps even opening a savings account?) so that I can quit my job at the end of the year, since my chances of getting anything else are pretty slim. I will then go back to temping and use my savings to pay for my expensive medicine, which will rise in costs because of my lack of health insurance. I will also not cross streets and wear a lot of padding (but it'll be wintertime by then, so the timing is perfect). Doesn't that sound like a terrific idea?

Then I watched Klute, which you should see because it's very good.

And now I'm at work, where I've done nothing for an hour. And I'm procrastinating my homework, which is due this evening and I haven't started yet, because I'm not a serious student. It's just a two-page sketch piece which shouldn't take long, but of course I put it off and now I don't want to write what I planned originally because I'm trying to make an effort to make shit up instead of just writing about myself. But it's difficult because I'm my favorite subject.

Oh, speaking of which, I can use this opportunity to show you I shaved, only because it was my birthday and I was afraid that I'd look extra skeezy and dirty in pictures (none of which, of course, were taken).

I'm wearing a cardigan today I got for my birthday, so at least I can be satisfied knowing that I look pretty good.

Just when you thought you could go on living.

Brett Somers is dead.


I guess she's playing Match Game in Heaven.

Enjoy, laughter through tears:

Birt'day Wrap Up.

My birthday weekend was very good. I didn't get really drunk or dance, but I still enjoyed myself immensely. Many friends came out on Saturday night to celebrate with me, and it was a really nice evening. Twenty-three was a tough year with a lot of emotional ups and downs, and I'm lucky that I've got so many great people who helped me through it. Let's hope twenty-four continues on such a good note.

I didn't do anything stupid on my birthday, which is a great feeling, although I did have a brief lapse in judgment when I almost saw Across the Universe. Then I found out that Bono is in it and came to my senses. Also, the main character is named Jude. As in "Hey Jude." I bet Julie Taymor misuses "literally" on a daily basis. Take a gander for yourself:



Nice double takes, dude.

And here's an unrelated link, but a really good one: This Recording has an excerpt from a Vanity Fair article that examines Arthur Miller's public denial of his fourth child, a son with Down syndrome.

Ten thoughts on this year's Emmy Awards.

1. Ryan Seacrest outed himself at least three times.


2. Katherine "It's pronounced 'Hi-ghel'" Heigl sassed everyone in America.

3. The cast of Jersey Boys effectively gayed-up The Sopranos. Somewhere in Trenton, at least five housewives cried tears of joy into their Turning Leaf pinots.

4. Elaine Stritch was as old and nuts as she could have possibly been. Someone needs to give that lady her own sitcom.

5. The producers of this year's Emmys should have announced it as the Tony Bennett show at seven o'clock and called it a fucking night.


6. Seriously, fuck Al Gore. Fuck him. Al Gore does not deserve a goddamn standing ovation for winning an Emmy in a category that was made up just to give him another consolation prize for losing to The Idiot seven years ago. And, by the way, I'm so glad I deleted Tom from my MySpace friends.


7. Thank you, Robert Duvall, for becoming America's crazy, overwrought grandfather.

8. I can't decide which female cast member of Grey's Anatomy I hate more:Just kidding: it's Kate Walsh, only because I had to see her Cadillac commercial four times tonight. Al Gore's vocal inflections could sell a car better than that bitch.

9. Dear FOX: If Sally Field wants to say "goddamn" on the air, you LET HER. She's a national treasure and she's got something to say.

10. Does anyone else think that making the Asian guy from Heroes introduce the Internets segment was slightly racist?

24.

Because your Friday would be incomplete without a video featuring the Muppets.

Today is my last day as a 23-year-old, so I'm going to spend it like any 23-year-old would: I'm going to watch a lot of YouTube videos at work, since there's no work to actually do.

This morning Adam told me that his best man is convinced he's going to sing "Somebody's Getting Married" from The Muppets Take Manhattan at Adam and Alissa's wedding. My response: "YES HE IS." Seriously, I want that guy to be my best man.

I hope the actual ceremony is like this - entirely in song except for one line of dialogue in Spanish:

Adam and Alissa: I just gave you your wows. YOU'RE WELCOME.

And, unrelated, but just 'cause (I'm 23, y'all), check out the best lip-syncing in cinematic history:

I wish I went to high school in Canada

And I wish I was friends with these guys:

The Grade 9 student arrived for the first day of school last Wednesday and was set upon by a group of six to 10 older students who mocked him, called him a homosexual for wearing pink and threatened to beat him up.

The next day, Grade 12 students David Shepherd and Travis Price decided something had to be done about bullying.

"It’s my last year. I’ve stood around too long and I wanted to do something," said David.

They used the Internet to encourage people to wear pink and bought 75 pink tank tops for male students to wear. They handed out the shirts in the lobby before class last Friday — even the bullied student had one.

"I made sure there was a shirt for him," David said.

Related:
‘I’ve stood around too long’ [Chronicle Herald]

Ben: 1, Tyler: 0.

Exactly how jealous am I that someone I know has been ridiculed on Gawker?


Um, very.


Related:
Bedbug Population Explodes At Bushwick Hipster Ground Zero [Gawker]

My obsession with LOLcats can finally come to an end.

Okay, so it's quite possible that today could actually be a good day, as I discovered this morning that a picture of MY CAT is on I Can Has Cheezburger?


It's a shame, however, that my name isn't credited with taking the picture, but oh wellz. The important thing is that I know and you know that I did it. Srsly.

The second most important thing is that Tex is a famous cat now. He should have a blog.


Unrelated: I started a class last night, figuring that I might as well take advantage of the free tuition here while I have it. It's just an undergraduate creative writing class, and it's hopefully better than the one I took last summer (it's an "intermediate" level, so it's slightly promising). I get to write two stories, which is good, but I also have to reread all of those damn anthologized short stories that we've all been reading for years. (You know the ones: "Everyday Use" by Alice Walker, "The Open Boat" by Stephen Crane, "To Build a Fire" by Jack London, et al.) My professor is a nice blend of normal and crazy; he doesn't seem full of himself, which is a refreshing change, but he did manage to incite a double-take last night when he said, "We like to read stories about poor people because stuff happens to them." And the majority of the class seems generally competent and interesting, even if I'm (I think) the second-oldest.

Also unrelated: I'm trying to figure out why the majority of male DePaul business majors dress like this:Apparently Chicago suburbanites are taking fashion cues from their Staten Island cousins.

Leave her ALONE!!! ...please?

Okay, I wasn't planning to post anything else today, but GODDAMN I just watched this twice and I really felt it, you know?

Burning bridges.

I'm in an unspoken fight with one of my temp agency recruiters. Basically, I don't like her very much because she's the one who told me my year's worth of office experience was for naught and that I should just give up my benefits and go back to temping. Her rationale was this: "It's summer! No one gets sick in the summer!" I wanted to shout, "But I'm depressed year-round! I then acted very unsatisfied when she called me about temp jobs that paid less than what I am making now. So, let's see, I should leave my shitty job to make less money and an equally shitty job so that I can hopefully be hired on full time after three miserable months of avoiding traffic and not being medicated? I don't think so.

It's weird, though; she's the only recruiter who still calls me randomly and I'm not sure why. I visited six agencies, and most of those bitches stopped calling me after two weeks. But Erica likes to keep in touch, even though she never offers me anything that I'd be remotely interested in. (Her last idea was in the admissions office of an "online" (read: fake) university. In the suburbs.)

I've tried to shake her and I think I finally did it. She emailed me those computer skills assessment tests about a month ago, and I told her that I'd find time to complete them, knowing full well that I had no intention of doing so. I have a Mac and can't load the program at home, and I'll be damned if I'm going to waste my time at work playing around on Excel for a half-hour. That's a whole episode of The Hills I could be watching!

Then she called me last Thursday, but I was hating life and did not want to entertain the idea of temping, so I didn't call her back until yesterday morning. And now Erica hasn't returned my phone call, which in theory should be perfectly fine but in reality pisses me off to no end. She thinks she can ignore me?

