No, I really don't want to see mountains again, Gandalf

There are a lot of things I'm afraid of.
I'm afraid of closed-in spaces. I'm afraid of the sensation of free-falling. I'm therefore really afraid of rollercoasters. I'm afraid of medical procedures being performed on me that I can't watch, and after getting my first tattoo I don't even know how cool I'd be with getting a tattoo somewhere I couldn't watch, and have adjusted my future tattoo plans accordingly. I'm more afraid of spiders and insects than anyone I've ever met, and I'm actually equally afraid of dead ones, so killing them doesn't resolve the issue. When I once had to call a friend to extract a centipede from my apartment, my instructions were clear that he did not squish it, but if he had to squish it, then please tell me that he did not squish it but gently took it outside, setting it free and whispering soothingly to never, ever set one of its billion feet in my apartment again or it would immediately die of bug plague. (Interesting random memory: when I was a little kid, I remember praying every night before going to sleep, "God, if there are any bugs in my room, please do not let me ever see them." Even as a small child who believed in His infinite powers, I still felt like asking for my room to already be free of bugs would be too tall of an order.) I'm so afraid of bees that I do a frantic dance whenever they are around, causing people to ask if I'm allergic, to which I respond, "No, I've been stung multiple times over the years, it just pinches a little" and then continue to frantically thrash around and cause other people to evacuate my vicinity as quickly as they can.
But most of all, I'm afraid of heights.
Having grown up in Illinois, I didn't realize how afraid I was until I was on a work trip to California in the summer of 2016. I had a couple free weekends, and since this was at the beginning of one of my many hopelessly failed initiatives to get super fit, I decided I was gonna do a SERIOUS MOUNTAIN HIKE. I Googled serious mountain hikes around Pasadena, found one on a hiking website (there are people who are really all about hiking, who knew), tried to write down directions, realized there were more than two turns so I was screwed anyway, and decided I'd just take an Uber to that mountain and, hike up it, or whatever.
So, my Uber driver takes me up some curvy roads right around the edge of the mountain where you can't see anything in front of you because there's ALWAYS a curve right in front of you, and I was already kind of thinking this mountain life is insane and how do people do this and the edge is like RIGHT THERE and if even a ... mountain squirrel (I don't know much about California wildlife) jumps in front of the car we could very easily plummet to our deaths. But, I had already paid for this Uber so I tried not to think about the possible imminent death to my immediate right.
Then, he drops me off at a little parking lot and drives off. I look down at my phone and realize - hey - I don't have a signal up here. My phone doesn't work. I have absolutely no way of getting back to the hotel. Walking to civilization was not an option because that narrow curvy death road was not walk-on-able, so I was just going to have to wait until someone got back to one of the cars in the parking lot, give them an ocular patdown to assess how murdery they looked, and depending on my assessment, ask them to give me a ride all the way back to my hotel in Pasadena.
But ... I'd paid to come out here to do a SERIOUS MOUNTAIN HIKE and I was gonna do one. Hell, maybe I'd meet someone in the estimated 7 hours it would take me to hike up the mountain and back and we could become carpool buddies.
Maybe fifteen minutes into my hike, I made the mistake of looking down. There wasn't a whole lot between me and the edge. And that would be a steep fall, and you know how I feel about the sensation of falling. As soon as you envision something bad that could easily happen to you, you start to completely distrust your ability to prevent that bad thing from happening, and the bad thing is all you can see. Or maybe just I'm like that. That's why when I get off the blue line at Damen and the train is whizzing away and the walkway to the exit is extremely narrow, all I can see is me getting jostled or falling and getting run over by the train and hence sometimes I just freeze up and just stand there motionless until the train has passed, which is the PERFECT way to make friends with other commuters on a narrow walkway.
So, I stopped trusting my legs, and as soon as I stopped trusting them, they turned into jelly. I realized I had jelly legs that didn't work and I was fifteen minutes up the mountain and I couldn't keep going up so I'd have to go back but going back I was also still going to be close to the edge and I couldn't do it. I began to feel symptoms of panic and sat there in this place of terror, far away from the edge as I could squeeze myself, hugging my knees to my chest.
I sat there for quite some time as it was my only option. During this time, another group of hikers came back from the other direction and had to maneuver around me, which they did with no signs of terror or unease. They had a dog and a boy who looked about 12 with them. They also had what looked like serious hiking gear. Some people are really into hiking. It's a thing. You'd think that would make me think I could get up and go back down too, trailing them, but I just reasoned this corn-fed Midwesterner lacked the natural abilities of these Pacific superhumans and therefore was still just as likely to fall to my death as I'd initially imagined.
Finally, I crab walked back to the parking lot, having shed my pride as well as any illusions that I was ever going to be able to do a serious mountain hike. I ended up just jogging around that immediate area on some flat paths and finally found a nice couple who happened to be Pasadena-bound themselves and could give me a ride.
Fast forward to spring 2017. I joined a Ragnar team. As part of yet another one of my many failed initiatives to become superfit. If you don't know what a Ragnar is, it's a relay that is essentially a two-day experience of extreme teamwork, exercise, sleep deprivation, dehydration, and foam rolling that basically results in you soul-bonding with the other 11 people on your team from sharing the aforementioned experiences and being together in a van for a really long time. The soul-bond lasts for maybe a few weeks to a month after the race, with pretty constant activity on the text thread between all the teammates and dreaming up what our next awesome adventure together will be. Then, you know. people got lives, and those of us who don't actually have lives and continue to bother the rest of the team start to be confronted with restraining orders or the less confrontational and extreme "new phone who dis."
But, when we were still coming off the high of our last race in October, people were shouting out race ideas with the enthusiasm of a third-grade class who'd just been asked if anyone had any stories to share about something embarrassing their sibling had done. The only race that people really jumped on board for was one that's taking place this June in Glacier Bay, Montana. I didn't really know anything about Montana except I think John Denver liked its sky or something, and I like skies, but not flying in them because that's another phobia I have. Possessed by the post-Ragnar soul bond and also within the powerful grip of FOMO, I signed up for the race.
Recently I did a Google image search for Glacier Bay. And I realized this might not be the smartest vacation idea for someone who had to put her hands over her eyes for some parts of The Last Jedi because good god those hills are STEEP, how did you survive on this island this long, Luke?
But I'm still gonna do it. I'm so gonna do it. It's going to be beautiful and my legs are not going to turn to jelly.
So, I have until June to get over my fear of heights.
...but how the heck do you do that in Illinois?
I think it would be good to start out just by finding something I can walk along the edge of (NOT the blue line). But I'm not even sure what that would be. Realizing I can trust my legs to not fail me would be key.
Other things I've thought of or have been recommended:

