In times of great distress, in the past, I've zeroed in on something or other and obsessed, shamelessly. i mean, i'm always one for manias, but at certain points they become crutches.
right now this crutch is wes anderson. everything is a wes anderson movie. when presented with an idea, i think, what would wes anderson do? this is dangerous as the anderson i think i know is not real, and, creatively, the anderson universe is so particular that any artistic reflection of it will be a rip-off.
sigh.
turning to salinger only makes it worse.
i am doing better than i thought i would be doing right now, though. mostly because of wes anderson. sometimes these things can save you. i mean, i wouldn't entrust the man with my soul, but...
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
The Very Bad Thing
And then last night... or I guess two nights ago now, a really horrible thing happened. I feel hesitant to mention it here, but I'm fairly certain no one from school reads this-- actually I'm fairly certain only two people barely read this, and thus it is for myself, so I can and should talk about it. But if there are any Loyolans who lurk, I ask you, please, to not spread this nor take it up with the person in question. One of my suitemates took 16 or so pills in an effort to kill herself. She and I have been getting to be somewhat close friends lately, and we've both been relating to the fact that we've both been down alot. That night I was back before she was, and didn't know what she had done for some time. I usually leave her alone when she's in her room, but I felt particularly bothersome that day so I kept popping in to badger her, but she was in bed, saying she had too much caffeine and she was trying to calm her crazy heart down. I asked her if she had had coffee, and she said no, cryptically, so I left her alone. I bothered her later to ask her something, and she said she was feeling sick. Later I was writing a story in the living room and I heard her back and forth to the bathroom, throwing up. On about her 4th trip I asked her if she was okay and she finally came into the living room and told me what she took. Me: "Why?" Her: "I was really depressed."
I looked it up, then called the emergency number and asked for a doctor. Psafe officers, RDs, Emergency medical people came. She had chills and was out of it and turned really pale- at one point they were all in the bathroom with her on the floor, asking questions while the RD asked me everything she could. Then the effing ambulance people came and prepared her to go to the hospital, which is when she really started to cry. She asked me to come with her and I said I would and walked out with them to the ambulance. When I got to my car, it was dead, so I tried to find her car by clicking her keys. That went on for about 50 hours. When I finally found her car I zipped to the hospital-- since when did ERs get valet parking??-- tried to get in, then went back outside and fell apart for a few minutes, simply because it was all too surreal-- too close to home but also so vague: she could simply be sick, she was throwing up and pale. If you didn't know, it was just "sick". So removed from what it really is; the outside mirroring the inside; pain. It scared me too because it's something that I think about alot; killing myself, in the sense that I think she thought about it-- sort of abstractly, or the idea that it would bring an end or a change- not necessarily death. Another strange tie-in to what's been happening lately. Anyway. After chain-smoking for awhile, I got let into the room where she was all curled up and by herself. They checked her blood twice while I felt like her mom and distracted her by talking about Jane Austen, and a guy who I swear was Truman Capote (minus the wit) reincarnated demanded she give pee. She threw up all night, and we talked about death and bad british comedians and her parents and my family and I read for a bit until a nice asian nurse woman came in to take care of things. Once she left, we both just sat on the bed and she felt stupid and I told her that if she ever felt this way again she needed to talk to me. She told me the same, and we talked about how it felt to have a need to BE someone and what it was to fail. Finally, we were interrupted by the PET team-- meaning the Psychiatric Evaluation Team-- meaning yes, it is the Psychiatric Evaluation Team-TEAM. But okay. He was nice enough, and finally decided that Ally needed to be admitted into a psychiatric hospital. He would forcefully submit her if she didn't go willingly, so she finally did. At about 10:30, after being there all night, I hugged her and said goodbye, then came home and gathered her must-list (while avoiding and lying to my fellow housemates about it. rather believably, I thought, for an exhausted person) and drove the supplies to her temporary place- a psychiatric hospital in Cerritos. I was exhausted and did not go to any classes that day.
I feel like writing about it, but there's too much to say, and I don't know what she would be okay with. So I leave this now, for myself, to remind me of how this goes when I start to think.
