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This weekend, our local newspaper dedicated an entire page to my roommate and dearest friend, calling him both a superman and a supercurator. Please. Tell me something I don't know.
It's funny. He's probably reading this right now and squirming. But I watched him struggle with the exhibit for weeks and I know how much he deserves recognition . . . and a copy of Ghostbusters for the 360.
Couldn't be prouder, sweetheart. Hugface.
It's funny. He's probably reading this right now and squirming. But I watched him struggle with the exhibit for weeks and I know how much he deserves recognition . . . and a copy of Ghostbusters for the 360.
Couldn't be prouder, sweetheart. Hugface.
Utterly enamored with the soundtrack from The Fountain. The movie's not half bad either. I still don't know if I understand it, per se, but the cinematography's stunning. And I will always give two thumbs up to couples taking baths together (see: The English Patient and Big Fish and my own life).
These past few weeks I've been helping with lab notebooks at work. We're digitizing them so the chemists can put them into long-term storage. You'd think this would be dull . . . and yes, it sort of is. But the notebooks themselves are quite interesting. There are little formulas hidden in the corners, little clusters of results marching across the pages. I've seen photographs of colored liquids in a few of the books. FedEx receipts with bizarre instructions. Sometimes someone will get artistic and pencil in wisps of smoke around their technical drawings. Or write things like "Yes, got it!" on a productive day.
Every once in a while, I wish I were more science-brained. It'd probably be fun to mix potions in a lab all day. Hell, it has to beat what I'm doing now. I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, but I grow increasingly sure it doesn't involve sitting in a building somewhere sneezing over books. I love books, I really do. You can take a look at my apartment if you need proof of that. But I'd much rather be writing them (or editing them, or reading them, or selling them) than acting as custodian. The creative aspect right now is kaput. And the stuff that's left? Repetitive, mind-numbing, and dull.
Ah, well. My mind isn't in a great place these days. Maybe I just need a new job. Orsome more less excitement in my life. Yeah, either of those things would do.
These past few weeks I've been helping with lab notebooks at work. We're digitizing them so the chemists can put them into long-term storage. You'd think this would be dull . . . and yes, it sort of is. But the notebooks themselves are quite interesting. There are little formulas hidden in the corners, little clusters of results marching across the pages. I've seen photographs of colored liquids in a few of the books. FedEx receipts with bizarre instructions. Sometimes someone will get artistic and pencil in wisps of smoke around their technical drawings. Or write things like "Yes, got it!" on a productive day.
Every once in a while, I wish I were more science-brained. It'd probably be fun to mix potions in a lab all day. Hell, it has to beat what I'm doing now. I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, but I grow increasingly sure it doesn't involve sitting in a building somewhere sneezing over books. I love books, I really do. You can take a look at my apartment if you need proof of that. But I'd much rather be writing them (or editing them, or reading them, or selling them) than acting as custodian. The creative aspect right now is kaput. And the stuff that's left? Repetitive, mind-numbing, and dull.
Ah, well. My mind isn't in a great place these days. Maybe I just need a new job. Or
Ok, so I bought three more things on Etsy today.
An owl bracelet:
and two necklaces:
I'll be eating (and staying) in this weekend, I think. But these are totally worth it.
An owl bracelet:
and two necklaces:
I'll be eating (and staying) in this weekend, I think. But these are totally worth it.
I'd forgotten about Etsy until Rachel twittered about it a few weeks ago. It's funny, I think Rhode Island-Rachel introduced me to the site in the first place. Must be a Rachel thing. Anyway, I sort of wish I hadn't rediscovered it, because OH MY GOD, I CANNOT STOP LOOKING AT IT.
Yesterday I spent my lunch break (and several other breaks) browsing the site. And today I made two purchases:
and
There are all kinds of wonderful goodies out there. Headbands with tiny peacock feathers. Sculptures carved from bone. Coin purses in every imaginable fabric. I'm trying to hold back, but I don't know how long that'll last. It's been -- what, two days? And already I have a pair of necklaces.
Oh, if only I were crafty enough to make these things on my own . . .