• Indoor rock climbing walls
• Going to the top of a tall building with a glass observational area 
• There's this skydiving simulation thing?

Any other recommendations or ideas of places nearby I can go that are at least... hilly? Are definitely appreciated. Because this year I want to have a fire in my heart, have a light in my eyes, and something something Montana skies.

Every Book I've Listened to on Audible Ranked by Enjoyability

1. The Hike by Drew Magary.
   This is the only one I plan on listening to again. I can see how it wouldn't be for everyone, but I loved this strange fantasy that had multiple layers of reality and completely ripped me away from my own world.
2. Behind Closed Doors by B. A. Paris.
   I couldn't stop listening to this book. It was unputdownable, or takeearplugsoutofearsable if you will. This is probably what got me started on my British-women-in-peril kick.
3. The Breakdown by B. A. Paris.
   I couldn't stop listening to this one either. This author knows how to put a British woman in some peril like how she ever gonna get out of this peril. Bonus points for the audiobook: author interview at the end where they ask her about Behind Closed Doors.
4. The Gates: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel by Iain Rob Wright.
   Everyone who's not me, or possibly my sister, should ignore this review. This book is terrible and it's so awesome. I don't know which was the most awesome. All the multiple times the text "and then, all hell broke loose" appeared in the book. The badly written dialogue where British children realize America is A-OK. The voice the narrator uses for the demons (and there are lots of demons). The way it didn't even end, paving way for the sequel probably only I am hoping for. If the thought of a whole bunch of demons wreaking havoc on earth makes you giggle, you'll love this book, but if your favorite movie as a child wasn't "The Gate" then it might not be for you. Come to think of it, the title may be swaying my opinion as well.
5. Final Girls by Riley Sagar.
   American women can be in peril too. The idea of being a "final girl" (the only survivor of a massacre) making you a member of an exclusive club as far as the media is concerned is bizarre but probably sadly plausible. It's a dark, interesting read that's hard to forget.
6. The Sleeper by Emily Barr.
   British women are in peril again. This is a thriller that succeeds in making you cheer for and worry about the protagonists, and a satisfying read.
7. My Husband's Wife by Jane Corry.
   A love triangle - love quadrilateral - unlike any you've read about before and won't soon forget. The several-year span of the plot and the many changes in the relationships between the four central characters made this a satisfying read.
8. I See You by Claire Mackintosh.
   British women are in so much peril, you cannot stop British women from being in peril. A book that does a good job of lining up a handful of suspects that might be the bad guy (or girl). I didn't want to stop listening toward the end, to see if my hunch was correct.
9. The Girl Who Was Taken by Charlie Donlea.
   I might be rating this higher than I should since I just finished it today so it's very fresh in my mind. I'm having a hard time coming up with anything I could say without giving spoilers, so I'll just say it's a decent mystery/thriller except also if you don't like detailed scenes describing autopsies maybe you shouldn't read it but there's no animal violence so it outranks Behind Her Eyes.
10. Behind Her Eyes by Sarah Pinborough.
    British women are in peril but this book has a truly unique premise and an ending that I truly did not see coming that I don't think I'll forget. Also some animal violence I wish I could forget. There's no doesthedogdie for books, so I'm taking it upon myself to warn you all.
11. The Last Mrs. Parrish by Liv Constantine.
    A tour de force of oh-no-she-didn't oh-yes-she-did cattiness that I really had a hard time stopping listening to (I finished it in two days) because as unlikable as the main character is, I really wanted to see what would happen to her next. Warning: might make you hate men a little bit, but there's worse to come.
12. Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn.
    The characters in this book are dark, twisted, surprising, messed up, and completely unforgettable. Like Flynn's most famous novel, Gone Girl, this one won't give you the warm fuzzies, but like Gone Girl, I'd say it's worth a read.
13. Fool Me Once by Harlan Coben.
    A solid, compelling mystery that loses points for being kind of grim. It's no British women in peril but I'd read Harlan Coben again (and have purchased one of his books I haven't downloaded yet).
14. Best Day Ever by Kaira Rouda.