I looked it up, then called the emergency number and asked for a doctor. Psafe officers, RDs, Emergency medical people came. She had chills and was out of it and turned really pale- at one point they were all in the bathroom with her on the floor, asking questions while the RD asked me everything she could. Then the effing ambulance people came and prepared her to go to the hospital, which is when she really started to cry. She asked me to come with her and I said I would and walked out with them to the ambulance. When I got to my car, it was dead, so I tried to find her car by clicking her keys. That went on for about 50 hours. When I finally found her car I zipped to the hospital-- since when did ERs get valet parking??-- tried to get in, then went back outside and fell apart for a few minutes, simply because it was all too surreal-- too close to home but also so vague: she could simply be sick, she was throwing up and pale. If you didn't know, it was just "sick". So removed from what it really is; the outside mirroring the inside; pain. It scared me too because it's something that I think about alot; killing myself, in the sense that I think she thought about it-- sort of abstractly, or the idea that it would bring an end or a change- not necessarily death. Another strange tie-in to what's been happening lately. Anyway. After chain-smoking for awhile, I got let into the room where she was all curled up and by herself. They checked her blood twice while I felt like her mom and distracted her by talking about Jane Austen, and a guy who I swear was Truman Capote (minus the wit) reincarnated demanded she give pee. She threw up all night, and we talked about death and bad british comedians and her parents and my family and I read for a bit until a nice asian nurse woman came in to take care of things. Once she left, we both just sat on the bed and she felt stupid and I told her that if she ever felt this way again she needed to talk to me. She told me the same, and we talked about how it felt to have a need to BE someone and what it was to fail. Finally, we were interrupted by the PET team-- meaning the Psychiatric Evaluation Team-- meaning yes, it is the Psychiatric Evaluation Team-TEAM. But okay. He was nice enough, and finally decided that Ally needed to be admitted into a psychiatric hospital. He would forcefully submit her if she didn't go willingly, so she finally did. At about 10:30, after being there all night, I hugged her and said goodbye, then came home and gathered her must-list (while avoiding and lying to my fellow housemates about it. rather believably, I thought, for an exhausted person) and drove the supplies to her temporary place- a psychiatric hospital in Cerritos. I was exhausted and did not go to any classes that day.
I feel like writing about it, but there's too much to say, and I don't know what she would be okay with. So I leave this now, for myself, to remind me of how this goes when I start to think.
The Very Good Thing
But then a good thing happened: I met an old friend, Sonia. She has been a penpal of mine since I was 13, and one I never figured I would meet, but meet we did and she was wonderful. Very refreshing to hang out with; we are vastly different people right down to our physicality, but I think we are kindred spirits. She and I also shared some very defining discoveries, namely The Royal Tenenbaums, which I recc'd to her, as well as The Decemberists and Bright Eyes (she to me). Where did we meet? At a screening of The Fantastic Mr. Fox. What happened there? One of the most wonderful things ever. I met Wes Anderson.
Well, Wes Anderson and Jason Schwartzman. They are two of my most favorite people on the planet (that is, Wes has been for some time and Jason quickly became one after seeing him in all of his adorable, SCHMACK glory).
Ahhh they are so precious. Anyway. We ended up in the second row, saw the film, which, Wes or No-Wes (but definitely Wes) was one of the most adorable things I've ever seen. The best part is the grumpy little-boy fox (Schwartzman). Anyway. After that was the Q&A, which they handled very nicely, answering every single question, both of them sitting there with their funny little multi-colored socks, being their precious selves in their suits. Yes, I know how I sound, leave me alone, it was my starstruck moment.
Afterward they strolled out with the rest of us mere mortals, chatting and conversing with whoever came up to them. We ended up walking behind JS, so I had to eventually say something once some people had left him alone. I shook hands, said I was earnestly a fan and liked his movies very much, could I have a picture? Thank you, yes of course you can! PRECIOUS MAN. And, may I say, GORGEOUS MAN. Picture was taken, hug was given, Katrina floated away. I now kick myself because there's so much more I should have said-- Thank you for Rushmore, thank you for making me laugh, thank you for co-writing Darjeeling, it's so beautiful, it meant alot to my family and really resonated. Thank you for California, another song that meant alot to my family when we moved years ago (we sang it driving down the 101, it reminded us that we were escaping our bondage for the time being and running towards possibility- we were free). Thank you for "West Coast", it meant alot to me and my friends two summers ago when we all started to go our own seperate ways-- when we listen to it it reminds us all of being together, I sing it when I'm down, thank you for that, thanks. Also, I love your socks. And now that I've met you I think you're probably the most unconventionally gorgeous and (one of the most) annoyingly multi-talented person in hollywood. Dammit. I could have said all of those things but I didn't.
i realllllllly wish i had decided to wear make-up that day.