In other work news: I have another friend whose job makes me insanely jealous:

America's Nutty Grandma

My grandmothers spent most of my childhood depressed, either having voluntary house arrests or spending entire visits at my house weeding our garden against our parents' wishes. I'm not saying I didn't love them because of their contribution to the family's neuroses, I'm just saying that I missed out on having one of those fun, kooky grandmothers that people sometimes brag about. The craziest thing my maternal grandmother ever did was buy Christmas presents for the cat, and that's pretty tame in the grand scheme of things. (Seriously, she had so many opportunities to crank it up!)

Luckily for me, there's Carol Channing:


Can you imagine what it'd be like to be her actual grandchild? It'd be giggles and peanuts and sequins all fucking day long. And don't forget the dancin'!

Dear World:

Love,

Tyler.

The Facial Hair Challenge of 2007.

Since I'm a young urban male in his (fuck - almost mid!) twenties, and because I haven't unsuccessfully done it yet this year, I've decided that I'm not going to shave until I get an interview. It's easier on my body than a hunger strike, and I feel like it'll still have the same uncomfortable effect as my facial hair looks like dirt and will most likely unsettle CTA passengers.

So far, this is what I've got:


Don't I look adorably prepubescent even with hair on my face? Oh, the irony that is my life.

Please let it be known that I will also continue to make that sour expression until I get an interview, with a brief lapse on Saturday night, when I'm drunk for my birthday (to be followed by me being drunk and crying because I'll be 24).

I see only two ways this plan could fail. I will either get really tired of having facial hair, as it feels weird and looks rather stupid, or I will go so long without an interview that my beard will actually grow in and be acceptable for an interview.

Who wants to place bets on which of the three will happen first?

I will do anything for free food, but I won't do that.

True Friendship, or: I'm your child, please take care of me until I'm thirty.

My parents just forwarded this email to me, the receipt of which was rather unsettling.

True Friendship: None of that Sissy Crap

Are you tired of those sissy "friendship" poems that always sound good, but never actually come close to reality? Well, here is a series of promises that actually speak of true friendship. You will see no cutesy little smiley faces on this e-mail-just the stone cold truth of our great friendship.

1. When you are sad -- I will help you get drunk and plot revenge against the sorry person who made you sad.

2. When you are blue -- I will try to dislodge whatever is choking you.

3. When you smile -- I will know what you did last night.

4. When you are scared - -I will rag on you about it every chance I get.

5. When you are worried -- I will tell you horrible stories about how much worse it could be... until you quit whining.

6. When you are confused -- I will use little words.

7. When you are sick -- Stay the heck away from me until you are well again. I don't want whatever you have.

8. When you fall -- I will point and laugh at your clumsy butt.

9. This is my oath..... I pledge it to the end. "Why?" you may ask; "Because you are my friend."

Send this to all 10 of your friends, then get depressed because you can only think of 4.

Is it absolutely terrible that I just want option ten ("When you overdraw your account for the fifth time in two months, I will sent you money so that you can pay your rent")? That one is surely the most applicable, only because they are unable to get me a new job where I can actually afford to pay my bills and eat two meals a day at the same time.

Not ASHAMED of MARMALADE!

It's my last early Friday, and since I only have to work for three hours and there hasn't been much actual work to do, I've been watching these two videos on YouTube repeatedly because they both blow my mind.

First, a video of Raquel Welch dancing with a man in a giant spider suit from The Muppet Show (thanks to Julie Klausner for sharing this one on her blog):

Is that or is that not The Shit?

And also, the best scene in the 1985 TV version of Alice in Wonderland starring, among others (and when I say "others," I mean "every greatest living star who was still alive in 1985"), Carol Channing:

This is from the second half of the movie which is really an adaptation of Alice Through the Looking Glass, and it's the better of the two movies because of Channing, natch. It also features Beau Bridges as a unicorn and Pat Morita as a goat. Needless to say, I was obsessed with this as a child.

