Would That I Were Paid to Write Daily Panegyrics

My first thought at having turned twenty-five:

If A Prairie Home Companion were nine hours long, it would be too short.

One of the last exiting thoughts during my gig as a smoldering twenty-four year old:

Thanks and many a wow to Jef Johnson for sending me this!

That's exceedingly wicked and I miss you and your tattered sweater. Glad to see you've got a rockin' near future.

Here's to the next quarter of a century, all.

No. No. No.

This can't be right. My oft repeated, nausea inducing love of Poland notwithstanding....Ugh. You see what you do to me, Poland? You reduce me to this, this tangled mess of bleh. Bleh. I guess I'll just have to take your awesome young people and leave you out of it.

Hee

Even Though You Liked Cop and a Half....

I wish I could be there.

*beep* You Wanna Hear that New Fatboy Song?: Bloc Party, Groove Armada
Readin': My Ass Off
Because You're Different: The Science of Sleep, Solo Con Tu Pareja, Rome, Grindhouse

I Think He Took His Wallet

And just like that, all of my undergraduate writing was done. Weird.
I swear this place'll be more than just a sporadic writin' hole. I'll get back in the game when I'm finally permitted to take my burnt-out mind back from the grasp of this collegiosity.
Also, more mojo. Much more. Stay tuned, America.

Chance.

By chance, you and I are all right. Others aren't. I wasn't going to say anything, but then I looked about and felt that there was a chain going, so here's my link to it.

I'll bet even the numb among us touched the ground to see if it was still there yesterday. Some of us lost that ground, and my thoughts are with them.

On My Birthday!

Yep

He's up in Heaven now

Well...

Existentialist? I Hardly Even Know H-Glarbblech *Sock Stuffed In Mouth by Overhearing Passerby*

Oof...That was not a fresh sock.

Ok, but I deserved that.

Yes, it'll be one of those.

And by that I mean a vaguely variable post to be glossed by the readership as it likes.

Things are coming to a head ever sooner than one would like, and I'm beset on all sides by those farther advanced.

Exemplum: To be emulated.

(N)ever fear.

Soon, I'll be graduated. If I have the wherewithal in me to move soon thereafter, I'll do it, but no promises on the horizon (much less concrete destinations to attach to promises unformed). Until then, I have three papers to write, and dozens more things to pen in the future.

I have good exempla, in forms both terrestrial and otherwise. And more experience (though noon auctoritee) than I'll typically admit myself to. Good Start.


Enditynge!: Great Expectations, The Wyf of Bath, The Reve, The Franklin, The Pardoner, The Physician
Pretty Good, and So Far, Meh: The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada, Rome
Aural: Transmissions from the Satellite Heart
Oral: Claritin

...With His Giant, Hammy Fists

Ok, I'll admit it, I've been lazy. See, I (kinda) watched the pilot for the Haggisly retread of all things gangster.*

Then, realizing that the show was too much of a chore to actually sit through, I just left the job of evisceration entirely up to Holly (who was being employed to write up the hit either way).

See, I even had an opportunity last week to watch it live with her and co-eviscerate. Unfortunately, I've been too meh and lazy about the whole blarney-less fiasco to summon the will. She, on the other hand...

She did us all a service on that front.

And she won the war.

Bravo, on all recent counts, Devotchka.

And to all other mediocrities, be forewarned: World's gettin' smaller for you. All Hell's A Comin'


*Did they actually think they could get away with cribbing Gordon Willis's cinematography? Don't they know that you simply don't try that unless you are in fact Gordon Willis?