welcome to downtown coolsville

A brief (considering) list of things that make me happy:

- Strawberry oil.
- My newly-discovered love for Cobra Starship.*
- The Importance of Being Earnest.**
- Striped shirts.
- The Juno version of "Anyone Else But You."
- Secretly listening to the Spice Girls.
- Talking about Victorian feminism with Dr. Grant (with bonus digressions about how much he loved 101 Dalmatians).
- My genderqueer skellington hoodie, as sort of seen here.***
- Three-in-the-morning conversations in our living room.
- Hot apple cider (with extra sugar and cinnamon).
- Frank Iero.

* I have decided that every time I am on a plane in the future, I am going to play "Snakes On A Plane" upon take-off. I have already done this once; it was fantabulous.

** In the quite unlikely event that I ever act again,**** it would be to play Algernon.

*** Okay, so it's mostly a picture of one of my cats, but he's a fuckin' adorable cat.

**** I was in The Wizard of Oz in grade four. After that I retired from the stage, aside from my dual role in twelfth grade's Who's Hamlet Again? My illustrious acting career, ladies, gents, and others.

By Me!

- Wake up at a quarter past nine, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, intending quite earnestly to get some serious essayin' done.
- Start up your laptop, thinking about what you're going to write your essay about. Consider themes, structure, and the brilliant wording that will surely one day make you famous. Famous!
- Think a little more about it.
- Watch an hour or two of Arrested Development. Thinking is hard.
- Make a cup of tea. It gets your brain juices flowing.
- Open My Documents. Idly look over all those pictures of Asia Argento.
- Go and get a box of Ritz crackers. You need the salt. And the starch.
- Open a blank document. Stare at all the pretty blank space you need to fill up.
- Type the title. Slowly. Verrrrrrry slowwwwwly.
- Stare at the page. Don't think. Just stare.
- What to write?
- Oh, God, what to write?
- Decide that all this work has exhausted you and treat yourself to a Scrubs marathon. Weep inside for your complete lack of self-control.