HATE.

I called my mom last night because, you know, I was having a rough day. And this exchange took place.

"I swear to God, Mom. I will punch the next nineteen year old I see with a Blackberry."

"Oh, Tyler, now why would that make you upset? That's a silly thing to get aggravated about."

Clearly my mother doesn't get it, so I had to make her understand.

"Mom, I'm against Blackberries in general. I don't think anyone needs one, much less a college student."

"Well, I'm sure their parents buy them for them."

"Exactly, mom. Remember when I was in first grade and [Name redacted]'s got BOOKS from the Tooth Fairy and I was upset when I found out because the Tooth Fairy only brought me fifty cents for each tooth? Do you remember how mad you were?"

"YES. I hated that. It was almost as bad as when divorced parents had Santa Claus come TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW. Ugh. Did they think their kids wouldn't come to school and brag, 'Santa came to my house twice!'"

That's how I feel about people my age with Blackberries.

Grad school looks better everyday.

I was working on a long post about how I think it's absolutely fine if Jodie Foster doesn't want to publicly say she's a lesbian, but then I took a break from it to go call about the two jobs I was waiting to hear from at Northwestern. Aaaand, surprise! I didn't get one of them (the one I actually wanted), and wasn't able to talk to the woman who interviewed me for the other one.

It's September, which means I've been looking for a new job for nine months. (See, employers? I have excellent math skills.)

(Just as an aside, I'd like to state that other than this miserable job search, and the fact that it's still really hot here and I sit in my apartment and sweat a lot, everything in my life is going splendidly. Just to fill you in.)

I have a few immediate options: eating my feelings my pop-tarts, calling my mom, scouring Craigslist for part time retail positions, or listening to The Weakerthans.

It is highly likely that I will drop-kick a DePaul student today.

Gettin' hitched.

I just received an email (a mass one - as if I'd be at the top of the correspondence list) from Adam saying that he proposed to Alissa on the banks of the Vltava (it's in Prague - I Googled!) and, "against her better judgment," she said yes. So, congrats, kids! You've got my blessing, even if I'm going to have to hear R. Kelly at the reception!

The Many Faces of Whitney, Part Two.

Last night on The Hills, Whitney managed to display a brief range of emotions when Lauren admitted that her parents almost named her "Tiffany" or "Crystal."





She must have finally finished Freakonomics, natch.

Are You What You Are Or What.

I'm really mad at CNN.com for putting this story under the "Latest News" of its homepage.

Now I've got this goddamn song stuck in my head:

If the summer is over, why am I still sweating?

I hope everyone had a great Labor Day, as I did not. I was busy sleeping all day, which was part of my recuperation from either a brief Flu or a brief food poisoning. All I know is that on Saturday night I threw up a lot and pickles came out of my nose, and it was the first time in ten years I had thrown up when I wasn't drunk, and I honestly have a new found appreciation for alcohol-induced vomiting. Seriously, when you're sober you can't feel good at all. Your nose burns from the food, and you just stare at the TOILET INTO WHICH YOU ARE PUKING.

The worse thing about this, obvs., was that I did not get to celebrate Labor Day by wearing white jeans. Instead, I watched Malcolm X, which is the total opposite of White Jeans, but also really good.

Anyway, I don't have much else to say, so I'm going to spare you my thoughts on vomit and leave with these scatterbrained ones:

Adam is on vacation all week and, FUCK, who am I going to annoy at work?

My mother emailed me this weekend to tell me that John Waters is coming to speak at David's university. I think she thinks I like John Waters more than I actually like him, and for no reason at all, really. I said, "I'm not that big of a fan. I've never seen Pink Flamingos or anything." She replied, "What's Pink Flamingos?"

Kristin had a birthday party this weekend and this happened:


Tomorrow is the first day of classes at my university, so I have a few thousand more reasons to hate my job. And they are all business majors.

And with that, it's time to call about those jobs I'm still waiting to hear from. Gah.