Roadnotes: L.A. 1

Friday I finally got around to looking for tickets to L.A. (I'd planned to visit over the quarter break, despite not really having the money). I discovered that leaving the very next day, I could get tickets that were pretty much half the price.

Now I'm on the plane, sucking it up and reading the Da Vinci Code and feeling completely embarrassed about it.

It's not bad, if you like that sort of thing. Best sellers are typically filled with useless phrases like, "heart pounding," and meaningless descriptions of characters' surroundings, characters' possessions or characters' chins. And ultimately I feel a little manipulated when I read this sort of thing. I also feel insulted - if I wasn't told the main character was in peril, there apparently would be no way for stupid little ol' me to figure it out.

Yeah, but at least it's a refresher course on some of this history. THAT part I enjoy and I didn't mind the excessive description of the Grand Gallery at the Louvre, as I've never been there and would like to see it.

The flight goes well (as you can see, I'm still alive). I eat dinner with sis and then we go off to Scott "Freaking" Baio's Pointless Banter release party. I meet Kevin, of course, as it's his party, and he is entirely a genuinely nice guy. As an extra bonus, I meet the man behind Dick Stanke, a genius writer and a nice guy as well.

Then, Bill Dawes gives us a call and we rush down to his midnight show at the Laugh Factory, where we get to meet Bethany and her brother, David. They are just as sweet as their online personalities! And Bill Dawes - I guess he can be my best friend again because he didn't once stare at my sister's breasts. Plus, he's pretty damned funny, even when they make him talk in a Russian accent.

Roadnotes: Denver 3

It's been one long day ever since S----- died, but everything has gone as well as possible. I guess.

Thanks to Quinn and Penelope and Geekdork, I didn't have to worry about where to stay or about rides to and from the airport. And Trapper will make it. It will suck, but he'll make it.

There is beauty, you know, still. The service was amazing and Trapper kept saying that during it, he could feel so much love....

There is comedy, too. During an intense conversation with S-----'s family this afternoon, cell phones kept going off and they all had the most inappropriate ring tones. When one rang the tune of "The Entertainer," it was all I could do to keep from cracking up.

I'm at the airport now, starved. And I'm temporarily stymied when I get to Concourse A because Panda Express is closed for remodeling. I've been in a non-vegetarian house for days so I wanted some fried rice with egg in it. Now I don't know what to do.

So, I pee. Does anyone know how those automatic flushing urinals always seem to know exactly when I'm done? It's eerie. I shake off the last drops and before I can put it away, it starts flushing. It's like they have someone watching, that's how dead-on it is.

At some place called Jimmy's, my drink costs more than my dinner. I'm there because as much as I lamented the choices at SEATAC, there are even fewer options in DIA's Concourse A.

I can hear some floozy saying things like, "I'm legal. I mean I'm not barely legal or anything but I'm young." I want to tell her to just hump the married guy's leg - maybe then he'd get the hint faster.

The "pasta rustica" is actually so good it surprises me. The silverware surprises me, too - it's about as light as air and made of plastic, but it LOOKS like silverware.

I'm finishing up some homework while I finish off my drink when I happen to look at the TV for a moment. I see Kirby Puckett's face and I get excited for news about my boyhood hero until I see the caption underneath: 1961-2006.

Motherfucking shit.

I pay the bill. I find my gate. I sit down and I get a phone call from my sister.

"Have you heard?" she asks.

"Yeah. I just found out. He was about the same age as S-----."

Growing up, my sister used to tease me by calling him "Kirby Spitbucket." Now, after all these years, she suddenly feels a little bad about that.

I tell her it's okay (and it is). If I believed in last straws, I'd have collapsed by now. And Kirby is no straw - he's much bigger than that.

I can take this, too. You may not know this, but you're helping me get through this. All of you. So I can take it.

I love you S-----. I love you Trapper.

I love you Kirby Spitbucket.

I love you, sis.

I'm back in Seattle, now. And I will sleep well tonight.

Roadnotes: Denver 2

My favorite story: Four days before she died, she decided she wanted a drumstick - one of those ice cream cones with the fudge coating and peanuts, etc. So her husband, Trapper, goes to get her one but he doesn't know what kind. So he just buys a box of every kind they have. It is beautiful logic.

Roadnotes: Denver 1

Two days ago at my writer's group there was surprise expressed, by several, that I, at age 31, had been to 15 or 20 funerals. I didn't think it was that many. So now I wonder how many is normal?

