mobile2: need

it's a horrible feeling knowing that nobody needs you.

it gets better, but don't wait!

i know this is late.
it saddens me that there has been a surge in teen suicides due to lgbt harassment. (EDIT: as julia so wonderfully pointed out to me (thanks, btw), it's just more media coverage. but it still doesn't change the fact that there is hatred.) when will america learn that we are all people, and no one should be discriminated because of anything? it seems that every group that comes to america (besides the first settlers) experienced a time of prejudice. the quakers, the native americans, the african-americans, the italian immigrants, dutch immigrants, chinese immigrants, japanese immigrants have all done their time. but honestly, how needed is this? must we really be a nation that has a "filter" to be american? now, muslims and the homosexual population are being discriminated against. how can this be fair, in the land of the free? where all people have certain unalienable rights?

america is supposed to be freedom. the first amendment declares this be so. freedom of speech. freedom of religion. freedom of the press. freedom to petition. the list goes on. america was viewed before as a land of freedom, where dreams could be freely pursued. is america still this today? or are we viewed as bigots who think nothing of ourselves, and fear everything/everyone different from ourselves? i urge all of you to ask yourselves this and consider it.

i, for one, declare that i am guilty of discrimination--but i do not wish to be so any longer. if you are with me in this effort, please leave me a comment. together, we as a class can change the way our school thinks... and maybe the way the nation thinks. and then maybe, just maybe, the world.

the translation.

for all of you math buffs, no, it is not the sliding of something around in a plane keeping orientation the same and all. (bad joke, sorry.)

i really liked this story, surprisingly. the opening was a little weird and it took me a bit to follow and understand it, but i ultimately got it. which is really good. i don't think i've done enough analysis of the short while i read it to say anything about  joyce carol oates's personal style, but i think i agree with what she's saying--the fact that if we go to a foreign country with a translator, the translator becomes one of our senses. depending on who our translator is, we will have a good or bad experience, as shown by oliver's story.

the translation is a short story about a middle-aged man named oliver who goes to russia. i'm thinking that this takes place during the time period where russia is still the ussr because there's some underlying tension between oliver and the setting (though not exactly man versus nature...) as he seems amazed that people can be living so well behind the iron curtain. (this comes with the disclaimer from before, i don't know if this is soviet russia. actually, JK he said it was central europe. so somewhere in the ussr but not soviet russia.) oliver is first taken through the city by his first translator, liebert. liebert becomes oliver's mouthpiece and also his method of perceiving other people through their questions and the dialogue that happens between the oliver and his surroundings. oliver eventually meets a woman named alisa who he thinks he falls in love with. however, once oliver's translator is switched, the magic of the city vanishes, and everything (including alisa) is drab, uninteresting, hypocritical, and all sorts of other Things Made of Bad. now, for the analysis. that's the hard part. :(

mobile1: old friends

waiting for the bus near uwajimaya to go to bc 'cuz my mom is picking me up there. i haven't ridden the 245 in a while, so it's almost like seeing an old friend.

edit:
i tried to take the 233, but that gets to bc in a super roundabout fashion so i decided just to ride the 245. the ride seems so much shorter than it normally is, but it was very familiar. it wasn't very nostalgic, though. so kinda like seeing an old friend, but not exactly.

mobile updates!

so since inspiration comes at ANY TIME, i've decided to hook up my phone to this doohickey so that i can write down ideas as i see them. i'm going to record the setting and what exactly i'm thinking of. a challenge, as i'm limited to 160 characters. we'll see how this goes.

musica: tswift! and how she's a great storywriter.

so andrea was All Sorts of Awesome and a Bearer of Good this morning when she lent me the new tswift album, speak now. all the songs are AMAZING (especially mean and better than revenge) and i wholeheartedly recommend them to anyone who would like things to listen to.

i think authors can learn from songwriters, because they have such a limited time to tell a story (OH MY GOODNESS LIKE IN COMMON APP WHERE WE HAVE ONLY LIKE 150 WORDS TO SAY ANYTHING GOOD) and they do it pretty successfully most of the time. in "speak now," taylor's able to address both the present, the past, and all the characters and their yearnings. same with "back to december." and... "mean." a little bit. i think the songs that she released as singles address the stories of the characters and just fill many of the aspects of story-writing that we've look at as a class. ke$ha, however, does not do this. woe.