    This one gains enjoyment points for how over the top it was. This is pure, white-hot anti-male propaganda. If you ever find yourself thinking, my life is missing something, maybe it's burning revulsion toward everything with a Y chromosome, this is the book for you.
    ...it's fiction, right? right kaira?
15. The Secrets She Keeps by Michael Robotham.
    Like the title says, there are secrets, and I don't want to give too much away. I did enjoy reading a book with two narrators, one of whom, as you find out further as you read on, is actually pretty unreliable. It made me want to try out writing something with an unreliable narrator myself.
16. Into the Water by Paula Hawkins.
    British women are in peril, the aquatic version. The characters are weird. There are a lot of characters, making it hard to follow at first, especially if you're listening to the audiobook and can't flip back a few pages. The plot is implausible. They say "into the water" way too many times. But, if you do listen to the audiobook version, major props to the girl who narrated this. She really throws herself into each of the narrators, including a scene with a total breakdown.
17. The Couple Next Door by Shari Lapena.
    This book was... fine. It was fine. Domestic psychological thriller with an ending you didn't see coming, or maybe you did.
18. Silent Child by Sarah Denzil.
    British women are once again in peril, and their silent children are too. While I could kind of see most of the plot twists coming, the ending was still pretty suspenseful and while I was listening to it a dog jumped out at me at the same time the bad guy jumped out and I jumped probably about 4 feet.
19. The Circle by Dave Eggers.
    Interesting but, what is The Circle even. How much are you going to beat us over the head with the central message of the book. Also, how did this get made into a movie? I haven't seen the movie, but the only thing they'd have to change about The Circle to make it into a movie is... pretty much everything.
    I still might see it so I can see evil Patton Oswalt.
20. The Girl Before by JP Delaney.
    British women in peril. Definitely held my interest but loses points for ultimately not-that-relatable characters, animal violence, and a scene that will make you want to never eat seafood. Unless you do want to stop eating seafood. Then maybe read this book. I have since blocked that scene out of my mind so I can eat seafood again.
21. Dark Matter by Blake Crouch.
    This one... was fine. It was fine. I was amused how the author was seemingly in love with/obsessed with Chicago, with Logan Square specifically, yet managed to sneak in some jabs against the Cubs. Oh yeah, and there was a multiverse and stuff. But there weren't enough parallel universes to make me care a whole lot about the one-dimensional characters. g0 SoX?
22. The Elementals by Michael McDowell.
    This is supposed to be a classic horror novel. I kind of felt like it was the literary equivalent of taking a long nap and then feeling like you should have done something with your day so after taking the long nap you try to throw an epic party but no one shows up to your party so it ends up being you pouring dollar store confetti all over yourself and wondering where you went wrong with your life. I think I actually did that once. So this book is kind of like me with a southern Gothic flair.
23. 1Q84 by Haruki Murakami.
    I had loved what other couple of books I'd previously read by Murakami. This one, though. Seemed to repeat itself over and over and over again. After 13 hours felt like 3 hours of book put into some kind of book stretching machine, I didn't think I wanted to listen to the remaining 13 hours, so I dropped it at the halfway point.
24. Black Chalk by Christopher Yates.
    Like I said in my celebrated Facebook review, this book is one part a ripoff of "The Secret History" by Donna Tartt and one part creating six people on The Sims, giving them only negative personality traits, and locking them in a house until they start screwing or killing each other. Coulda used more indoor rockets or pools where you delete the ladder.
25. Time's Arrow: Or the Nature of the Offense by Martin Amis.
    Hella interesting premise. Very interesting, detached, almost poetic treatment of appalling subject matter. Yeah, I can appreciate that, but I listened to this one over the summer AND GOOD GOD THIS IS NOT THE BEACH READ YOU WANT. Maybe this is the book that got me started binging on the jolly page-turners you'll find higher up on my list.
26. The Girl with All the Gifts by M. R. Carey.
    Like 1Q84, I reached the halfway point of this book and realized I had no interest in going further. It's bleak, the characters are uninteresting, I never knew zombies could be so boring. I'd be ok if Negan had shown up in the middle of this book to wreak some havoc, which maybe he did, I didn't finish it.

