On Valentine's day I visited the birthplace of JFK

...then I cried in a corner alone. Just kidding!!! I didn't really. Well, not in so many words.



I did play third-wheel on a date with my roommate and her boyfriend (see above). We ate delicious crepes and discussed the Iran-Contra affair. Then we held hands and skipped.

Social Capital

I just read this post today - an entry by The Person who talked me into starting this blog in the first place, the same person who inspired the canny lack of capitalizition. So of course, I'm flattered by the shout-out.

Also.

It's interesting that this person, like me, decided to change his textual methodology. Knowing him as well as I do, I'd expect him to seriously ruminate over why I (a self-proclaimed semi-influential figure in his life) would decide to suddenly throw these dominant letters into my blog.* Then I think he'd analyze his own reasoning for never using THEM and start to wonder if a change was necessary and if his writing could benefit from some similar modification. He would consider all consequences of any potential actions. He would scrutinize the upper and lower cases while attempting to understand the true and secret meaning of this dichotomy and how it affects his existence. He would probably dream about it. In the end, he would never jump right in and get capital crazy (like me). Instead, he would make some subtle, tactical changes to the blog, just to juice up his stuff a little, but he would never make a complete u-turn and deviate from that original lower-cased constitution that is still very important to him and his being. Anyway, I'm 99% positive that this was the thought process that lead to the recent alteration in structure of hundred billion castaways. (Note: I've told him before that I always know what he's thinking. He knows I know, so it's okay.)

*The main reason for MY decision was pure boredom. Also, I feel that I can convey more emotion and rhythm by adding some strategic variations in letter height. Like an ECG.

I'm Going To Start Using Capital Letters Because I'm Tired Of Not Using Capital Letters.

I need a change. Bear with me.

an example of why my life nestles kinetically in a seemingly airtight container

ben gibbard is starring in the big-screen adaptation of david foster wallace's 'brief interviews with hideous men' (directed by john krasinski...weird). this is oddly coincidental because of two unrelated personal revelations. the first: although i had previously discounted death cab for cutie because of how much plans completely sucked, i decided to allow the band back into my heart because of their recent release, narrow stairs. i like it alright, and i'd even go as far to say that some songs ('cath...' in particular) are reminiscent of photo album, but that's a stretch. the second: after reading 'brief interviews' over christmas, i concluded that 1) the book probably made me think more than any other book i've read this year, 2) DFW really does live up to his hype, and 3) it's really a shame that he had to go and off himself, even though it probably poignantly contributed to the aforementioned #1.

so i guess it's pretty cool that one of my favorite musicians is going to play the lead in a movie made about this book that i love. i still haven't decided how they are possibly going to pull the whole thing off though. i wish john krasinski the best. oh, and another thing i should mention about ben gibbard is that he recently got engaged to my ultimate girl-crush of all time, zooey deschanel. i'm so jealous! of him, not her (i mean come on, she's totally hotter than he is). anyway, point is, this guy and i are definitely on the same universal wavelength.

seduction of the less-transient and less-resilient

i speak slow.

slower.

slower now. steady pitch, restrained inflection. to elongate my rubbery words i bite their ends and let gravity pull them from my teeth. my head assumes the sloping position for casting eyelid shadows. a sly contortion of neck swells the white that separates the grin of my iris and lower lashes. i gaze up at you from below, from inside your cage of ribs. from the very bottom of the pit of your stomach and up through your telescope throat. look at me. look. at. me. i see you, hello. i smile like i know something you don't. pressed-lip smile, all your secrets are in my cheekbones.

december in jp

battle with devil kitten

franklin has some problems with aggression.

last christmas

i gave you my heart, but the very next day you gave it away.

the sound of the unlocking and the lift away

last night, from a little dark corner in the back of the theater i watched bon iver cover the outfield. amazing. it's right up there with metric's cover of between the bars. speaking of which, justin vernon and emily haines would make some godlike offspring. they should definitely have sex.



a perfect little night. perfect set, one perfect cover, perfect room and perfect corner. it made me feel settled and basic, and i left wanting to come to some sort of conclusion. i'm still not sure what exactly i was inclined to conclude, but it was satisfying enough just to feel the urge.

this band is serious.

looks like light and love, neither of which i get enough of

question: when did nada surf become a guilty pleasure? because you know what, they're so great and i totally don't feel guilty about loving them. they love me back! they're reliable in that sense, and sometimes that's all a girl needs. matthew caws looked deeply into my eyes on tuesday when he sang, "baby, i just want to make you happy," i swear. and he does! they all do, the whole band. even the bass player who managed to puff a cigarette throughout the entire set, even while singing back-up vocals (talent).

did you get my phone call? i intentionally called you during 'happy kid' and not the incredible, heart-wrenching acoustic performance of 'blizzard of '77' (you would have died). my reasoning for this made perfect sense after a few vodka-sodas. it still makes sense, actually. god i'm brilliant.



also, i bought a t-shirt! it has an unzipped heart on the front. perfection.