muse:poison

muse:
i'm reading your story, your life on my brightly lit computer screen. perfect, perfect, perfect, that's all this is. all because you've felt needed by somebody. wanted by somebody. loved by somebody. the lack of that burns through my veins like a poison, igniting something within me that you've never seen before. your story, your perfection is all i've ever wanted. and though it's fitting (because you've struggled so much), i can't help but feel cheated. how can this even be fair? i shouldn't be feeling this anger against you, you have no hand in the matter. but it's seeping through me entirely and i can't help but hate you just a little bit for having what i've sought for so long.

abp#6: what insight, what wit...! why don't you say this normally. SOYMOO.

abp:
so. people are just Really Great sometimes over the interwebs. like they aren't afraid to open up and share their Nuggets of Wisdom with the world. i really recommend this person's blog because there is lots of incredible insight as well as just the general struggle of the artist determining exactly where to strike through with the truth, and where to cover up. also, this one is fun because the author just has hilarious things to say and it's awesome and Full of Win. lemme go blorp through the blogroll to see who else i stalk and if you are ever wondering what a story really means, go here because it's just up-to-date (mostly) and there's lots of wisdom there. also, POKEMANNNNNNN here and yeah. it's tons of fun. i think that's everyone who i stalk read on a super-regular basis. but in case you guys really wanted... just kidding, i'm lazy. go look at the blogroll and read some good posts. :)

also, since you have to verify your post on blogger, you have to type in a randomized letter code. i was doing this lately, and the code i got was "soymoo." just thought i'd share that with you guys.

EDIT:
one of my stalkers good good friends linked me to her blog. i thought it was interesting to read about her analysis of my writing--i think it's pretty accurate in what it says. you can see it here and read her wonder. :) also, her blog is just Things Made of Awesome and Wonder and Good. keep it up girl, i hope to see more from you. <3

edit2:
this post here is truly inspiring--one of the few inspiring posts that i have read. someone has said that i should be a motivational speaker, but i think the hidden words from this blogger should be used in a motivational speech from the person himself. keep it up, dude.

ze swimmer. ;)

to all of you who know my secrets, this one was a fun one. well... at least the title was, hahahaha. :) (you know who you are~)

i liked this story. even though ned was kinduva delusional person who crashed random people's yards to swim in their pools (i'm in your yard, swimmin' in yo' pool). also, crash their parties. i really liked how cheever didn't just give us all there was to know about ned as the story opened--the reader gradually learns more and more about the character until we can finally figure out what happened in the end. that's why i love stories! they're like mysteries and i love mysteries so much. maybe that's why i like psych and bones question mark? the ending was kinda sad too. also, i was questioning reality the more that i learned about ned OHNOINCEPTIONATTACKAHHHHHHHH and yeah. zat is all.

muse:october skies and december nights

-sigh-
):

muse:
october skies find me wrapped up for winter, walking into school shivering. my neon green shoelaces echo across the empty school courtyard, and the blank windows all stare down at me. my metal water bottle clanks against my dark jeans. i shake again, trying to hide myself in the music. that's the sun rising. the rest of the day, i keep hiding behind my wall of sound, attempting to drown out everyone's feeble efforts to get through. a couple people i let slip through, but i'm waiting for someone. someone who won't really come through, ever. the sun dips into the forest behind the trees. orange light plays across my face through the bus windows, and i sigh. the music is still going in the absence of conversation from the other passengers. i take out my black leather-bound notebook to write something, but find that all i can think or write about is something i don't want to. i close the small book and drift off to sleep.

december nights find me cold, alone, and watching children's movies by myself. maybe a crime dramedy every so often (who can't resist those? oh right, people who aren't crazy like me) and other movies. (500) days of summer, up, the time traveler's wife, mckenzie can't, all of the classics. as a scene flashes across the glass, i giggle and hear my voice bounce around the blank and empty walls. the grin slides off my face, and i make myself even smaller than i already am. before i even acknowledge it, the waterworks start silently. nobody can know about this, except maybe you. but i can't tell you--i want you to find out. somehow. without me telling you, which is pretty much impossible. as the latest episode of bones ends, i find myself crying in accordance with my emotional roller coaster.

october skies and december nights find me missing you. alone, cold, and missing you.

this is what it means to say... CITY, STATE. eavesdropping. ep.