And then I met him, I met Wes Anderson. Okay. I don't want to make it sound like I think he's GOD or anything, but let me just explain what a big deal this is: When I was thirteen, in 2001, the same year LOTR came out, I saw The Royal Tenenbaums. I didn't totally understand it, but I loved it, and my friend bought me the video for my birthday that year. So I watched it and I kept on watching it and talking to Sonia about it and thinking about it and one day I got the soundtrack from the library- I burned myself a copy and drew the Tenenbaum flag on it with pink and blue sharpies. Through that music and the music from his other movies I started to form my own tastes and became more selective about the pop music that I simply took for granted (no, I did not turn into a snob just yet, but I did broaden my horizons, and no, I never was all that crazy about Nsync anyway). I always loved music and writing, but I think REALLY it was Anderson and specifically the Royal Tenenbaums that made me fully realize what I want to do (Sofia Coppola and Charlie Kauffman and Cameron Crowe helped, of course, as well as all of the old favorites, but Wes pushed me over the edge). He, along with Coppola, was the first modern filmmaker that I read about and paid attention to, he was different. At 15 I went as Margot Tenenbaum for Halloween, even springing to rent a furr coat. When I was 16 I began to really respond emotionally to his movies-- suddenly Needle In The Hay and Fairest of the Seasons meant more and more, and by 17 I was a goner. I went to see Life Aquatic and Darjeeling Limited (as well as Huckabee's and Shopgirl by influence). The only other entities that I think had that sort of influence over my adolescence through young adulthood were The Beatles and JD Salinger, the only entities that've really had major influence since are CS Lewis and Bob Dylan. I love this guy.
He was awkward- dressed in a curdorouy suit that I know I've seen before, very tall and skinny with weird, Tim-Burton-esque fingers. He has very wise eyes, I'll say, and looks as though he's about to smirk but never does. He seems like a nice person. He has high taste but I don't think he wants to strangle anyone with it. He said hello, I said hello and shakily shook (heh) his spindly hand. I stumbled through an unprepared speech about how much I love Royal Tenenbaums and respect him as an artist, and he said thank you, and then I asked for a picture, and he said yes. So we took one. And then I shook his hand again and told him that everyone probably tells him so, but that he made me want to make art, and that I was going to school to learn screenwriting, and he said that was wonderful. I said I hoped to meet him again someday, which might have sounded creepy but oh I hope not, and then he wished me luck and I clumsily picked up my bag and smiled again at him and awkwardly walked away.
stupid katrina, stupid.
I should have told him everything, overwhelmed him with a sea of appreciation, detailing the tears that I still cry over the Greenline bus and I've Had A Hard Year Dad and Medals for Punctuation and I Didn't Save Mine and I Wonder If He Remembers Me? and how much I still at least giggle over I Was In The Shit and the revenge sequence of Rushmore and the brother's fight in Darjeeling and "I HAD TO DO IT!" and how I love that he always shows the spines of books and uses music just right and always lets me savor that sincere line that reveals the whole character's heart. But I didn't. I awkwardly ran away. Once I get my typewriter I'm going to write him a letter and tell him all that, but for now I just kick myself and bemoan my mediocrity-- except that now I am just a little less mediocre, because I have met a role model, creatively speaking, and he wished me good luck and shook my poor overzealous hand. Twice. <3 Lately whenever I've felt sad (see: previous blog and future blog) I just remind myself of this, and that I have no reason to be sad. I met Wes Anderson, and Jason Schwartzman (quite possibly the cutest person alive). I'll be happy for some time, no matter what.
On top of that, I re-met an old friend who's meant alot to me, just when I need friends. Aside from being embarrassed that she witnessed the starstruck and stammering version of me, I'm also very pleased about this.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
you are my voice, my microphone.
With every day that passes lately it seems as though there are more and more important things to write about. I wish I had written about every event in great detail, been able to capture my thoughts on every subject and every dry leaf that has slowed my step this month, but that alone is a full-time job. Maybe that's what a writer is, I don't know. I don't think so.With every day that passes lately it seems as though there are more and more important things to write about. I wish I had written about every event in great detail, been able to capture my thoughts on every subject and every dry leaf that has slowed my step this month, but that alone is a full-time job. Maybe that's what a writer is, I don't know. I don't think so.