Books I felt like I couldn't rank among the rest so I'm listing them separately:

• Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi. I really liked this book, but didn't feel right classifying a book so much more grounded in reality with the rest of the thriller/sci fi/horror on the rest of my list. This was actually a pretty acclaimed book, and I don't know that I'd have anything to add to the reviews you'll be able to pull up for it instantly online.
• The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson. I can't rank it among the rest because it's literary nonfiction. I already knew the serial killer portion of the story because with unfortunate timing I listened to that episode of the podcast "Lore" right before reading this book. I think my main sentiments while listening to this one were marveling at how different things were relatively not too long ago, and wondering how different things really are. Like Homegoing, I can't say anything about this book that hasn't already been said better, and can't even give it the hometown shoutout award for being the most Chicagoy (see Dark Matter).

The Best, the Most Basic, the Most Beautiful - 2007-2011

A week or two ago, I decided to check what my Facebook profile would look like if viewed by someone who wasn't friends with me. I was shocked to realize that many, though not all, of the Facebook notes I posted between 2007 and 2011 were actually visible to the public. As there's no way to mass-update note privacy, I've spent some time going through and individually switching them. Which led to reading through a lot of them, and copying my favorite entries.

Here's the list I'd like to share with you. Things that made me laugh, things that still resonate, things that perfectly captured an era of my life. If you didn't know me then, this will give you a good idea of who I was.

My Family

Mollie: Ash said I was the most gangsta one on the geology trip.

Me: That's quite an accomplishment!

Dad: What's gang...sta?

Me: Especially considering the stock you come from.

(Mom accidentally whacks TV screen with remote while Mol & I are watching Jesus Christ Superstar)
Mollie: Mom! You just hit Jesus!
Me: Way to kill Jesus. First with your sins, then with the remote control.

Dad (on the musical "Rent"): I just thought "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolored Dreamcoat" was a lot easier to follow.
Mom: I KNEW we should have gotten you that gay Bible...

While they have no relation to my nephews at all, I think I shall call them D and H. Most of their interactions are in the form of D calmly and apathetically performing tasks that H wanted to do, and then looking on calmly and apathetically as H simultaneously endures all nine circles of hell.
While playing Uno:
H: D, I WANTED TO DEAL THE CARDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
D: Oh, did you? It's just that I deal faster.
While playing Mad Libs:
H: D, I WANTED TO WRITE THAT VERB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
D: Oh, did you? It's just that I have better handwriting.
While doing nothing at all:
H: D, I WANTED TO CLOSE THE REFRIGERATOR DOOR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
D: Oh, did you? It's just that my arm got there first.

One of My Funniest Writings IMO

(context - I'd just started a new high school and my mom wanted to know if I'd managed to make it through the day/carpool without making a complete idiot of myself socially)

"How was the drive? Did you find things to talk about?"

