Heated

Since we're moving into a condo with central air and beautiful amenities, this week is all about avoiding a sweat-related breakup, punching the cat and dog for emitting heat in the apartment, and most of all, wearing little to no clothing while packing.

God damn, our new neighbors will love us.

The Reluctant Artistan

I avoided creative writing, philosophy, and otherwise angst-ridden classes as much as possible in college. I was already sobbing in the halls at least once a day, didn't seem to be much point in seeking out extra reasons to cry and hate myself.
I slipped up and took a screenwriting class, something for credits' sake. It was senior year, and I'd already gotten enough credits to a)take whatever classes I wanted, b)pare down my usual 20-minute-essay time to 5 or 6 minutes a pop and c) tell the teacher to more or less go fly a kite.

My screenwriting teacher was nutzo. He would play episodes of Beauty and the Geek to show us examples of raw dialogue and emotion. He loved every film treatment that involved rape, murder or dire consequences. He also said this stupid bullshit statement about 3 times a class:

"The day you declare yourself an artist is the day you become one."


Yeah, you're right, sir. Fuck dedication.

The New Place

Pad and I are moving to 4408 N. Damen on July 1st, or as soon as we put up the security deposit (1st month's rent is paid, however. They're the same amount, to be clear.) We signed the lease for 2 years.

That means we're getting rid of the COUCH and CHAIRS that haunt my waking life.

Also, Pad got some incredible news, but won't let me tell anyone yet.

I didn't want to mention this until all was said and done, because my luck is a cynical bitch with a horrible sense of humor, but I'm pretty pumped. 2 years!