Lately, I don't know how to describe what's happening. While I think it's dangerous to declare NOTHING coincidence and say that EVERYTHING is connected, I am starting to notice a strange inter-connectivity of events and feelings lately, so much that I'm starting to feel like Albert in I Heart Huckabee's- I have a bit of an existential coincidental crisis. I mean, I always see things as happening for a reason, good or bad (that isn't to say that I believe that bad things always happen and good things result from them- other than building character, I don't think good things always necessarily come from tragedy, but I do trust that there is ultimately a Hand at work in the universe and that God knows what He's doing. But yeah, the Holocaust thing, that was pretty bad...), but I don't think of most things as being specifically intertwined, especially not geared towards me (although of course we are our own martyr or superstar- every story is about us, even when we are only in the periphery of the story). However. This semester (that's how I mark my time) weird stuff has been happening, stuff that I can't help but think is all tied up somehow in a great big knot, and then little weird things have been happening that I know don't mean anything, but they tie into little knots-- and therefore I think they're meant to confirm that yes, yes it's relating to my hunch that all the big stuff is related. (see what i mean? three little things adding up to a donut does not have anything to do with my big problems, but the fact that the three unrelated things add up to something may be symbolic that my big unrelated things may add up to a big something).
Also, when I say strange I don't mean supernatural, just largely out of the ordinary for me.
I could discuss those things, but it's too exhausting right now. Some shall be included below, however...
okay. for my little posterity friend, here you are:
One day awhile ago, I went to see the Decemberists at UCLA. I went alone, as per the norm as of the past year, and they were wonderful. I got to really see UCLA in the daytime (it looks so Ivy leauge... maybe it's all the Ivy), and savor my first seated, no-opening-act concert. They were FANTASTIC-- their first set was the entirety of their new concept album, Hazards of Love, and then when they popped back out for the second set they totally engaged the audience and Colin Meloy might well be the funniest person on the planet, and they played new and old and got the audience to sing and clap and ooh. It was just great. My row was full of weird people I didn't want to be with... dancing, please stop the awkward dancing.. but still, the audience was really into it. I suppose the best bits were the start of Billy Liar (BILLY LIAR'S GOT HIS HANDS IN HIS POCKETS!- everyone went nuts), their cover of Crazy on You (their guest women singers KILLED it- amazing voices), and their last song, Sons and Daughters, which is so them and such a hopeful song. Meloy got the audience to sing "hear all the bombs fade away" as they riffed and sang away and stole into the night. That was really beautiful and lovely. I will complain that they didn't play alot of my old favorites, mainly Engine Driver from Picaresque and Summersong and July, July and mostly Architect, which would have made my life. But still. I think it was the best concert I've been to (yes, Foriegner is the best rock concert. And Hush Sound was the best for the experience. and Bob was amazing because... well, I saw Bob Dylan.) I didn't take any pictures, but that's okay. I was very happy there. Afterwards I walked to Diddy Reese to get some cookies, got a bit lost, but finally made my way back to fraternity row and found my car again. Good night.
I then had a really rough week or two. I felt really horrible and the campus felt really tense. I felt as though I was making no progress and that I have really been wasting my time, most of the time. And not in a good John Lennon way. I felt horrible and useless and crazy and so saddened by myself and my tendency to fail at what I see as "everything". I do not live up to the standards I feel I should have, and I am so disappointed. LMU went crazy for three weeks- the first, a crazy kid got racially threatening by pounding on doors and screaming about lynching and creepy stuff like that (and some girls got stalked in a car? dunno about that). the second, our homecoming saw many parties shut down and 3 kids rushed to the hospital due to ODing (though I'm pretty certain they lived). The next weekend, a fraternity kid, a senior, shot himself in the head. My room-mate, as well as a ton of other people, knew him, and the cloud that descended over the campus after that was pretty stifling. Nobody really knew how to take it.
That same week I found out that not only was my oldest friend (of 20 years) was pregnant, I later found out that she gave premature birth to a baby boy and that he was struggling for his life. He has turned out okay, he gets stronger every day.