The subject came up, of course, when I told them of my upcoming trip. The one I'm on now. I'm going to a funeral in Denver. I'm not there, yet - I'm on a bus headed to SEATAC, wishing my suit and dress shoes didn't require me to take a full-sized carry-on. Much easier to get around with just a backpack.

I'm at the airport. A quick tour of food options made me think that vegetarians don't travel much. I had to walk what seemed like half the length of the airport just to find something that wasn't a veggie burger.

Now, I'm watching a woman eat, one table over. She stares at the cover of a fashion magazine and finishes her food. Then she flips through the magazine, quicky and efficiently taking out all the postcard size ads that would ineveitably fall out if she didn't do this.

I caught you, lady! See, we all do these little things but we usually don't consider that we are doing them for an audience. Enough, though. I'll leave her with her stack of postcard ads and quit writing. I'm not even there, yet....



No, there's one last thing. (I'm wordy today.) Is anyone else a regular Frontier flyer? If you're over, say, 5'10", you have to stoop down to see underneath the overhead compartments in order to see the row numbers for your seat assignment.

My first time on a Frontier plane freaked me out - I couldn't see any row numbers, yet everyone else seemed to know exactly where to go. It was Twilight Zone-esque. I almost turned around and counted the rows behind me. I did figure it out, somehow, without asking, and for a while afterward it annoyed me whenever I flew Frontier. Now it makes me laugh. Just a little. Deep down inside, where no one can see.



Okay. One last thing again. And this time I mean it. I'm too embarrassed to bring a book out of my bag to read. I'm on the plane and I have a copy of the DaVinci Code, but I feel like it'd be too cliche or just too stupid to show people that I, too, have stooped to that level. Incidentally, Dabi touched on this subject not long ago....

Of course, I haven't REALLY stooped that low - I have to read it for a class I'm taking next quarter. The class is called, "The DaVinci Code." Honest. I'm not keen on the book, but I am keen on the history that the book is based on, which is what the class is about. Baigent and Leigh have done some great work and I couldn't pass up the chance to study it in an academic setting. Thus, I must read the book - it's homework I've been given before the quarter has even started. Don't ask me why, but I do actually love this school.

Anyway, I have other, more dignifying, options: The Elements of Style and Ouisconsin, a book of poems by one of my professors. I'm shutting up now. Who knows - I may not have anything to say for the rest of the trip.

C-Dawg be sayin: "How come you not be puttin' me in your blogs, yo?!"

And I'm like, "Now, C-Dawg, I totally mentioned you in that one blog...and there was maybe another blog...maybe."

And C-Dawg be sayin, "Thats not enough, yo!"

And I'm all, like, "Uh...the blogs are fiction. I just make them up. Any similarity to actual events is purely a figment of your imagination."

And then C-Dawg gets all upset, yo! No time to finish - I'm busy installing a third deadlock on my door!

Bill Dawes is not my best friend anymore....

Actual message left by Bill Dawes on my cell phone:

"Hey Aaron, it's your best friend, Bill Dawes. You should've told me your little sister had such nice breasts. I had NO CLUE! HA HA HA HA HA!"

The good thing about cancer

I have a good friend who has been told she has months to live. You never know about these things, for sure, but that's what she's been told.

Her husband is also a good friend and we've been in communication. I call often, though it is rare that we connect. The few times we've talked were hasty exchanges, basic updates of the situation - it's not easy to do these things over the phone and we are 1332.7 miles apart.

But the last time we spoke, we told each other that we loved each other. That's difficult for two heterosexual males to do without it being some kind of struggle. But it wasn't. Not now. The impact of the situation has raised our awarenesses beyond the need to worry about ridiculous social constraints.

If one case of cancer can do that to two people, raise their awareness to that extent, then the world should become increasingly more aware as more people get cancer. In fact, I feel it is inevitable.

My best friend, Bill Dawes!

Recently my best friend, Bill Dawes, gave me his cell phone number! I was so excited because we've never met in real life or anything. I could finally hear his voice and interact with him outside of the Internet! Recently, I've been institutionalized, so I haven't been able to call him, but they did let me use the Internet today, so I wanted to share with you all what a fabulous friend I have in Bill!



----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Aaaaaaron
Date: Jan 23, 2006 1:09 PM

Hey Bill,

It was nice talking to you, today. I hope I get out to NYC sometime soon so we can hang out.

aaron



----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Bill Dawes
Date: Jan 23, 2006 8:14 PM

Aaron, you're kind of creeping me out. Please stop calling me. Bill.



