a few things
im really full.
so, future chefs and architects: worst pay for the investment
here's the article that says so
and the t-shirt we should all get:
i love bubbles
tourists in ny watch out:
A New York cocktail waitress says she learned early on from a savvy bartender how to deal with under-tipping tourists: "Overcharge whenever possible. If you hear a weird accent, if you can just tell by the look in their eye, the beer is eight bucks rather than six. You keep the extra two—they'll never know."
overheard on a train:
also, today was the first time i ever drove. i cant turn for shit.
so, future chefs and architects: worst pay for the investment
here's the article that says so
and the t-shirt we should all get:
i love bubbles
tourists in ny watch out:
A New York cocktail waitress says she learned early on from a savvy bartender how to deal with under-tipping tourists: "Overcharge whenever possible. If you hear a weird accent, if you can just tell by the look in their eye, the beer is eight bucks rather than six. You keep the extra two—they'll never know."
overheard on a train:
Girl #1: I just came came back for vacation.
Girl #2: Really? From where?
Girl #1: New Jersey.
Girl #2: What? That's not a vacation, bitch.
nothing important has happened. i really want a fig.
also, today was the first time i ever drove. i cant turn for shit.
posted by Anonymous at 5:15 PM
1 Comments:
My Dearies, My Commies!
Ah, but alas, it is far less amusing and philosophically stimulating to be awake at two-o'clock without the gnawing comfort of The Whopping Purple Coursebook growling to be read, and without the ample distractions and general tangential goodness provided by our own true and largely mad selves. GROWL goes the hungry computer with so much ferocity--it does not have a cultured & acquired liking for too many Telluride photographs and a bit of a mixtape all at once. It would like to be sleeping.
I believe that I am comforted by the fact that Quite Little or Nothing has changed to complement the Very Much that has shifted in the cataclysmic TASP-to-Post-TASP upheaval. I am still finding reasons for Not Sleeping,
and Not Sleeping remains
a fine & lofty art.
And so adieu, adieu,
(I am reeling in the
brokenness of my
electronic mail server...
curses to the accursed system!)
Lovelove,
Gesso-Who-Is-Not-In-Michigan
-But-Who-Feels-Substantially-Less
-In-Ohio-Than-E'er-Before
And LEE WEST: Colin Meloy & Jenny wrote me a love letter from Portland, courtesy of the whimperings and proddings of my Dear and Most Lovely Friend Lauren. The band remembers Lauren & I with fond loves and affections (or so I shall say, because it is 3h09 and what else SHOULD they remember us with?) and O!, Eternal Huzzahs!, we shall be communing again with them in Ye Olde Columbo en Octobre. You really mustmustmust come to Ohio to see them or find some way to work yourself in to a show in New York because these Decemberists are some of the most beautiful people dancing through these earthen realms and you really must be exposed to their personalized love.
And to the glory that is "COLIN MELOY SINGS MORRISSEY."
I should be slumbering,
but I shall not go to Lethe.
I am plagued by these barbaric
and incessant dreams-of-TASP, and cannot bear anymore this boarding house existence. Alas! What could have been a satisfactory Post Script!
St. Louis--as always, you are a Grand & Sprightly Bastard. You are a) ugly b) rotting and c) I am missing you and the whole collective experience you so effortlessly and half-heartedly (I know all about Clayton! University Heights!) contained. Blast it all.
ALL OF IT. Especially the sleeping.
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