this is what it means to say phoenix, arizona:
so i really liked this story, like a lot.
sherman alexie just has this amazing style (and it really comes out through thomas builds-the-fire, who is just All Sorts of Awesome and Things Made of Win) and he's super hilarious and it made me lol. like for serious, guys, i laughed out loud. anyway.
dialogue.
it's super short, clipped, sounds like normal dialogue. (why is not this a way to spell dialog? what if i like the fancy british spelling? also, if this is not the british spelling and i'm just being half-delusional, oops i fail. like a lot.) that's part of the fun in writing stories, trying to come up with life-like conversation (which really isn't that hard) although our speech patterns are actually pretty hard. we speak in short sentences strung together although we don't realize it. though, tbqh, prism kids speak in long-winded sentences because we are tres verbose. anyway.

eavesdropping:
i really can't remember anyone's conversations because they were really boring and mundane, and i just don't do mundane. it's gotta be wild, huge, crazy! that's how i remember it, at least. really. like:
"i didn't know that grapes came in different flavors!"
and yeah. something like that. idk. maybe i'll just make stuff up i definitely remember the mundane. no, seriously, halp what do i dooooo.

ep:
so right now i'm blasting my brains out with just random musical crap and by crap i mean bass-heavy stuff that you'd listen to at mindless dances LIKE HOMECOMING all because of things that went down today. basically to say it wax poetic:
every time i see my laundry, you're there. you're in my head 'cuz that's when you call. folding laundry is always the logically equivalent time to talk to you. it just makes me feel like we're together (which will never ever happen) even though we really shouldn't be and it makes me feel like we're just friends, which would be really nice, quite honestly. i looked up at the moon this evening, and empty october skies make me think of you. it's cold, maybe you'd offer me your jacket and walk with me through a park. maybe we'd talk about everything, or maybe we'd talk about nothing. but we'd be there together. and thinking of december nights just makes me feel so cold. 'cuz we could enjoy a movie. maybe something about sled dogs. warm, and enjoying each other's company with some others. on a black leather couch (because those are coziest) with other things that have connotations of winter. but, really, i know that it's not possible. we haven't even gotten past square one of friendship 101, being honest. because though as hard as i try, i can't really be honest with you. i try really hard, i do.

musica update: ke$ha, tswift.

to all the pop music junkies out there reading this blog, guess who's releasing another album! well... to be perfectly accurate, an ep. that's right, your favorite trashy woman, ke$ha! no, but really.



yeah. :) i'm super excited, and also tswift is coming out with her new album this friday, the 22nd! wow, this year in music is really awesome.

muse:martin.

the little post cards! they were so fun to write. i read mine aloud in class but yeah, i wanted to post it here because it was fun to write and yeah. i want to remember it question mark.

muse:
running through the woods, breathless, briars reaching with insistent hands at her clothing almost whispering, "slow down, my sweet, slow down." she screams before something trips her and makes her fall on her bad leg. the pain jerks her awake, and janet eyes the sterile white hospital room around her. her ankle throbs in rhythm with the heart monitor. sighing, she clutches her head. what got her in here? oh, right. martin.

honestly, it had started out like any other day. she woke up grumpy, ate breakfast grumpy, and went to school grumpy. all the previous night before going to bed, she had vowed that she wouldn't do anything stupid in front of him (and hopefully, this didn't count). martin had said "hi" to her from across the courtyard and janet had been so happy and enthralled that she missed the first step of the descending stairs. then the next, and the next, and suddenly she was close friends with pain and the ground. martin, being the nice guy he was, offered to drive her to the hospital. yes, this was all his fault.

muse:static hearts

muse:
the soft, piano and stringed music rolls out of my speakers. a beautiful female voice sings of how math cannot possibly compare with an infinite love, and i find myself agreeing. as her voice vaults higher and higher into the star-laden night sky, the speakers fizz, static is the accompaniment to my whispered singing for a moment. my heart races, the metallic ruby splash comes to life--but only for about a second, merely announcing The Great Coming of Nothing. my heart falls, my face darkens to match the velvet heavens. my downcast stare is met by the blank gaze of my white desk. i ponder a moment before trying to turn my attention back to my book. the words don't leap off the page like they used to. i keep trying to tell myself that i don't need you to top off my night cap, but maybe i do. the static buzz that makes my heart race echoes again, and i glance at my phone. it's...

making of:crazy

i knew i wanted something dark and ominous, so that's what came out. i think i freaked myself out writing this, because at the end of the first point of view, my hand was trembling and my heart was pounding. and all just from writing and visualizing the scene.

to be honest, i'm not sure where everything came from. i just imagined the typical horror movie music that is like constantly getting higher in pitch and sounds like someone sighing faster and faster. and tried to incorporate all the senses of that into the writing hopefully it was successful?

writing from the pov of a crazy person was hard though. nothing seemed too crazy except that this guy could feel vibrations of a soul. or could see them. a bit supernatural, but sufficient for crazy? i have no idea.

kuh-kuh-kuh-crazy. (pov practice)

side 1:

a crashing echoes through the house. i can instantly feel adrenaline rush from the tips of my kidneys to my head and to the nails on my toes.

