Only Real Fun Will Work
I almost feel bad taking the top spot from Cricket's zombie illustration. So someone must post immediately after me, must drive me down into the basement of the Attic Apartment, where I will crash around in the dark and break countless bottles of preserved jellies and jams—
Does anyone know the difference between jelly and jam? Is there a difference?
Earlier in the bathroom I ran into the head of my department, the grandaddy of IVRS. He's rarely seen, is a bit intimidating and weird, and I realized—he's just like Willy Wonka! Except that his factory is a glass-lined office instead of a monumental gated building, and he produces memos and authorizations instead of delicious candy bars. And instead of sending out golden tickets to us workers, he pours his coffee into the sink and grunts a greeting while I try to skitter out the door.
I loved the first Wonka movie as a kid. The candy bars looked so dog damned good. And they do in the new movie, too, they have the same oversized shape, like a Hershey's but a little shorter and a lot wider, like an envelop of chocolate. And the colors, too, are perfect and gaudy. I used to jones hardcore for a scrumdiddlyumptious bar.
Who the hell would read Entertainment Weekly?
Here you go. This is a present. I just found out Kurt Vonnegut writes for the hippy magazine In These Times. This is a collection of the things he has written there, none of which I have read.
You know how I wrote "just found out Kurt . . ." just a second ago? I can never figure out if that should read "just found out that. . ." I used to prefer the absence of that, but now think it keeps things clear. Opinions?
It is a fun joke to make fun of Ryan's illiteracy. I can do it here, because when he looks at this post all he will see is an imposing jumble of scratches that could as well be a review of The Bell Jar as an admission that last night after he passed out I administered an enema of poisonous spiders, all of which are now crawling around in the moistest caverns of his body, wondering where the hell they are.
I've told you this before, Andy, but occasionally—very rarely—I think about the fact that after years of pining you actually dated Dawn Belle. That is amazing. That is incredibly amazing.
. . .
I completely forgot to talk about Halloween! I must talk about Halloween every post from now until fucking 31 October. Cricket's zombie illustration is what made me think of it today, and I imagined an enlarged version on the door of whatever apartment is host to the grand party. I will be the Headless Horseman.
Okay, one more thing, and then I'm really done. Does anyone know how you go about asking old profs for grad school recommendations? I'm timid as hell about this. "Hey, remember me?" I'll say. "Write me eight letters!"
Does anyone know the difference between jelly and jam? Is there a difference?
Earlier in the bathroom I ran into the head of my department, the grandaddy of IVRS. He's rarely seen, is a bit intimidating and weird, and I realized—he's just like Willy Wonka! Except that his factory is a glass-lined office instead of a monumental gated building, and he produces memos and authorizations instead of delicious candy bars. And instead of sending out golden tickets to us workers, he pours his coffee into the sink and grunts a greeting while I try to skitter out the door.
I loved the first Wonka movie as a kid. The candy bars looked so dog damned good. And they do in the new movie, too, they have the same oversized shape, like a Hershey's but a little shorter and a lot wider, like an envelop of chocolate. And the colors, too, are perfect and gaudy. I used to jones hardcore for a scrumdiddlyumptious bar.
Who the hell would read Entertainment Weekly?
Here you go. This is a present. I just found out Kurt Vonnegut writes for the hippy magazine In These Times. This is a collection of the things he has written there, none of which I have read.
You know how I wrote "just found out Kurt . . ." just a second ago? I can never figure out if that should read "just found out that. . ." I used to prefer the absence of that, but now think it keeps things clear. Opinions?
It is a fun joke to make fun of Ryan's illiteracy. I can do it here, because when he looks at this post all he will see is an imposing jumble of scratches that could as well be a review of The Bell Jar as an admission that last night after he passed out I administered an enema of poisonous spiders, all of which are now crawling around in the moistest caverns of his body, wondering where the hell they are.
I've told you this before, Andy, but occasionally—very rarely—I think about the fact that after years of pining you actually dated Dawn Belle. That is amazing. That is incredibly amazing.
. . .
I completely forgot to talk about Halloween! I must talk about Halloween every post from now until fucking 31 October. Cricket's zombie illustration is what made me think of it today, and I imagined an enlarged version on the door of whatever apartment is host to the grand party. I will be the Headless Horseman.
Okay, one more thing, and then I'm really done. Does anyone know how you go about asking old profs for grad school recommendations? I'm timid as hell about this. "Hey, remember me?" I'll say. "Write me eight letters!"
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