That same week my cat, my old sweet cat got attacked by a fucking dog and died. She did die after receiving medical attention and love from my parents, so at least she didn't die huddling under some shed somewhere- I hope she died knowing that someone loved her and would have stopped her from being hurt if we could. I really loved that cat so much, I had her for 14 years, and she loved me no matter how grumpy or ugly I was. When I was so deeply depressed in 2006 I hardly ever got out of bed- literally only getting up to check the computer or to shower and brush my hair if I had received warning that someone was coming over. But my stupid cat loved me, and she'd scratch at my unsealable door until it moved enough to let her slide in, and she'd hop up on my bed and curl up in the same spot by my feet. She knew I wanted her there. She also did the weirdest thing when I'd pick her up and say hi, she'd sniff my lips and nose without touching me with her face. I'm so not a kiss-your-pet person, but it was like affection that we both understood. I loved my cat. She loved me. It's hard to come by, love is.
My mom had surgery; she had a giant benign tumor removed from her stomach, as well as a hesterectemy (if that's how you spell it); removal of the uterus. She's recovering okay, but it was very costly.
I discovered that due to a believe-it-or-not SMALL miscalculation on my part, I was overdrawn at the bank without knowing it. The small overdraft became larger as I continued to charge things, assuming I had 400 dollars in the damn account. Well, for every overdraft there's 35 dollar fine. I made several purchases. Over a weekend, I was negative more than 700 hundred dollars. I have no way of paying this off, as well as other bills to pay. Fuck.
Double-fuck: Cannot find job. Never found internship.
Triple-fuck: My student account at LMU has announced that I never got all of the loan I thought I had- thus, I owe 7,000 for this semester not to mention NEXT semester. I must pay for this semester before I can register for next semester. My last semester. I cannot pay this. I cannot find any other student loans. I have no co-signer. I need to register. If I can't, I cannot come back next semester. I will have to put off graduation. Fuck fuckity fuckstein. I really want to graduate, I really want to fly away, I really want to vanish into Europe and never ever come back to this wretched place*. I'm scared and flailing down the infinite abyss-- Zach Braff, we were once friends (actually, according to a dream I had, boyfriend and girlfriend in a very clean apartment). What happened?
The Very Good Thing that happened is to follow accordingly, as well as the Very Bad Thing.
Lately, I don't know how to describe what's happening. While I think it's dangerous to declare NOTHING coincidence and say that EVERYTHING is connected, I am starting to notice a strange inter-connectivity of events and feelings lately, so much that I'm starting to feel like Albert in I Heart Huckabee's- I have a bit of an existential coincidental crisis. I mean, I always see things as happening for a reason, good or bad (that isn't to say that I believe that bad things always happen and good things result from them- other than building character, I don't think good things always necessarily come from tragedy, but I do trust that there is ultimately a Hand at work in the universe and that God knows what He's doing. But yeah, the Holocaust thing, that was pretty bad...), but I don't think of most things as being specifically intertwined, especially not geared towards me (although of course we are our own martyr or superstar- every story is about us, even when we are only in the periphery of the story). However. This semester (that's how I mark my time) weird stuff has been happening, stuff that I can't help but think is all tied up somehow in a great big knot, and then little weird things have been happening that I know don't mean anything, but they tie into little knots-- and therefore I think they're meant to confirm that yes, yes it's relating to my hunch that all the big stuff is related. (see what i mean? three little things adding up to a donut does not have anything to do with my big problems, but the fact that the three unrelated things add up to something may be symbolic that my big unrelated things may add up to a big something).
Also, when I say strange I don't mean supernatural, just largely out of the ordinary for me.
I could discuss those things, but it's too exhausting right now. Some shall be included below, however...
