In the throes of an insane school week, little clips of your group mates on Jimmy Fallon’s show make all the difference. Everybody say hi to Darren! @DERanck
Exploring the boundaries of censorship in a PG-13 prison: Dude Spoon (2011.07.22)
It’s one thing to make your usual late-night double entendres. It’s another thing to turn a simple sniff of a pocket fan, into a pornographic act.
I’m back in the city, and though I’ve landed at New York’s various airports many times, this touchdown felt like a touch down. I’m talking touch down in the sense of becoming planted, destined, on mark, points to be scored.
Correlation: this is also the first time I’ve flown away to go to school.
And while many of my former classmates have long left college life, I am sitting here running through concepts of doing laundry, having suite-mates, and seriously bracing myself for emergency brake action if I somehow succumb to the temptation that is the “Freshman Fifteen”. Lord knows my stress eating capabilities are more advanced than my exercising ones, and the only fifteen pounds I really should be adding to my being are in the form of weights, welded to my wrists for the offhanded urge to do spontaneous bicep curls.
That being said, I slept in a fresh set of workout clothes last night. Theory is that I will be compelled to wake from slumber, and immediately put on shoes and go running. (Theory is also what I consider the opposite of practice.)
And so I’m in bed with my laptop (*low whistles*), writing the one thing that I DON’T have a deadline for.
(You will notice I posted about 600 hundred messages on Twitter this morning. I am trying to deduce whether I am flailing or purging, both of which are equally unattractive to do in front of an audience of 60 thousand.)
<Side note: America is fat.>
Anyhow, the sun is shining, I hear a kids baseball team named “Holy Cow!” winning a game on the field across the street at St. Rita’s, and I’m almost certain my running shoes are rolling their eyes at me (from where they are stuffed, deep, deep in my suitcase). That’s my cue to stop writing…
…and fix a massive bowl of cereal that I can enjoy while thinking about how to make Manila illa.
Sometimes you need to step away from the very thing you are committed to helping.