----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Aaaaaaron
Date: Jan 24, 2006 3:22 AM

Hey Bill,

I'm glad you were up when I called. It sure was nice of you to give me your cell phone number. It's great that I can call you whenever I want. And you can call me.

But I'm sure you're busy.

That's okay, because I don't mind being the one that calls. I think I'll call right now and see what you're up to.

aaron



----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Bill Dawes
Date: Jan 24, 2006 3:45 PM

Seriously, Aaron, you've got to stop calling me. I'm sure you're just lonely or something but I don't appreciate it. I only gave you my number because I thought you were sane. Don't ever call me again. Bill.



----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Aaaaaaron
Date: Jan 25, 2006 4:37 AM

So, what's up with your cell phone? Did you forget to pay the bill? Ha ha. Did "Bill" forget to pay the "bill?" Ha ha. I bet you get that all the time when you don't pay your cell phone bill.

I haven't tried calling you for an hour or so - maybe you've paid it by now. I'm going to try.



----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Bill Dawes
Date: Jan 25, 2006 9:27 AM

Don't ever send me a message again. I've already had to change my cell number because of you. Just leave me alone. Bill.



----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Aaaaaaron
Date: Jan 25, 2006 9:36 AM

I'm lucky to have a friend like you - you respond to my messages as if you really KNOW me, you know? I'm sure you're incredibly busy with your "comedy" and everything and yet you still take time to write me now and then. I appreciate that.

So, I came up with a funny skit you should do in your standup. What made me think of it is that it's called "standup," get it? You should come out on stage with a chair and do "sit-down" comedy, get it? That would be pretty funny, huh? You can do your show that way when I come to visit!



----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Bill Dawes
Date: Jan 26, 2006 8:58 AM

I don't know how you got my new cell number but DO NOT EVER CALL IT AGAIN.

Seriously, I will hurt you. Bill.



----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Aaaaaaron
Date: Jan 26, 2006 9:12 AM

You're so funny, Bill. It must be nice being funny. Plus, you've got those boyish good looks. I bet it's no problem getting laid, huh? When I come out to New York, we will totally hang out and you can get me laid, right? I mean, I don't care if we have to share, you know?

So, your mom was pretty surprised to hear you were trapped in a mine shaft and I needed to call your cell phone to track your precise location, since that's what I told her. She seemed to take the news well, but I tried to be as understanding as possible, considering.

I like your mom. She seems nice. I'll be honest, though, she's not really my type.

I keep calling you and getting your voice mail for some reason. You must be extra busy. Did you get a part in a movie again? That would be nice. Maybe I'll come out for the premiere! Wouldn't that be cool, two cool guys stepping out of the limo with all the cameras flashing and everything - there I'd be, right by your side!



----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Bill Dawes
Date: Jan 26, 2006 11:23 AM

Fuck you. Now you've done it.



----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: Aaaaaaron
Date: Feb 6, 2006 8:34 AM

Hey Bill,

I know it's been a while, but I've been institutionalized. And before that, someone jumped me in a dark alley and beat the crap out of me. I know it was Jennifer Aniston. Tell someone they have the perkiest nipples once and they think you're cute, but tell her 296 times and she freaks out. What a world... So anyway, strangely enough the van pulled up and put the white jacket on me right after I was beaten up. It's almost like they new exactly where to find me.

So, it took me a while to convince them that if I didn't email you your medication schedule, you would die painfully. Of course, this was a compromise, since I was TRYING to get them to let me use the phone, but they don't allow me to do that. I miss calling you every ten minutes.

It's going to be difficult not being able to stay in touch, but fortunately I printed up all 406 images for your name that Google turned up. Of course, some of them weren't you but I still THINK of you when I see them and that's what counts, right?

Don't get too lonely! I'll think of you often,

aaron

A Treatise on the "long hair guy" Phenomenon

Failure asserts that "99 percent of guys who grow their hair out long are insecure" and that they do it because "girls [dig] it." He goes on to say, "Only a very small rockstar minority of longhaired-guys don't get pussywhipped within 2 seconds of a relationship" (personal communication, January 6, 2006). Not all of these statements are relevant to this treatise.

Failure asks, "Do some people actually thing [sic] a guy with long hair is macho?" (personal communication, January 6, 2006).

In a thorough study of this topic, James states, "From my experience id [sic] say [girls] dont [sic] like long hair" (James, 2001, para. 3), but he does uncover several examples that refute his own experience.

Erin says, "I personally find long haired guys very attractive (that's an understatement..)" (qtd. in James, 2001, para. 15).