Yesterday I spent my lunch break (and several other breaks) browsing the site. And today I made two purchases:
and
There are all kinds of wonderful goodies out there. Headbands with tiny peacock feathers. Sculptures carved from bone. Coin purses in every imaginable fabric. I'm trying to hold back, but I don't know how long that'll last. It's been -- what, two days? And already I have a pair of necklaces.
Oh, if only I were crafty enough to make these things on my own . . .
Margaret Atwood is coming out with a new novel in September!
From Amazon.com:
"The times and species have been changing at a rapid rate, and the social compact is wearing as thin as environmental stability. Adam One, the kindly leader of the God's Gardeners—a religion devoted to the melding of science and religion, as well as the preservation of all plant and animal life—has long predicted a natural disaster that will alter Earth as we know it. Now it has occurred, obliterating most human life. Two women have survived: Ren, a young trapeze dancer locked inside the high-end sex club Scales and Tails, and Toby, a God's Gardener barricaded inside a luxurious spa where many of the treatments are edible.
Have others survived? Ren's bioartist friend Amanda? Zeb, her eco-fighter stepfather? Her onetime lover, Jimmy? Or the murderous Painballers, survivors of the mutual-elimination Painball prison? Not to mention the shadowy, corrupt policing force of the ruling powers . . .
Meanwhile, gene-spliced life forms are proliferating: the lion/lamb blends, the Mo'hair sheep with human hair, the pigs with human brain tissue. As Adam One and his intrepid hemp-clad band make their way through this strange new world, Ren and Toby will have to decide on their next move. They can't stay locked away . . .
By turns dark, tender, violent, thoughtful, and uneasily hilarious, The Year of the Flood is Atwood at her most brilliant and inventive."
From Amazon.com:
"The times and species have been changing at a rapid rate, and the social compact is wearing as thin as environmental stability. Adam One, the kindly leader of the God's Gardeners—a religion devoted to the melding of science and religion, as well as the preservation of all plant and animal life—has long predicted a natural disaster that will alter Earth as we know it. Now it has occurred, obliterating most human life. Two women have survived: Ren, a young trapeze dancer locked inside the high-end sex club Scales and Tails, and Toby, a God's Gardener barricaded inside a luxurious spa where many of the treatments are edible.
Have others survived? Ren's bioartist friend Amanda? Zeb, her eco-fighter stepfather? Her onetime lover, Jimmy? Or the murderous Painballers, survivors of the mutual-elimination Painball prison? Not to mention the shadowy, corrupt policing force of the ruling powers . . .
Meanwhile, gene-spliced life forms are proliferating: the lion/lamb blends, the Mo'hair sheep with human hair, the pigs with human brain tissue. As Adam One and his intrepid hemp-clad band make their way through this strange new world, Ren and Toby will have to decide on their next move. They can't stay locked away . . .
By turns dark, tender, violent, thoughtful, and uneasily hilarious, The Year of the Flood is Atwood at her most brilliant and inventive."
Work's slow today with only two days left 'til the weekend. I suppose everyone is mentally counting down to Friday. In the office next door, one of the lawyers is listening to Imogen Heap. This pleases me. This pleases me a lot, actually. While she isn't my favorite artist, Ms. Heap is a vast improvement over the lawyer's usual fare. Last week he was on a bagpipes-and-Scottish-drums kick. And the week before that it was Mardi Gras jazz (which, incidentally, was so generic and bright it made my teeth hurt). Maybe next week he'll move on to The Shins, or The Mountain Goats, or The Decemberists. Perhaps I'll hear The Tiger Lilies one afternoon. More than likely, though, he'll just go back to whistling "Don't you Want me, Baby?" No, baby, I do not.
Speaking of babies, my little sister will be graduating from the nursing program in a few weeks. It's funny, I say babies when she's newly 24. But that age group still seems very young to me, full of noisy, misplaced confidence. One can only hope the world will drain their pettiness from them. Time has been known to do wonders.
Oh, my poor brain is having trouble keeping its finger on the pages of my thought today. I find myself losing my place, or skipping ahead. I'm reminded of those lines in that Eliot poem:
Words strain,
Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,
Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,
Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place,
Will not stay still.
I remember liking that a lot years ago. I remember reading more often.