okay. for my little posterity friend, here you are:
One day awhile ago, I went to see the Decemberists at UCLA. I went alone, as per the norm as of the past year, and they were wonderful. I got to really see UCLA in the daytime (it looks so Ivy leauge... maybe it's all the Ivy), and savor my first seated, no-opening-act concert. They were FANTASTIC-- their first set was the entirety of their new concept album, Hazards of Love, and then when they popped back out for the second set they totally engaged the audience and Colin Meloy might well be the funniest person on the planet, and they played new and old and got the audience to sing and clap and ooh. It was just great. My row was full of weird people I didn't want to be with... dancing, please stop the awkward dancing.. but still, the audience was really into it. I suppose the best bits were the start of Billy Liar (BILLY LIAR'S GOT HIS HANDS IN HIS POCKETS!- everyone went nuts), their cover of Crazy on You (their guest women singers KILLED it- amazing voices), and their last song, Sons and Daughters, which is so them and such a hopeful song. Meloy got the audience to sing "hear all the bombs fade away" as they riffed and sang away and stole into the night. That was really beautiful and lovely. I will complain that they didn't play alot of my old favorites, mainly Engine Driver from Picaresque and Summersong and July, July and mostly Architect, which would have made my life. But still. I think it was the best concert I've been to (yes, Foriegner is the best rock concert. And Hush Sound was the best for the experience. and Bob was amazing because... well, I saw Bob Dylan.) I didn't take any pictures, but that's okay. I was very happy there. Afterwards I walked to Diddy Reese to get some cookies, got a bit lost, but finally made my way back to fraternity row and found my car again. Good night.
I then had a really rough week or two. I felt really horrible and the campus felt really tense. I felt as though I was making no progress and that I have really been wasting my time, most of the time. And not in a good John Lennon way. I felt horrible and useless and crazy and so saddened by myself and my tendency to fail at what I see as "everything". I do not live up to the standards I feel I should have, and I am so disappointed. LMU went crazy for three weeks- the first, a crazy kid got racially threatening by pounding on doors and screaming about lynching and creepy stuff like that (and some girls got stalked in a car? dunno about that). the second, our homecoming saw many parties shut down and 3 kids rushed to the hospital due to ODing (though I'm pretty certain they lived). The next weekend, a fraternity kid, a senior, shot himself in the head. My room-mate, as well as a ton of other people, knew him, and the cloud that descended over the campus after that was pretty stifling. Nobody really knew how to take it.
That same week I found out that not only was my oldest friend (of 20 years) was pregnant, I later found out that she gave premature birth to a baby boy and that he was struggling for his life. He has turned out okay, he gets stronger every day.
That same week my cat, my old sweet cat got attacked by a fucking dog and died. She did die after receiving medical attention and love from my parents, so at least she didn't die huddling under some shed somewhere- I hope she died knowing that someone loved her and would have stopped her from being hurt if we could. I really loved that cat so much, I had her for 14 years, and she loved me no matter how grumpy or ugly I was. When I was so deeply depressed in 2006 I hardly ever got out of bed- literally only getting up to check the computer or to shower and brush my hair if I had received warning that someone was coming over. But my stupid cat loved me, and she'd scratch at my unsealable door until it moved enough to let her slide in, and she'd hop up on my bed and curl up in the same spot by my feet. She knew I wanted her there. She also did the weirdest thing when I'd pick her up and say hi, she'd sniff my lips and nose without touching me with her face. I'm so not a kiss-your-pet person, but it was like affection that we both understood. I loved my cat. She loved me. It's hard to come by, love is.
My mom had surgery; she had a giant benign tumor removed from her stomach, as well as a hesterectemy (if that's how you spell it); removal of the uterus. She's recovering okay, but it was very costly.
I discovered that due to a believe-it-or-not SMALL miscalculation on my part, I was overdrawn at the bank without knowing it. The small overdraft became larger as I continued to charge things, assuming I had 400 dollars in the damn account. Well, for every overdraft there's 35 dollar fine. I made several purchases. Over a weekend, I was negative more than 700 hundred dollars. I have no way of paying this off, as well as other bills to pay. Fuck.
Double-fuck: Cannot find job. Never found internship.
Triple-fuck: My student account at LMU has announced that I never got all of the loan I thought I had- thus, I owe 7,000 for this semester not to mention NEXT semester. I must pay for this semester before I can register for next semester. My last semester. I cannot pay this. I cannot find any other student loans. I have no co-signer. I need to register. If I can't, I cannot come back next semester. I will have to put off graduation. Fuck fuckity fuckstein. I really want to graduate, I really want to fly away, I really want to vanish into Europe and never ever come back to this wretched place*. I'm scared and flailing down the infinite abyss-- Zach Braff, we were once friends (actually, according to a dream I had, boyfriend and girlfriend in a very clean apartment). What happened?
The Very Good Thing that happened is to follow accordingly, as well as the Very Bad Thing.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
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