Tarnisha adds, "Personally, long hair is high on my cuteness checklist. If its [sic] long enough to all fit in a pony tail -Sweet!" (qtd. in James, 2001, para. 28).

Tarnisha also claims that, "one of the cutest guys I know has waist long straight brown hair. I think he is personally responcible [sic] for at least 50 girls sticking with our LARP of the the [sic] last few years" (qtd. in James, 2001, para. 29). Though she does not offer information on what a "LARP" is, if long hair on a male can make 50 girls do anything, it must in some cases be a good thing, whether it is macho or not.

Works Cited

Failure (2006). Even if I don't win. Retrieved January 6, 2006, from personal communication.

James (2001). Do girls like long hair guys?. Retrieved February 2, 2006, from http://the-light.com/archive/mens/threads/20773.html

Pics of Gay Johnsons!

A trusted spy sent me these pics of a REAL place: it is in Colorado and it's called Gay Johnsons.



Can you imagine the hilarity of the conversations that mention this place? Well, keep on imagining because I'm not even going to do it justice:

"Honey, could you go fill up the tank at Gay Johnsons?"

"Sure, baby. Gay Johnsons has great hot dogs."

This one's for you, Joey Polanski!

Because no one else reads my blog on blogspot. Well, Shoun does once in a while but he HAS to read my stuff now and then because he publishes it. And that creepy anonymous stalker reads it occasionally, but he or she doesn’t even post on anything recent – they always “hide” their post way down on some old blog. – Hey anonymous commenter – I get an email when you comment! That’s right, I am notified! I know what you're doing!

But anyway, thanks Joey Polanski. You make me feel like a star and that’s pretty tough to do. You’re the best.

Public Service Announcements: I Am Not A Map

Maps. They were invented long ago, no matter what continent you are talking about. They are usually graphic representations of geographic locations - pretty handy if you want to know how to get from Point A to Point B. I suggest you pick one up if you are unfamiliar with where you are going. These days, you can even look one up on the Internet. Try mapquest.com. Or if you are in Seattle, I think lostinseattle.com is cool. Anyway, maps can help you.

Here is what a map isn't, just in case you are confused. A map is not a six foot tall, short haired, skinny, neurotic, geeky weirdo who walks all over the place because he has no car.

Thanks for listening. I was noticing that a lot of you were confused about this. Maybe now you can get where you're going without pestering me.

One last thing: if you are an unquestioningly attractive, available female, please disregard the above notice. In that one particular instance, I am most certainly a map.

Let's do to old people what we do to old elephants! It makes plain sense!

The lovely Cassandra suggested the topic, "Elephants," and even though she did not win any of the choose-my-blog-topic contests, she tried. And sometimes that's all that matters (if you're cute).

So this is where old elephants go: The Elephant Sanctuary.

Can you imagine how much easier it would be to get Gramma and Grampa to go to a home if we called it a sanctuary? And we could describe the place better, too (I'm stealing from the Elephant Sanctuary site, replacing the word "elephant" with "old people"):

The Old People Sanctuary in Hohenwald, Tennessee, is the nation's largest natural-habitat refuge developed specifically to meet the needs of old people. It is a non-profit organization, licensed by the U.S. Department of Agriculture and the Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency, designed specifically for old, sick or needy people who have been retired from zoos and circuses. Utilizing more than 2700 acres, it provides two separate and protected, natural habitat environments for Asian and African old people. Our residents are not required to perform or entertain for the public; instead, they are encouraged to live like old people.

Phil Snyder, regional director of the Humane Society of the United States has stated, "The Old People Sanctuary represents the future of enlightened captive old people management."

Sounds much better, doesn't it, Gramps?

The Innocence of Iowans

In parts of the midwest, there is a chain of gas station convenience stores that goes by the name of Kum And Go. It is pretty hilarious. But Iowans seem to not understand the joke. Somehow, they are unable to associate the name with any kind of sexual act.

There is a library in the heart of Iowa that raised funds by bricking a pathway with the names of families and companies that donated money. Kum And Go donated a good sum and the result, hilariously, was that somewhere in Iowa there is a brick outside a library that implies you should wank off onto it and get out of there. See for yourself:

If Hitler had designed LEGO sets.... an MLK Day extravaganza!

"If black people were in Germany during World War II, the Holocaust would have never happened.... At least, not to Jews." - Sarah Silverman

Mr. Sassy Pants was one of two contest winners (the contest was to see who could name the date of my first blog ever posted on MySpace). He argued that the blog where I recycled an old letter was technically the first blog I ever wrote that appeared on MySpace - I just hadn't posted it first. For that I had to agree that he did win.