'nobody's home, nobody's home with me, what in the bejeezus was that?!' i think, as my fingers start to tremble.

time slows down, seconds seem like an eternity, and the clock hands seem to have cast some sort of spell as i'm glued to my chair. the rest of my cluttered room seems to go dark--the only thing i can see is the little island of light created by my small, blue desk lamp. i glance around madly, trying to find some way of defending myself. nothing.

footsteps start up the stairs, ringing as loudly in my ears as my thunderous beating heart. who knew that a stranger walking up the stairs could sound like the end of the world?

my chair continues to hold me captive, as i start breathing rapidly. as i hear the safety click into the "off" position, my racing mind finally decides to let me know that the intruder has a gun. and then my brain switches into overdrive and i can't seem to think clearly anymore. everything has a foggy haze to it.

thunder crashes outside, and i finally realize that there's a humongous storm outside. 'maybe it's not someone,' i think, slowing down a bit. 'maybe i'm still safe.'

the report of feet in the all-too-empty hallway prove me wrong. my vision snaps to different places in my room, the hairs on my arm are standing on end, my heart decides that it's going too slow and the speedometer reads a thousand miles per hour. so much for fight-or-flight, i'm about as ready to move as a brick.

a knocking on my door. my eyes jerk towards the source, and i swear they start to bug out as the knob turns. a few, wispy, long and stringy white hairs blow in from the gradually opening doorway. my heart is still keeping way over race pace, and the door continues to inch its way open. a black trenchcoat, knee high leather boots, pale hands, ghost-white hair...

"holy shit!" i scream. "you're--"

the other side. the crazier one.

the house is empty, but he can still see the vibrating of a single soul through the closed window. thunder rolls through the heavens as rain continues to pour down in a relentless stream. the moon has vanished from the skies tonight, as has his sanity. his wild, unruly, long white hair billows behind him in an animalistic manner, even though it's sopping wet. he clenches his gun tightly. life's vibration needs to be stopped in that house.

raising his weapon, he brings it down hard against the door. it splinters all too easily, announcing his entrance with a cacophony of breaking wood. he can feel fear rush through the house like a tidal wave. perfect. he steps in, his tall, black leather boots echoing on the marble tile like heartbeats. too neat, too orderly. he releases the safety on his gun and continues his seven-step climb. his wet hand has sullied the elegant white of the railing and he smiles maniacally.

"truly," he whispers crazily to himself, "disorder and chaos are beautiful."

he clomps through the empty hallway, footsteps resonating and leaving even the walls trembling. a sliver of light from under a door. he knocks (for courtesy's sake, though she's been dead to him for some time) and opens the door. light spills onto his face. he raises his weapon and takes aim, but not before, "holy shit! you're--" breaks the silence. the gun screams, and once again, all is quiet.

ep:if you snark and muse:record

so, i was considering things to write about for abp#5 and was thinking "douche" and along the lines of that is "let your lab partner collect data all by himself while you go out to lunch and totally don't help him at all." said person that is being addressed doesn't seem to really mind what happened, although i and certain others feel very inflamed and up-in-arms about it. why do people suck, seriously? when people pull their weight, things work. but when they don't people get angry. also, another thing that pisses me off is when people complain, but do not have a solution slash are not planning the stupid thing. homecoming planning for dinner was extremely difficult, people, SO DO NOT SNARK AT ME IF YOU DON'T ENJOY THE RESTAURANT. YOU MAY GO EAT DINNER BY YOURSELF AND THEN COME TO THE DANCE WITH THAT FABULOUS SNARKY ATTITUDE AND THEN DANCE BY YOURSELF IN THE CORNER. 


anyway.
a muse. once again inspired by the ending of bones.
muse:
i'd told her that he likes records, especially a certain one by a certain band. the record itself turned different colors when the light hit it at different angles, making for a rather psychedelic effect. i knew he'd love it, but it wasn't my place to give it to him.

that night, we were all sitting around in their comfortably cramped apartment, waiting for him to come home. wine glasses were on the table, and all of us (me, her, and our two friends) were sipping our drinks. white dessert wine, the type that is sweet and then kicks you in the mouth as a reward. the black leather couches were warm and comfortable, and i thought that i could never bring myself to stand up. as the door clicks open, our two friends stand up. they manage to mumble something before pushing their way out the doorway. it's just me, him, and her left. he notices the iridescent record on a table next to the couch.

