The 81st Academy Awards. Go Heath! Go Kate! And way to pwn, Slumdog!
The word “octomom.” We may not agree with her decision to raise an entire troop of children on welfare and then snarl at her own mother all over TV, but one has to admit that Nadya Suleman earned herself a catchy title. If only she had eight tentacled arms…
Receiving letters after you’d given up on them. I got a postcard and two letters this week, forwarded to me from when I was in England, that were dated weeks ago. The oldest one was written November 18. And even though those letters were chock-full of stuff I already knew by now, it felt like my friends were right in the room.
The State singing instrumentals. The State is Rachel’s bf, one of my roommates, and a music major. So when he talks about music he heard in class, he has to act it out with his voice: “bloooop! bloooop! bapbapbapbap bap bap-ba!” (That is, he says, Stravinsky’s “Rite of Spring.”)
Songs that start quietly and end with a rousing chorus of voices. Hey Jude, don’t make it bad. Take a slow song, and make it faster.
This video I found of a dancing bird. It’s stupid and normally I consider myself above the whole look-at-how-funny-my-pet-is, AFV-type videos, but I found this at one in the morning, and it’s kind of hysterical. This calls for a danceoff. Bird, it is on.
Kate Beaton. She does amazing comics of historical figures that reinforce the terribleness of mine. Specifically, this one of Oscar Wilde and Bosie: