“This is my December…”
Holiday, bonus.
“…This is my snow-covered home…”
Inclement, weather.
“…This is me alone…”
Delivered, pizza.
“…Just wish that I didn’t feel like there was something I missed…”
Massage, the truth.
“…Take back all the things I said…”
Rebook, flight.
“…And I gave it all away / Just to have somewhere to go to…”
The keys, to it all.
“…This is me pretending / This is all I need…”

“It's time to be so brutally honest about the way we know we long for something fine
when we pine…”

There is a wonderful moment when “What music do you like?” is realized to be conversational, not confrontational.

“…It's laid out before us / Who are we to break down…”

Judgment need not be judgmental.

“…And we try / It's too easy just to fall apart…”

On some cold long work-filled winter days, all I really need is a small gift, the merest token, a little sign. One that reads “Do not use microwave while space heater is on”.

[Though I could also use a catsitter for 12/20-12/25. Let me know if available.]

Even though the bookstore had won its independence, the subcorporation had one final nasty surprise in store. The employees returned from court to find their entire receiving department in shambles. For the subcorporation had voided all existing orders as they left. There was only one box of bestsellers in the entire store, only enough bestsellers to meet 1 day’s demand. And it would take 8 business days before a new shipment of bestsellers would arrive.

The Story of Chanukkah as Told by One Bookstore Employee to Another

But another miracle occurred. Somehow the supply of bestsellers grew to meet the full 8 days’ demand, without any loss in sales.

140 characters is just long enough to say nothing.

The 5 most unhealthy words of any relationship are: stop with the conspiracy theories.

A holiday miracle: the oil runs out, but there is just enough left to finish the batch of sufganiyot.

“On the first day…”

7 more days to dance like flickering candle flames, with songs sung to unknown melodies, music accompanying an anonymous voice of experience being cast into the air, around which leaves fall.

You can’t do that on a math test, put the answer is not 6.
Yeah, if you do, you’ll get a not 100.
And then you get into not college.

Not how it should work.

If our life were a TV show, the producers would come over to tell us to stop saying that we’d be so funny if we were on a TV show.

“I simply must go / But baby, it’s cold outside…”

When it’s great to come home from work to a space heater is when it’s hard to bring a space heater home from work.

“…The answer is no / But baby, it’s cold outside…”

Take your pie to work day.

Enough people complained about discrimination so it became take your dessert to work day.

“Did you just write ‘comprised of’? Because I guarantee you meant ‘composed of’. I mean, I guarantee it.”
Did you just write “composed of”? Because I guarantee you meant “composed of”. I mean, I guarantee it. (Which is technically even still valid.)

The only way to make an awkward situation more awkward is to acknowledge it.

There are shredder people, and there are copier people. And I think you’re a shredder, except my mind just Scrubs-tangented into you being a TMNT villain.

Medical show.

The new Scrubs takes place in a teaching hospital. And there's a character that Dr. Cox only calls by number. And another character with an exaggerated Australian accent.
Hubs, or Scrouse?

“When it's over, then I cheer / I'm glad it's only once a year…“

I like listening to Christmas songs only in months that don’t start with D.
(One day in, already sick.)

“…I hate Christmas…”

(Hot + bubble) x (teas + baths)

Things to be thankful for.

[What a Person at a Thanksgiving Table Wouldn’t Say]

Helen Keller : Apples to Apples :: Tyrannosaurus Rex :: Jewish Apples to Apples

When you’re composing your analogies, do you ever wonder whether to do abcd or acbd?
I always wonder that. I’m not just making fun of you.

laguja
the human body is sacred

Saw Pirate Radio. The futility of trying to legislate taste by anything other than direct expression of preference wedges music within the morality and practicaliy of property, the futility of and the desire for containment. And yet, the conflict is juxtaposed with a Truman Showlike ensemble voyeurism, with music merely an accompanying melody, love and freedom to a syncopated jig. Yo, ho, ho.

Woman Key
The Bombing Begins in Five Minutes

Hyperzen.

Around Which Leaves Fall
This wasn’t supposed to be an Away Message. It was to be an IM, or an e-mail, or a monologue. But IMs require the audience to not log off in the pause between the last letter of my last word and the enter key. E-mails- with that Christmas morning of finding a present under the tree, having a subject line, a movie trailer that hypes interest, demanding that the message live up the promised premise- e-mails require investment of a reader, who must bate their breath and click to open. Monologues require enough shame to read a script, enough trust to give a script over to an alien performer.

There are so many media, all of them different: e-mails, mass e-mails, IMs, texts, phone, voicemail, facebook, basement. But sometimes the timing just doesn't fit, the medium just doesn't match. It's a shame about the message, but there's nothing to do, except acknowledge and accept it.

I think I like this message after all. Enough to give it an evocative title and cast it into the air, into whatever medium may receive my words, around which leaves fall.