Actually, don’t. But guess who is in my Major American Writers class next term, the class I was looking forward to quite a bit, despite my tendency to shy away from exclusively “American” topics in literature? The Thorn’s very own George Dawkins. In fact, there are too many people in that class I know. And some of them are actually somewhat literary-minded, which means my ideas (such as they are) will sound even more like shit, which means I can plan on being quiet and simply absorbing for probably most of the quarter. It’s twelfth grade English all over again. There will be those three or four people who bunt…

It crossed my mind briefly to write about my ridiculously fun evening last night with The Crazy CO Girls (and Guys), but then I realized that, out of context, it probably wouldn’t be funny. How can one portray the hilarity of random porn music outbursts during Interview with a Vampire (more appropriate in the book, given Rice’s writing style than in the toned-down movie), and the outbursts of “Armand is supposed to look like a little boy! Ahn-tonio doesn’t look like a little boy!” and “Shouldn’t that be some sort of ancient Italian accent instead of a Spanish one?” and “Anne Rice also writes S & M erotica.” … “Have…

They just turned on the heat. Hell, yeah. (A pointless post, I know.) [Listening to “Cowgirl” [Underworld / Hackers]

Fall just got up and left my ass sometime last week or the week before. By “fall”, I mean autumn. Cool mornings, windy days, leaves falling. Wonderful temperatures for walks. All the trees outside my dorm window are ass-bare (and the curtains are most definitely closed when dressing now… not that we were flagrant with nudity when there were leaves, but, you know), and I hate to get up in the mornings because it. Is. Cold. Folks from Indiana, Kentucky, Ohio, etc., are laughing at me, because it’s not even winter yet (according to them), and I’m already dressing in layers. Fuck “it’s not winter yet”. When the high for…

This took place yesterday afternoon, as I struggled to get the tangles out of my wet hair. Andrea: [Walking down the hall, just getting back from class. She sees me and halts.] Ooh.Me: [Struggling with the comb, arms tired as hell, and I’m only halfway done.] I know, right? Sometimes, very briefly, I want to cut it off.Andrea: No. I’m jealous. Now I want to do your hair. Let me do your hair.Me: [Instant panic] Hell, no! You are not burning my hair. Begone, with your evil ideas.Andrea: I don’t burn hair. I just want to straighten it.Me: Oh, and that’s accomplished by running a cold curling iron along hair,…