My friend Rachel and I had a very nice conversation about books yesterday. We used to select things to read together -- Life of Pi, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, The Underground Man, Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell. There were others, but I've forgotten them now. I miss sharing literature with friends. We did that a lot at the bookstore. Recommendations were passed along and scribbled down into little notebooks; conversations sprung up around David Mitchell, Orhan Pamuk, Umberto Eco. And then all of us went off to grad school, or jobs, or other things. I'm lucky if I finish 30 books a year now, and luckier still if I mention them to anyone.
Life is bizarre. I won't dispute that. But could it get a little better, please?
Speaking of babies, my little sister will be graduating from the nursing program in a few weeks. It's funny, I say babies when she's newly 24. But that age group still seems very young to me, full of noisy, misplaced confidence. One can only hope the world will drain their pettiness from them. Time has been known to do wonders.
Oh, my poor brain is having trouble keeping its finger on the pages of my thought today. I find myself losing my place, or skipping ahead. I'm reminded of those lines in that Eliot poem:
Words strain,
Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,
Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,
Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place,
Will not stay still.
I remember liking that a lot years ago. I remember reading more often.
My friend Rachel and I had a very nice conversation about books yesterday. We used to select things to read together -- Life of Pi, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, The Underground Man, Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell. There were others, but I've forgotten them now. I miss sharing literature with friends. We did that a lot at the bookstore. Recommendations were passed along and scribbled down into little notebooks; conversations sprung up around David Mitchell, Orhan Pamuk, Umberto Eco. And then all of us went off to grad school, or jobs, or other things. I'm lucky if I finish 30 books a year now, and luckier still if I mention them to anyone.
Life is bizarre. I won't dispute that. But could it get a little better, please?
The purchase (and subsequent display) of Mr Squibbs has only whetted my desire for a taxidermy collection. I would like a little white fox, and a pony, and a pair of lions. Also a giraffe, please. All dead from natural causes, of course.
Several months ago, I came across a website with an extensive array of creepy-crawlies for sale. I'm sharing my favorites below:
BUTTERFLIES
So brilliantly blue, it belongs in a van Gogh painting:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/butter
Chalky white paired with deepest, darkest black:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/butter
There's something monstrous about this one. The fuzziness extends over the wings as though one more metamorphosis is in order -- from butterfly into bat:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/butter
Wriggling, cartoonish lines map a strange landscape. And typewriter keys balance on the edges:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/butter
Parchment yellow with little brown headstones along the edges:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/butter
The glossiness of this one reminds me of blown glass:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/butter
Leathery blacks and browns with an unexpected flicker of indigo:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/butter
INSECTS
A kelly-green shell with a chrome finish a pitted-out skull for a face wings of brittle toffee:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/insect
The body of this one reminds me of a calcified orange -- pock-marked and solid. And the face has a friendly look to it:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/insect
Squat and solid. With the wings pinned aside, the back seems beautifully grotesque, like the internal organs are on display:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/insect
Prickly and whimsical, this one looks like it belongs in the ocean:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/insect
A little green slipper of a face and delicately fretted wings:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/insect
Several months ago, I came across a website with an extensive array of creepy-crawlies for sale. I'm sharing my favorites below:
BUTTERFLIES
So brilliantly blue, it belongs in a van Gogh painting:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/butter
Chalky white paired with deepest, darkest black:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/butter
There's something monstrous about this one. The fuzziness extends over the wings as though one more metamorphosis is in order -- from butterfly into bat:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/butter
Wriggling, cartoonish lines map a strange landscape. And typewriter keys balance on the edges:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/butter
Parchment yellow with little brown headstones along the edges:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/butter
The glossiness of this one reminds me of blown glass:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/butter
Leathery blacks and browns with an unexpected flicker of indigo:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/butter
INSECTS
A kelly-green shell with a chrome finish a pitted-out skull for a face wings of brittle toffee:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/insect
The body of this one reminds me of a calcified orange -- pock-marked and solid. And the face has a friendly look to it:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/insect
Squat and solid. With the wings pinned aside, the back seems beautifully grotesque, like the internal organs are on display:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/insect
Prickly and whimsical, this one looks like it belongs in the ocean:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/insect
A little green slipper of a face and delicately fretted wings:
http://www.butterfly-designs.com/insect
Antique shopping in Denham Springs last weekend. I returned with the following:
1. Two elephant figurines, ebony-carved, small as fists. In both shade and light they have a dense, buffed glow, like wood from a goblin's forest. And there are chips of ivory for the tusks and toenails and round little eyes.