"what's this?"

"oh, avery told me that you love records. especially this band, and it has your favorite song on it."

she stands up, padding her way over to his side.

"look, it even changes color when you move it around!"

he smiles broadly, winningly. i beam.

"thanks!"

"you're welcome," she and i both answer. they don't seem to hear me, and they kiss simply, but lovingly. i can almost hear my heart shattering on the ground, but this is not my place. i cannot cry here, this is not my place.

"i... i should go. i'll see you tomorrow, glass."

i pick my things up, and i'm almost out the door. his voice grabs my ears, stopping me.

"no, wait, you should stay for dinner."

"yeah," she agrees. "we have enough space for you."

"i'll make that lamb dish i know you like," glass says, his eyes showing something. somehow, i think he's on to me. but that's purely speculation. after all, i just deal with the facts.

"no thanks. you see, normally the first time two people sharing a domicile have dinner together, the person who doesn't live there leaves. so... i'll see you tomorrow."

i turn to face the door, push it open, and brush out without much ceremony. i haven't noticed that devon has followed me until he calls my name.

"avery!"

i whirl around, careful to plaster on an indifferent face.

"yeah?"

he's silent for a moment before mumbling, "see you tomorrow."

i try to smile, i really do, as hard as i can.

"yeah. good night."

as i turn around, i swear he's on to me. he's on to me, but for some reason, the door clicks shut behind me.

abp#5: third wheel.

a/n: not sure where this is going to go, but here it goes. 
make friends with everyone; keep your feelings hidden 'cuz nobody wants to know; keep a smile perpetually on your face; walk ten feet behind couples; don't ever tell anyone what you're feeling; smile even when i'm not happy?; don't be a cock block; don't tell your best friend that you don't like her boyfriend; don't tell your friend that the real reason why you don't hang out anymore is because of her douche-y boyfriend; what's a cock block?; don't take anything seriously; actually take things seriously but look like you don't; smile at people you like; smile at people you don't like; smile at people you love so much you could cry; smile at people you hate so much you could die; make funny jokes at your own expense; try to never get involved in any drama; get sucked in anyway and find out you like people involved; go home and cry; do i really have to smile at people i hate?; don't ever say how you're feeling 'cuz nobody cares; walk slowly enough that the couples are always at least twenty feet ahead; walk quickly enough so that the one you like who is dating that person you don't like is always at least a hundred feet behind; cry quietly and only at night when no one's around; sing love songs like there's no tomorrow; sing heartbroken songs like there's no today; write sappy poetry about the one you love like there's no yesterday; and when you screw up, blame your sleep schedule.

k, i'd like some feedback, so if everyone who reads could please comment that would be All Sorts of Fabulous.

silver water, and communism.

so far, as of this moment (11:00 pm), i have only read silver water. i loved it. maybe because i love stories about the crazies, or maybe because i am one myself question mark.

agh2o (see what i did there? i'm definitely a dork.):
i'm not sure i really got why rose went crazy slash how she was crazy. she just seemed to not have any limitations on what she said slash did, thereby making her crazy only to society. also, bloom uses amazing metaphors, like the gold and silver voices, etc. i really super liked it! now, to address pov. 1st person. i'm not sure what else i'm supposed to say about pov... really. also, time passage on 78 is really really All Sorts of Wonderful. "watched the stars fade... and when they were invisible" and i was like oh my goodness, i wish i could write this goodly (that's not a word).

now, for communism. jay kay, communist.
(can't think of anything witty):
umm... what a weird story. i didn't like it. told from 1st person again, don't know what to do with that.

required reading for children of the world.

it is very nice to have this handy guide to identify certain people as being Nice Guys. it is in rant format, so be prepared! also, if you find yourself falling on the Nice Guy side of the spectrum (or are just curious as to what in the world a Nice Guy is), read this. and then improve yourself, please.
http://divalion.livejournal.com/163615.html

life at the edge of makeout meadow

big john bosh sighs, slumping into his familiar, creaky old wooden rocking chair. he eyes his new surroundings—a lush meadow filled with many birds. a perfect place for him to live. the retired soldier sighs again, breathing in the fresh, verdant air. 

