A wise woman once said, friendships have a lifespan.

No pen for this one. Though I will take my correctional tape now.

“Sockdologized”, sandwiched between 2 otherwise unforgettable acts, is far better than its placement would deserve, with actually fascinating characters, metaplot, hilarious dialogue, and intelligent humor.

How do I have 1 glove and 2 socks in my pocket.

My snooze button is the Purple/423 transfer.

Have you eaten dinner yet?
No, but…
Okay, from your apartment, turn right on N. Broadway Ave. Then go to Aldine…
I’m not at my apartment. I’m at a sketch writing session.
Okay, well, when you’re done, you need to go there, because there’s an amazing pizza I just ate called Homemade Pizza Co., and they have locations in Chicago.
Yeah, they’re a chain, I walk by that place all the time, and there’s another a block away from here, that I was literally at for the first time less than an hour ago.
How was it?
I don’t know. See, I had just come from work and I was looking for a quick slice of pizza before sketch writing, so I was like, hm, let’s try Homemade Pizza, and I bought a small without realizing until after purchasing that their gimmick was that it was uncooked, and I couldn’t walk into someone’s home and ask, hey can, I borrow you oven to make a pizza to not share with you. I have too much food shame.
Well, hold on to and eat it later.
They only had transparent bags, and I didn’t have anything to put it in. But I realized how cold it was outside. So I geocached it a block away, and didn’t tell anyone, intending to retrieve it when I leave- but then you call with street instructions to get Homemade Pizza Co. pizza.

Unspeakably awesome.

“I’m gonna party like a rock star tonight…”

Clothes make the man, overwhelmed in the unnoticed details of quirk and character, across page after page of play. There’s a wizard who knows you, there’s a scroll with the answer, but they are missing. Who all these people are, what they are doing here: none of that matters, so singular the focus as possessions are strewn in location after location, down every alley, within every room, past closed doors, amid every chaos, while that one face seen everywhere and nowhere is sought.

“…Go on / Playing my guitar / Shining like a star…”

If we would but find ourselves, we would recognize where we are.

“…Make you scream my name / Rock the stage / Ain’t no shame in my game…”

I am Waldo.

“…I wanna be a rock star tonight…”

Here I am.

“A Brief History of Helen of Troy” is a retelling of the Trojan War from the point of view of a Hermione figure. Figures representing Zeus, Clytemnestra, Odysseus, Menelaus, and Paris all amalgamate across the delusions of the forgotten daughter, having been mythologically abandoned with an epic to hear that she cannot participate in. But the play’s strength is beyond the script. The props accumulate across the stage, reminders of the evoked pain. The sets and technicals are starkly professional. The actors’ deliveries are as haunted as the audience’s winces.

“The Lady’s Not For Burning” has a comedic and complicated script, featuring a steadily flow of water symbolism and the role-reversal of a woman who maintains her innocence and a man who desires conviction. But appreciating the nuances suffered from (aside from 2 or 3 actors’ notable performances) the acting seeming uneven and probably directorially uninspired. Going into the play with diminished expectations may have helped enjoyment.

“I use urbandictionary for all my spellcheck questions.”

Getting streetwise.

Studio Conservation Theorem
There is a finite amount of manhours of occupation available to a given apartment. The amount of time an individual occupant spends in the apartment is inversely proportional to the total number of occupants.

“I have some news for you that’s going to make you very happy or very annoyed.”
Okay, I choose very happy.

See how things go.

It’s not a lens: it’s cardboard with a hole in it. It’s a reverse blindspot.
Our parents kept us and ourselves apart for so long, we lost touch with each other and went to different schools.

I see what you just did.
(Oh, snap.)

“It's a new dawn…”

Edit:
Changing how we live.
Changing where we live.

“…It's a new day…”

Assist:
Helping each other get things done.
Helping each other survive.

“…It's a new life…”

I work as an editorial assistant.

“…And I'm feeling good…”

I put the me in meta.

Red primarily satirizes age, and in particular the institution of retirement, although other political and romantic institutions also get taken to extremes. But the plot itself is just as ludicrous. Indeed, the tone becomes a radically different if the narrative were told in reversed chronology: if the characters are first shown organizing an assassination, then acting to gain intelligence, and enduring the original attacks that bands them together. However, the presentation of such wacky premises nevertheless holds an underlying maturity, making the movie amusingly enjoyable.

“Me and my brother were talking to each other…”

Anything significant is already part of my fiber. Anything insignificant I couldn’t commit to permanence. Like someone who keeps forgetting what they don’t like until it’s reexperienced, why would I ever get a tattoo?

“…Welcome to my life, tattoo / We've a long time together, me and you…”

“How to Live Safely in a Science Fiction Universe” has some very clever ideas about the intersection of time-travel and fiction; and more generally of the intersection of time and expression. Unfortunately, the novel’s writing itself feels rough, perhaps intentionally, although perhaps necessary for these themes, as the protagonist narrator reacts to a fictional world that they realize is fictional. For better or worse, the choppiness of the conceit distracts from the overall narrative; but this narrative presented, twice-removed from reality, almost seems allegorical to actual experiences of the audience, living in a reality without time-travel and which lacks meta-narrative awareness.

What kind of Walgreens doesn’t have any skim milk but does have avocados?

Cinnamon Life is like a box of chocolates.

I have a job and scones. Job starts on Monday. Scones are on a plate.

Will work for food.

“I’m not funny. I’m eating a paperclip.”

Suave man is cryptoteric.

“Art is when quality of work exceeds ego.”

“The Flat Earth Society is somewhere far away / With their candlesticks and compasses…”

I like to walk. I like the freedom of motion unlimited save by my own capabilities: I can walk anywhere I can. But when walking in one direction I find a different sensation. In my return journeys I feel a heaviness in my step, an uneasiness in my limbs, a fear: a fear that I will forget to stop, that I will let myself forget to stop, that I will not be able to stop my benumbed legs from continuing their motions, that I will be carried past my destination, that I will keep walking, that I will continue inexorably into the past or the shoreline.

There’s a feeling I dread when I walk to the east, and my spirit is crying.

“…With grave determination / And no destination…”

A mug or a shot should threaten nothing more than alcohol.

“Can I borrow a computer? I have to cancel my credit cards. Also, these margaritas are really good.”