Here was his topic, in a nutshell: "The Lego Universe is not the utopia that it tries to present itself as in the brochures and colorful box sets. There's a dark underbelly in Lego Land."

Intrigued, I did some research. I love LEGO, but there is always something to find when you look, right? So I looked and after a long eight minutes, I thought I had found it: the dark underbelly of LEGO, the tiger in the black dotted eye, the monkey in the plastic wrench. Take a look:


LEGO Gas Chamber

LEGO Concentration Camp

LEGO Gleeful Soldier

Notice the LEGO baton smack-down!

Looks pretty scary, doesn't it? Yeah. But if you read this article, you'll find that, though LEGO did willingly participate in the making of these sets, they did so for some very intelligent reasons.

LEGO agreed to work with the artist, Zbigniew Libera, in producing this limited edition series for retail because of the profound social statement Libera was trying to make. I won't go into it - read the article if you're interested. But I did find this idea very provoking: that the LEGO pieces in the box could be used to build just about anything - it is only the stark image on the front that sets the tone of the set.

So you see, I went looking for the dark underbelly and found only more respect for the company. I am actually proud of them for taking part in this very controversial artistic endeavor. I didn't find the dark underbelly of LEGO. I failed Mr. Sassy Pants and all of you. But that is the way of things. Everytime I try to find fault with LEGO, they appease me. When I pointed out that they didn't have a black LEGO figurine, they made many. When I pointed out that they didn't have a Lando Calrissian Star Wars LEGO figurine, they made him and his whole Cloud City.

"Martin Luther King... I had a fuckin' dream, too!" - Sarah Silverman

You might think that only black people have a good reason to celebrate the life of Martin Luther King, Jr. But the man was cut down just when he was broadening the scope of his message, when he was no longer talking about race so much as class. And class affects us all, whether you're black, Jewish, or a no good white man, like me.

CIA Agent Jones Tricked Me!

I should not have underestimated him.

Remember how I found a source for my Everest gum, despite an evil CIA plot to make my life miserable?

Well, I finished my last tin of Everest and broke open one from the new source and what do you know? It is not the Peppermint kind. It is the Wintergreen flavor. CIA Agent Jones tricked me!

I wasted no time in buying out my source of Everest gum and apparently I was so excited at finding it that I didn't see that it was the wrong flavor! I mean, Wintergreen is okay, but only the Peppermint freshens my breath well enough.

I'll get you for this, CIA Agent Jones!

A Transcript: President Bush's first meeting with advisors after 9-11...

September 11, 2001. This is the transcript of the first official meeting of Bush and his advisors, upon hearing the news of the attacks on the World Trade Center. I have pieced this together from a well-researched source. If you truly want to know what Bush was talking about in his first meeting that day, read on:

PRESIDENT GEORGE BUSH: I'm sure we've all got questions. I've got questions. Let's start with some questions. Anyone want to start?

SALLY MATHESON: Why don't you start, Mr. President?

BUSH: Okay. Well, the first thing that comes to my mind is, how come the caterpillar was so hungry? That darned caterpillar ate up all that stuff. How'd he get so hungry?

BILLY JORGENSEN: My older brother says that when he smokes pot he gets all starving.

BUSH: Yeah, I've uh…I've heard that. Not like cocaine, is it?

JORGENSEN: What’s coke-ane?

BUSH: It's a…it's a special kinda' coke.

MILLIE PETERS: Do you like it?

BUSH: I've uh…I actually don't know what you're talkin' about.

PETERS: About the coke-ane, silly!

BUSH: Yeah, uh…so any more questions about the book? I'd love to talkinate with you all about this here litera-…liter…this here book.

JIMMY DOBBINS: Why are your nose hairs gray?

BUSH: Well, that's a…that's a condition. Er, not a condition except in that it's a condition of bein'. Like bein' a condition. Of age. It's an age thing, you see, when a duck gets old, the gander…uh…when a duck gets old he takes a gander at a goose.

DOBBINS: Is that why hairs grow out of grown-ups' moles?

[SILENCE]

BUSH: Andrew?

CHIEF OF STAFF ANDREW CARD: [UNINTELLIGIBLE WHISPERS]

BUSH: Uh…yes.

RACHEL SMITH: Why do you think the caterpillar was so hungry?