sure, he thinks, this isn’t as great as the backwoods of alabama, but I’m sure moving up to carrillon point was a good choice. he smiles tiredly, shifting back and forth to rock his chair.

a flock of birds rises noisily from the field, stirring big john back into reality from his slight snooze. he sees a couple of high schoolers doing god-knows-what among the flowers. maybe the birds and the bees finally learned to coexist here, he muses, a small disgusted smirk sneaking onto his face. the old man picks himself up out of his chair with obvious effort, tromps down the stairs, and wades through the calf-high grass. his footsteps barely make a sound as he reaches the teenage couple.

"hello?” he calls quietly.

the two students stop in their snogging, blushing a bright crimson.

“huh-huh-hi, sir,” the boy manages to stutter.

“you can call me big john,” the old soldier says, smiling with his entire face.

“hi, big john!” the girl chirps.

big john’s breath catches in his throat—her voice sounds exactly like his old wife’s.

“leave this field,” he orders sternly. “and never come back.”

the two stand up abruptly and run, their feet rustling in the grass. big john stares after them before plodding back to his small cabin through the ocean of unexotic fauna. 

a warning and musicas.

so, another blogpost about music.
also, this is a warning. i have another blogpost coming, it's the assignment we turned in today. 


so right now, my two current obsessions are brooke fraser's "something in the water" (diane, claire, vicki, caitlin, and other people who've heard me singing random lines from it can attest to this) and also, just all of jon mclaughlin's stuff--it's quite good. industry, beautiful disaster, and human are his best ones in my opinion. so if you guys are looking for some good music, there are my recommendations. i'm sure that there will be more musica posts coming with quite some just out-there stuff as my music tastes are just all over the place. :)

reflections on girl. why is there no boy? muse:human

so, girl. (SO, GURRRRRRRL.)
no, but this was an interesting story. it was from a "teacher" point of view, telling a girl how to be a girl. kinda. which was just hilarious to read because kincaid was constantly like "don't be a slut like i know you wanna be" and i'm just over here laughing my head off. 'scuse me, i'm a boy. write a story for me please? :) in other words, i liked this one.

muse:
as i stare at his retreating figure, i finally feel some trace of regret. but not much, just a sliver. the wind blows my hair, and some strands flow across my eyes. i hate it when that happens. he's finally out of sight, but i think i can still see him from my vantage point up here on this beautiful hill. this beautiful hill that i'm going to hate for the rest of my life, simply because every time i come here, it'll remind me of what happened here. who knows, later, it might make me cry or smile, but for now it makes me angry. and sad. and all sorts of other emotions, but that's for another time. but... to risk my heart and put it on the line. that's not being stupid is it? isn't it just the same as just living, just being human?

musica, and oh my goodness. oh, and how to become a writer and also a bit of you're ugly, too.

so addressing oh em gee first:
i stayed away from the blog the entire weekend! well... more like since friday. which is easily explainable really... i had internship and then got home, ate dinner, and then went to youth group. and then saturday i... actually did a whole lot of nothing and maybe some chem (and by some, i mean like none at all, for those who are super curious) but yeah. and then today, i went to work, got home and then cleaned my room for my new desk (yay! now while i don't have a new computer, it sure as heck seems like i have a new one.) and then finally started on my homework... blog, whatever. i should do hw. really.

musicas. yes. mui importante. (that's about the extent of my spanish knowledge, don't get your hopes up.) brooke fraser has a new single (well... relatively new) called "something in the water." it's really country-esque and i'm kinda addicted to it (diane can testify to this) and then taylor swift's album is coming out this month and it's just All Sorts of Awesome. really.

how to become a writer was just All Sorts of Hilarious and it was great. lorrie moore has just an amazing style and i love it because it's hilarious in a snarky way, and she's just really really great. and then you're ugly, too has some great lines. i think i texted them to kayla, and they were just really great non-sequiturs... as follows:

• i swear, if this fucking xerox machine breaks on me one more time, i'm going to slit my wrists.
• a painting like that, it just makes you shit. 

and yeah. :) i haven't finished reading it yet, so no spoilers plx. okay. i shall go study for psych now. D: