How long have I been sleeping?

Or: for when "Late For The Sky" catches your breath in your throat

Hello, children. I hope you're feeling positively spoiled (spoilt? how do I know?) with updates from me lately. (You know I have lots of work to do when...)

I have been having very bizarre dreams lately. For instance, Mr. Stifler worked for Apple, but Apple was really just a front for a utilities company that was corrupt, and I found out so they decided to kill me. And Mike, obviously. Anyway, I thought Mr. Stifler might have intervened, since he was pretty high-ranking in the scheme of things, to save me. I am his all-time favorite student, after all. But he didn't. So Mrs. Brown -- Doug's mom, not Jackson's -- offered to hide me in her basement but eventually, I had to give up the ghost. It wasn't fair of us to get her involved in this nonsense. It had a very "High Tension" feel, which is to say a bad-French-horror-lesbian-split-personality feel. I was hiding under cars and in vans and all that and I think at one point I actually became the main character from the film.

In all seriousness, Mr. Stifler, I do hope in real life you would never let the Woz kill me simply for finding his secret lair. (Oh yeah, because this all began when Mike, in the form of a well-dressed businessman, discovered the Woz's secret lair!!!)

This dream was still not as weird as the one where I was Harry Potter, Hitler was Voldemort, and my parents were kindly Danishfolk hiding me in the rafters of our basement amongst the skis and skates. Or when Hogwarts was actually just Ragged Mountain's ski school? Dumbledore in a parka was a sight for sore eyes.

And of Becca I can only ask, "Does J.Crew want a cookie or something?" And I think we all know the only appropriate answer to that is this: "You know what this means? There are tree dwellers in Britain!"

I have not, as yet, seen these tree dwellers, but I am quite certain they exist since Dream-Darcy promised me they did. He even had 3-D population maps to prove it.

Can you blame me for never sleeping?



I've developed, in recent days, a rather unhealthy addiction to This American Life. Now, to be sure, I enjoyed a radio show here and there, the occasional "Halloween" episode and whatnot. But recently, well, it's gotten well out of hand. Which is to say that I sit in class thinking, "I wish David Sedaris was teaching this class," and my ears just automatically translate everything to Ira Glass's voice. Which is pleasant, right? WRONG. Because I do it inadequately. Plus, I stay up super-late at night listening to the podcast and I'm wicked excited about the next episode. I even tried the other podcasts he recommends. Well, I tried "Too Beautiful To Live," which is based out of Seattle. I am unmoved. I think Ira, and codeine, just makes everyone and everything funnier. Though David Berkeley is officially one of my new favorites.

Also, I had to create a rule -- I'm not allowed to listen to it in public because I talk back. Big time. And it's one thing to sit in my room screaming, "YOU DUMBASS! You think people should live BEYOND their means?! That's the most retarded thing I've ever heard!" and "David, you're so funny! Banana nut muffins! Where do you get this stuff?"

It's entirely another to do this while walking through George Square.

Another rule: no more watching adorable Scottish families together. I feel creepy.

I'm making a movie starring Leonardo Dicaprio, Kate Winslet, and Gerard Depardieu. This thing will practically sell itself, son. Mr. Davidson would show it in AP Euro and we all know it.

Today I ate a Kit Kat Chunky. It's basically a single Kit Kat the size of a candy bar, which would have been enough of a revelation. But there was also another element: peanut butter. It tastes sort of like a butterfinger, but it isn't quite as crumbly and it doesn't get stuck in your teeth.

In a couple weeks, Ashley and I are going to get deep-fried Mars Bars. Or, as they say, "battered." And I'm going to make real, white-cheddar American mac-and-cheese for my flatmates, because there's nothing more delicious. I need to find some Ritz crackers.Do you think they have a specialty shop for American crackers?

Today, we discussed how much American food we eat with out hands.
-Burgers
-Fries
-Hot dogs
-Jell-o
-pizza
-pick an American food

Though, nobody better lay a finger on my Butterfinger bee-bees. I had forgotten about those until today. Hey guys, remember Charleston Chews? Clearly Dad had nothing to do with my package -- because if he had his way, he'd have stuffed it full of chocolate and marshmallow.

Not, of course, the chocolate marshmallow or the strawberry marshmallow. He knows what's up. (Vanilla. That's what's up.)

Um, I heard there was a bonfire. With S'mores. And without me. Can I at least hear about it, please?

And I just listened to "Late For The Sky" for the first time in over a month. I'd been on a Criterion Demos kick lately and it came up on the Jackson-Shuffle. It sort of takes your breath away when you're not expecting it. I read in Paste Magazine a pretty awesome article about that album, actually. About how it was absolutely transcendent. Another question:

Why is everyone who's anyone putting out a new CD right now?

-The Fray (yes, god, okay, I like them)
-Kelly Clarkson (Ok, I'm not making the BEST arguments here)
-The Alternate Routes
-My Irish boys, alternatively the Young Dubs (Which includes the "Knickers"-worthy line, "Before too long they be dancing horizontal/Because you know God loves a trier." KJax knows where I'm coming from with this one.)
-U2
-Ari Hest
-Tupac (I'm pretty sure he just releases a CD a month, so I don't actually know if he's releasing something or not...)
-Leonard Cohen is touring!?!?!?!

Why don't the Low Millions come back?


Anyway, it's six in the morning (as I write this, not as I post it).

Hold on, hold-out. Hold on strong.
AJoan



PS. Hypothetically, if there was someone who had recently fallen out of my good graces, for instance a tall blonde fellow who looks remarkably like me, and this person was wondering how he could ever regain my favor, there's a simple solution. Saint Patrick's Day approaches and I do not own "Saints and Sinners," the new Young Dubliners' album. Hypothetically speaking, if this person who had fallen out of my good graces -- and not for minor offenses, I might add -- would need only ensure that I *did* own the CD by Evacuation Day for forgiveness to be forthcoming.

That's all I'm getting at.