I wasn't sure what the best answer I could give to that question was. Then I remembered the one thing that Amy and I had, in fact, had in common.

"Well, we're both in French class, and-"

Here my mom cut me off excitedly. "Did you tell her that your aunt SPEAKS French???"

I felt like I had failed somehow. Granted, for some reason I'd never really asked about my aunts' linguistic abilities, but I had had no idea that my aunt spoke French. I didn't even really know which aunt she was talking about, but since Aunt Gale had moved to England, which is kind of like France, I assumed she was the one.

"No," I replied.

My mother rolled her eyes and gave me one of those longsuffering parenting expressions as if she had just found out that I had emptied her entire bank account and spent it on Pez. "You don't know HOW to make conversation!" she exclaimed.

I was kind of hurt. But, my mom was right, I was pretty socially awkward. The thing was, I didn't see how mentioning that my aunt spoke French really belonged in that conversation or would have made things any less awkward. I played out the hypothetical conversation in my mind:

HYPOTHETICAL CONVERSATION A

Amy: So did you pick Spanish or French?

Me: French.

Amy: Me too. Nice teacher, fewer projects.

Me: My aunt SPEAKS French!

Amy: ...Ah... cool. What lunch period are you in?

Me: Sixth.

Amy: I'm in fifth.

Me: My mom was BORN on the fifth!!!

(Moment of uncomfortable silence while Amy tries to determine whether or not she really is chauffeuring Dustin Hoffman's character from Rain Man)

Me: KMart sucks.

(Amy engages child lock in case I try to jump out of the car and chase birds)

Me (clamping my hands over my ears and rocking back and forth): SCARY NOISE! SCARY NOISE!

But, you know, my mom really seemed to be basing my entire conversational capacity on me bringing up this one loosely related and previously unknown tidbit about myself, so maybe she was onto something. Maybe the conversation would have gone more like this:

HYPOTHETICAL CONVERSATION B

Amy: So, did you pick Spanish or French?

Me: French.

Amy: Me too. Nice teacher, fewer projects.

Me: My aunt SPEAKS French!

Amy: Y- WHAt???? Like, seriously, your aunt? Like, your own mother's sister kind of thing????

Me: My dad's sister, actually.

Amy: THAT'S SOMEHOW EVEN COOLER!!! Oh man. Oh my gosh, this is probably being too forward and I know you've probably made lots of friends in your own class but... doyouthinkyoucouldsitatmylunchtablesoIcanbeseenwithyou?

Me: I'd love to, Amy, but don't you remember hypothetical conversation A? We're not in the same lunch hour.

Amy: Oh right! (slaps self in forehead) Stupid, stupid, stupid...

Me: Ten o'clock and two o'clock, Amy! Don't get us killed!

Amy: Oh golly! I'm so sorry. I mean, je suis desolee, as your aunt would say. (giggle)

I Judge, But Then I Become

The people who see 30 Seconds to Mars are mainly large, scary, intoxicated women who want to see and/or illegally videotape and/or molest Jared Leto and get really mad when other people push into them, invading their personal space and threatening the welfare of their smuggled cameras. I actually think I prefer the Disturbed crowd but still... I got to caress Jared's skinny arm when he leaned into the crowd. His skin was surprisingly cool.

Still So True

The things that you say carelessly have an amazing way of coming back to hurt you. Sometimes I feel like every word that comes out of my mouth is strengthening my greatest enemy. I picture them attaching to the stupid words I've said before until all the little particles take form like in that Michael Crichton book Prey. I'm guessing someday we will have to have a showdown. I'm not sure how to prepare myself to battle my own stupidity. Maybe that's what my dad's doing when he plays Scrabble against himself.

This Happened Often with Cirena

And, unlike usual, hanging out with me did not give Cirena a migraine. We thought she was getting one for a little bit, but it turned out to just be some glitter.

Deep Conversations with Corinne

Corinne: BLEASFEFHEOFIDvDSOFDIFH
Me: Good God, you sound like Donald Duck being sucked into a blender.
Corinne: efIO: EFEWGO EGOIPG
Jen: That one didn't sound very much like Donald Duck.
Corinne: No, that was a raptor being sucked into a blender. A very small raptor. Blender-sized.
Me: ...convenient...
Corinne: All raptors can be blender-sized, eventually.
Me: Well, yeah, if you believe that they evolved into birds.
Corinne: No, if you CUT THEM UP INTO BITS!
Me: You should not be allowed to work with children.
Corinne (cackles): Blender-sized children...

