Six Feet Under: Television for Serial Insomniacs, Christmas Rejects, and the Terminally Insane
It is 4:25 am. My lucky number, 25. Cat Power is singing in my ears and my dad is sound asleep in the hotel bed beside me, as I listen...
“You Don’t Talk Much.”: Or, Finding Oneself Back at a High School Party in One’s Late-Twenties
“You don’t talk much, do you?” “You’re kinda quiet, huh?” “You really don’t say much, do you?” …Words that I used to hear on a habitual basis when I was...
How to turn lead into gold, back in East Van.
I like this a lot! I found this, walking down my street (says “B.C. GAS” ) : I flipped it over: And I did this! That’s more like it! A...
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