2. A paperweight. This was a bit of an impulse buy, but a pretty object, nonetheless. A moss of colored glass covers the bottom, and little bubbles rise from it like mushrooms.
3. An Indonesian mask. Flat and solemn-eyed, with a puckish mouth.
4. And last, but most certainly not least . . .
A TAXIDERMY SQUIRREL.
Best $30 I've spent in a long time.
TAXIDERMY SQUIRREL!!
He's in the kitchen now, standing guard over the sugar. One might say he looks calm. Passive, even. But don't let the glassy stare and sawdust innards fool you. Cross Mr. Squibbs once -- just once -- and he will tear out your throat.
EDIT: I completely forgot to mention the wind-up monkey! No matter, though -- photos of all items are forthcoming.
1. Two elephant figurines, ebony-carved, small as fists. In both shade and light they have a dense, buffed glow, like wood from a goblin's forest. And there are chips of ivory for the tusks and toenails and round little eyes.
2. A paperweight. This was a bit of an impulse buy, but a pretty object, nonetheless. A moss of colored glass covers the bottom, and little bubbles rise from it like mushrooms.
3. An Indonesian mask. Flat and solemn-eyed, with a puckish mouth.
4. And last, but most certainly not least . . .
A TAXIDERMY SQUIRREL.
Best $30 I've spent in a long time.
TAXIDERMY SQUIRREL!!
He's in the kitchen now, standing guard over the sugar. One might say he looks calm. Passive, even. But don't let the glassy stare and sawdust innards fool you. Cross Mr. Squibbs once -- just once -- and he will tear out your throat.
EDIT: I completely forgot to mention the wind-up monkey! No matter, though -- photos of all items are forthcoming.
We finally have internet at the apartment. Well. Internet, cable television, and a phone line I'll never use. I haven't quite accustomed myself to it yet. Being online here is guilt-inducingly wonderful. Funny what constitutes a luxury these days.
I suppose I shouldn't complain. I have money enough for a place to live and a car and little frivolities here and there. Sushi. Armloads of used books. Mustard-colored flats. And bubble baths -- lots and lots of bubble baths.
In fact, I think it's time for one now.
I suppose I shouldn't complain. I have money enough for a place to live and a car and little frivolities here and there. Sushi. Armloads of used books. Mustard-colored flats. And bubble baths -- lots and lots of bubble baths.
In fact, I think it's time for one now.
- Mood:relaxed
She tells her love while half asleep,
In the dark hours,
With half-words whispered low:
As Earth stirs in her winter sleep
And puts out grass and flowers
Despite the snow,
Despite the falling snow.
--Robert Graves
Languidly re-reading A.S. Byatt's Possession (in which the above is quoted). I've taken to marking it up this time around, a habit I tend to reserve for books I truly feel some attachment to. You should see my poor dog-eared, water-marked, underlined copy of The English Patient. The wounds it bears from me stabbing at it with my pencil are nothing short of impressive. There are drawings in it. Musings in the margins. A ghostly imprint of a spider crushed between two pages. All in all, it's in bad shape. But I love it so.
Speaking of books and writing, Rachel and I have started working on the fairy tale again. This makes me inordinately happy.
In the dark hours,
With half-words whispered low:
As Earth stirs in her winter sleep
And puts out grass and flowers
Despite the snow,
Despite the falling snow.
--Robert Graves
Languidly re-reading A.S. Byatt's Possession (in which the above is quoted). I've taken to marking it up this time around, a habit I tend to reserve for books I truly feel some attachment to. You should see my poor dog-eared, water-marked, underlined copy of The English Patient. The wounds it bears from me stabbing at it with my pencil are nothing short of impressive. There are drawings in it. Musings in the margins. A ghostly imprint of a spider crushed between two pages. All in all, it's in bad shape. But I love it so.
Speaking of books and writing, Rachel and I have started working on the fairy tale again. This makes me inordinately happy.
- Mood:contemplative
- Music:"Joga," Bjork
I read about this guy in The New York Times today, then went and drudged up his video a few minutes ago. Simple enough concept, but for some reason it made me very happy. I still can't get the embedded media thing to work on LiveJournal, so you'll have to click on this link.
And wow, look at me posting two days in a row. We all know how long that trend'll last.
And wow, look at me posting two days in a row. We all know how long that trend'll last.
At work most days I find myself revisiting the twelve minute excerpt of David Lang's "The Little Match Girl Passion." I love the way the voices edge in at the beginning. Single soprano, then two. Drumbeat/tenor/bass. The tenor gasping and stuttering his single word; the bass sounding out low and disinterested as a foghorn; the women's voices plinking off one another. The shrill plea for help rising and rising and rising until it shatters. Later: a sad, piercing repetition of "dearest heart."
Anyway, it's a lovely piece. Thought I'd share.
Anyway, it's a lovely piece. Thought I'd share.
I used to write about my walks all the time (see: here and here). I loved them. I loved them more than a lot of other things in my life. So why did I stop taking them?
. . . and better yet, what's preventing me from taking one now?
- - -
Edit: Posted this then took a glorious forty-minute walk.
Some love never dies.
. . . and better yet, what's preventing me from taking one now?
- - -
Edit: Posted this then took a glorious forty-minute walk.
Some love never dies.
Finally had an opportunity to catch "Atonement" last night. I won't spoil it for anyone who hasn't seen it yet, but I will say it didn't disappoint. Visually speaking, it was just exquisite -- lushly atmospheric, deep and lovely, even when the entire landscape was nothing but a faint, charred grey. And the characters felt true to the ones I'd pictured in my head when I was reading the book. The child who played young Briony certainly has a future ahead of her; and James McAvoy was, as usual, a figure from which I find it harder and harder to draw my eyes. Particularly when he's whimpering his arousal against the lips and throat of a film's leading lady. See: Library sex scene.
Next on my list? "There Will Be Blood". I'm thrilled beyond words about this movie. Keep your fingers crossed that one theater in this silly little town actually has the brains to show it.
Next on my list? "There Will Be Blood". I'm thrilled beyond words about this movie. Keep your fingers crossed that one theater in this silly little town actually has the brains to show it.
- Music:"Who By Fire," Leonard Cohen
It's awkward and forced and sort of predictable, but my big resolution for 2008 is to write more frequently. Shocking, I know. I think I make this resolution at least once every couple of years, so it's hardly revolutionary for me.
My plan this time around is to start modestly -- several small entries a week -- and work up from there. The paper journal will still be there to catch whatever dank, dark things drip out of my splayed little heart, and this one . . . well. It's here to absorb the rest, isn't it? Fictions and poetry and asides. Quotations from books I'm reading. Anecdotes.
I wasted all of last year struggling to set into words things I've long since forgotten.
I don't want that to happen again.
My plan this time around is to start modestly -- several small entries a week -- and work up from there. The paper journal will still be there to catch whatever dank, dark things drip out of my splayed little heart, and this one . . . well. It's here to absorb the rest, isn't it? Fictions and poetry and asides. Quotations from books I'm reading. Anecdotes.
I wasted all of last year struggling to set into words things I've long since forgotten.
I don't want that to happen again.
- Mood:restless
1) Answer the questions below.
2) Take each answer and type it into Google's image search.
3) Take a picture from the first page of results and post all the images on your journal.
( And the sun on your face . . . )
2) Take each answer and type it into Google's image search.
3) Take a picture from the first page of results and post all the images on your journal.