Me, to the cat: You don't deserve food, but I'm going to give you food anyway.
Corinne: That's very benevolent of you.
Me: I tell myself the same thing when I get up every morning.

I'm Sorry I Never Did This But the Daydream Was Nice

I'm going to leave here for a little while and I'm going to travel all over the world. I'm going to be hungrier and thirstier and colder than I've ever been in my life. I'm going to read the sacred literature and visit the holy places of every major religion. I'm going to overcome my fear of spiders and insects because I'm going to see bigger ones than I've ever seen when I hit the tropics. I'm going to strike up conversations with people on planes, trains, buses, even waiting to cross streets or order at a cafe. I'm going to leap off a cliff into the water below with adrenaline junkies and I'm going to sit motionless and meditate in a monastery. I'm going to reevaluate my life as I make my way up a mountain and begin to mistake the thinning atmosphere for mental clarity. I'm going to attend concerts that are not alternative rock and might not even be in English, and I'm going to go back to that modern art gallery in London and actually appreciate it this time. I'll learn to stay awake whenever it's demanded of me and sleep whenever it's possible. I'm going to forget all the petty things making me sad because I'm going to be physically and mentally pushing myself to my limits, destroying myself and starting over.

Then I'll come home and I won't just be taking up space. I'll actually have so much to say, your eyes will light up when you listen to me, inspired and entertained.

You'll actually be happier when I'm around. 

And after I've done all that... I might finally get around to cleaning out my car.

Hopefully This Gives You Some Peace

Anyway, I'm still reading stuff for the comp test. Current project: Henderson the Rain King by Saul Bellow. And I was really struck by one passage in which the protagonist is reacting to a gorgeous sunrise:

"At once I recognized the importance of this, as throughout my life I had known these moments when the dumb begins to speak, when I hear the voices of objects and colors; then the physical universe starts to wrinkle and change and heave and rise and smooth, so it seems that even the dogs have to lean against a tree, shivering. Thus on this white wall with its prickles, like the gooseflesh of matter, was the pink light, and it was similar to flying over the white points of the sea at ten thousand feet as the sun begins to rise."

And I'm kind of reminded of times I've been out trail running under a sky so blue I couldn't help but stare upwards (and hopefully not trip) and felt so privileged to be allowed to be a part of something this beautiful.

My Birthday Tribute to Naomi

Tomorrow is not only Friday the 13th, it is also the birthday of my good friend Naomi. We spent way too much time together in high school and college to be good for our health or anyone else's, and to commemorate Naomi's birthday and be nostalgic I made a list:

Remember...?

*making you laugh for hours by pointing at something and stating what it was

*Moulin Rob... enough said...

*that fake ONU student we made a xanga for

*forking lawns and defacing cars with various foodstuffs

*our various attempts to sing the entire score of Les Mis, and le misery of anyone who happened to be riding in the car with us

*emails with end credits

*our contest to see who was weirder

*our contest to see who had wasted her life more

*LOTS of bad horror movies. and a few good ones

*our list of presidential campaign promises

*the "wall of hate" in our dorm room freshman year, and the tack-filled rat watching over it

*the amazing Night of the Living Dead spoof we filmed using only you, me, a video camera, an empty field, and a bottle of ketchup

*the much more elaborate Sleepaway Camp spoof we never actually filmed where Brandon Johnson was going to wear a wig and play Angela

*leaving threatening notes and pudding cups in strangers' mailboxes

*and probably many more escapades that would only incriminate me further if i listed them

Hope your birthday's as happy as you deserve, Nomz. And if nothing else, at least make the most of it by making Andy get you as many glasses of water as possible before the clock hits midnight.

I Leave You With This

I leave you with this passage from "Everything is Illuminated" by Jonathan Safran Foer that perhaps describes why we all blog. Even though English is this character's second language, I think I understand him very well here.

"I think this is why I relish writing for you so much... I can be funny, because I have time to meditate about how to be funny, and I can repair my mistakes when I perform mistakes, and I can be a melancholy person in manners that are interesting, not only melancholy. With writing, we have second chances. You mentioned to me that first evening of our voyage that you thought you might have been born to be a writer. What a terrible thing, I think... It is true, I am certain, that you will write very many more books than I will, but it is me, not you, who was born to be the writer."