BUSH: Well, I uh…I think he was just concerned, you know. He was thinking of all those other countries out there that might get his food and well…he just…well see, if you count all your chickens and they're hatched, well then shame on you. And if uh…if you count all your chickens and they try to bite you, well then, uh…I can count, if that's what you're asking. If you're asking me, as the president, if I can count, well yes, ma'am, I'll tell you in three words that I can count good.

I have beaten you, CIA Agent Jones!

Or Johnson or whatever your name is.

I admit. It was kind of funny when you got assigned to me and had nothing better to do than eliminate all sources of my favorite gum, Everest.

And it took me a while to figure out what had happened, too. I was living in Denver at the time and even contacted the company. When they responded, listing several places that I knew USED to carry Everest, I realized something was up. Obviously, you were intercepting the shipments that were supposed to go to Target and the 7-Eleven. And everywhere else in Denver, too.

But then I found that little convenience store in the new Webb Building. You didn't think about that place, did you?! Or maybe you thought it was just hilarious watching me go through security there just to buy a tin of Everest gum.

Ha. Real funny, Agent Jones. I got wise to you in the end, though - I bought online. Yes, you made sure Everest's direct purchase web form was not working but you couldn't stop candydirect.com, could you? Of course, I had to buy a case, but if you refrigerate them they stay pretty fresh.

Now I've moved to Seattle. At first, I saw Everest everywhere. I thought, "Did Agent Jones get reassigned?"

I soon realized - you knew I still had half of that case of Everest left. So you were biding your time, making me feel secure about my ability to buy Everest in all of the places that Everest's customer service representative told me I should be able to buy it.

But as soon as the case of Everest was down to its last tin of gum I realized: Everest was nowhere. I checked Target, 7-Eleven and all those other corporate chains and could not find it!

You are a wily one, you!

But you see, I found a source. I found a place in Seattle where I can buy Everest and I don't even have to go through a metal detector! And I'm not telling you where it is, Agent Jones!

A State of the Aaron Address

Many people have asked, whether out of concern or just curiosity: why haven't I been evicted yet? Months ago, I walked out on a job at The Corporation determined to become a paid writer or be evicted trying. Well, neither has happened. Yet.

However, I've come up with a solution for now: I'm going back to school (with Rodney Dangerfield!).

Yes, I know. I'm disappointed, too. I was actually looking forward to the eviction. It would have been fun to couch surf for a while, just me and my laptop and a long list of friends I've wanted to visit and mooch off of.

But liquidating the rest of my possessions just felt like it would be a big chore. It seemed easier NOT to get evicted, to just put rent on the card and not have to try to sell the 1969 Contessa acoustic guitar my mom gave me. Or the 1974 Fender Precision bass my aunt gave me. I kept those. I also have kept a few books and the master tapes of many recording sessions. Oh yes, and the LEGO bricks are still safe and sound in their five Rubbermaid tubs.

Rest assured - I have not come back to my senses. I'm going back to school, which is normally a smart thing to do, but I'm doing it the wrong way. I'm paying twenty grand a year for tuition to finish up a Bachelor's Degree. And get this: my degree will be useless. Yes, that's right. It will not help me get a job.

So again, I assure you, the absolutely insane writer wanna-be is still quite insane and is still putting writing at the forefront of all priorities.

My degree may end up being called "Creative Writing, Contemporary Fiction and the Future of Book Design" or something like that. You see, I get to decide what my degree will be in and what I want to study. This is what you can have if you're willing to go twenty grand into debt per year, not counting living expenses. So, my degree, you see, will be tailored to the writing that I want to do anyway. Genius! (That is, it's "genius" if one doesn't care about fucking one's self financially.)

So that's it. I got the maximum Stafford Loans, a small sum from a Pell Grant (thank goodness, whoever Pell was). And I'll be living off money that Sallie Mae agreed to loan me.

I just thought you should know. I'll get back to the funny next time.

So how does it feel to make out with your sibling?

Is it hot? Or is it weird?

What's that? What do I mean, you say? You two are going out, aren't you? I thought so. You were giving off that, "We're going steady," vibe. So, yeah, how does it feel then, making out with your sibling and all?

Oh, I'm sorry, you're not conjoined twins? My mistake. I made that assumption based on the way you were unable to separate in order to allow people to pass you on the sidewalk.

You must be royalty, then! Boy, is my face red. If I'd have only known - I would have thrown myself into the street as you approached, instead of trying to rudely maintain my position on the sidewalk as I passed you.

Next time, I promise a bow, if the cars don't hit me first.