. . . this is what we do at the library.
P.S. Still nothing to write about. So sue me.
Ummm, it's all about me. And other stuff. And it's about you too, if you care to leave a comment. Which you should. Right now.
Age just looks better on some people . . .
I have had a very very good week, pop culturally speaking. You know how I love a list, so here's one of three fun things I did that kept me temporarily sane in the vortex of chaos in which I exist. Or is it a vortex of dulling boredom? I keep forgetting . . .
Dearest Brett --
Comparative literature, p'shaw! How about wasting my time comparing two things in a fashion that is, in the long run, absolutely meaningless? Okay! My new favorite thing . . .
"The Year 3000" by the Jonas Brothers. Good lord.
Yes, my fascination with constantly encountering the number 33 is no doubt deeply fascinating to you as well -- so much so, I'm certain you've been anxiously awaiting an update to my original post "The Number 33." So here it is. No thanks are needed -- your just having shown up is thanks enough.
. . . and should have. Because upon purchasing my first Cosmo in, oh, 18 years, I discovered that it sucks. Eggs.
After I got a ton of traffic from that last post about "Marie Claire Vs. Details" (thanks GlossedOver!), I'd decided to write more about my ruminations on crappy women's magazines . . . but then I was sidetracked (ADD anyone?) by my OTHER active ruminations, on Buddhism of all things. So I decided to write about that first. Yeah, we'll see how it goes . . .