( And the sun on your face . . . )
- Mood:content
- Music:"When the Day is Short," Martha Wainwright
My car: An inventory
One umbrella, wooden handle, van Gogh print (irises, sinuous and smeary)
A jacket balled up in the backseat, turned inside out
Return of the Native, slightly rain-dribbled
A mustard-colored hockey jersey
Rabbit,Run and Rabbit Redux, bound together
A handful of battered CDs
Parking tags, assorted colors, dated March through September
One dusty thrift store find, a 1970s reprint of Orlando: A Biography
- - - -
I've been reading incessantly lately, book after book after book. The Hours. The Sparrow. Ghostwritten, Cloud Atlas, The Inheritance of Lost, Blindness. I would call it an obsession if it didn't feel so familiar, if it hadn't been such a commonplace thing in the past. I should count myself lucky, I know; there are far worse vices. And yet, there is something worrying about this latest fit. Something slightly deranged. I read at traffic lights and behind closed doors and late at night when exhaustion grips at my nerves like flypaper. It doesn't feel healthy; it isn't helping me write. Do you know what I mean?
To be honest, I think I'm reading now to force the writing. And when that doesn't work, I read more and wait. Read more and wait. One book may coax a single sentence from my own hand -- one single, perfect sentence -- but there is always the chance it will not.
At least I'm writing again, though.
There's that.
And who knows what will come with time?
One umbrella, wooden handle, van Gogh print (irises, sinuous and smeary)
A jacket balled up in the backseat, turned inside out
Return of the Native, slightly rain-dribbled
A mustard-colored hockey jersey
Rabbit,Run and Rabbit Redux, bound together
A handful of battered CDs
Parking tags, assorted colors, dated March through September
One dusty thrift store find, a 1970s reprint of Orlando: A Biography
- - - -
I've been reading incessantly lately, book after book after book. The Hours. The Sparrow. Ghostwritten, Cloud Atlas, The Inheritance of Lost, Blindness. I would call it an obsession if it didn't feel so familiar, if it hadn't been such a commonplace thing in the past. I should count myself lucky, I know; there are far worse vices. And yet, there is something worrying about this latest fit. Something slightly deranged. I read at traffic lights and behind closed doors and late at night when exhaustion grips at my nerves like flypaper. It doesn't feel healthy; it isn't helping me write. Do you know what I mean?
To be honest, I think I'm reading now to force the writing. And when that doesn't work, I read more and wait. Read more and wait. One book may coax a single sentence from my own hand -- one single, perfect sentence -- but there is always the chance it will not.
At least I'm writing again, though.
There's that.
And who knows what will come with time?
- Mood:pensive
- Music:"Sarah," Ray LaMontagne
1. Do you have a tattoo?
2. How old are you?
3. Are you single or taken?
4. Fish?
5. Do you dream in color?
6. Ever seen a corpse?
7. Hipsters or Hillbillies?
8. How did we meet?
9. What's your philosophy on life and death?
10. If you could do anything with me, and have no one know, what would it be?
11. Do you trust the police?
12. Do you like musicals?
13. What is your fondest memory of me?
14. If you could change anything about yourself what would it be?
15. Would you cheat ?
16. What are you wearing?
17. Have you ever peed in a pool?
18. Would you hide evidence for me if I asked you to?
19. If I only had one day to live, what would we do together?
20. Which do you prefer - short or long hair?
21. What's your favorite day of the week?
22. What's your favorite color?
23. If you could bring back anyone that has passed, who would it be?
24. Tell me one interesting/odd fact about you?
25. What was your first impression of me?
26. Have you ever done drugs?
27. Will you post this so I can fill it out for you?
2. How old are you?
3. Are you single or taken?
4. Fish?
5. Do you dream in color?
6. Ever seen a corpse?
7. Hipsters or Hillbillies?
8. How did we meet?
9. What's your philosophy on life and death?
10. If you could do anything with me, and have no one know, what would it be?
11. Do you trust the police?
12. Do you like musicals?
13. What is your fondest memory of me?
14. If you could change anything about yourself what would it be?
15. Would you cheat ?
16. What are you wearing?
17. Have you ever peed in a pool?
18. Would you hide evidence for me if I asked you to?
19. If I only had one day to live, what would we do together?
20. Which do you prefer - short or long hair?
21. What's your favorite day of the week?
22. What's your favorite color?
23. If you could bring back anyone that has passed, who would it be?
24. Tell me one interesting/odd fact about you?
25. What was your first impression of me?
26. Have you ever done drugs?
27. Will you post this so I can fill it out for you?
- Mood:busy
