24 Days Left in the ROK.

So. Here we are. July. Arguably the worst month of the year, as an adult (arguably because I assume there are other people in the world with less grumpy outlooks on being hot and sweaty and having to go to work despite being trained for the first 18 years of life that July is Summer Vacation and is not good for anything other than eating popsicles, pretending to read the summer reading list while actually watching Law and Order, and wishing you were back at school.

I have 24 days left of being in Korea. 24. It’s freaking me out a little, I’ll be totally honest. It’s strange, on one hand, because I still have a week and half of classes left, and often I feel like every day is a tiny infinity  of children screaming Ooedehrree! (the Korean pronunciation of Weatherly) that I have to get through before coming home to the quiet of my apartment to try and do as much nothing as possible before falling asleep and doing it all over again.

It’s strange on the other hand because holy shit, 24 days left of living in this country and then I’ll go back to America?!? I’ve already been here a year?!? I can clearly remember the day I left, every detail, including being upset I had to leave my ukulele at home and not being able to sleep the night before, thinking I was going to cry at the airport when leaving my family but not actually doing so, feeling like I was actually only leaving for a weekend holiday and therefore being completely calm, reading Tank Girl at the airport in New York and thinking this was going to be a breeze, and then getting through half of the 12 hour plane ride before falling into an unimaginable sense of panic that would last for, oh, the next two months.

And now I am leaving. Very very soon, actually. I don’t have a job that I’m going back to, and I don’t have solid plans for the future, I don’t really understand what I’ve learned (if anything) in the space of a year, except a smattering of Korean and how to properly roast broccoli. I’m actually scared that I’ll go back and it will be too familiar, that I won’t have been gone long enough for everything to seem different and special and strange. I’m scared that I won’t experience the reverse culture shock that everyone warns about, that I’m actually excited about. I’m truly, horribly, down-to-my-bones scared that I will end up in massive debt and without a job and regretting the decision to both move back to America and of moving away from it in the first place.

And I’m scared that I’ll never get to come back. Or go anywhere else. That this was my one chance to explore.


Mostly, though, I’m just excited to eat.


Getting my shnocks together

These past few days I’ve been getting my life together. I’ve done yoga twice a day (10 minutes in the morning, 30 minutes and a TRICK 50 minutes at night. Sneaky video, I see your time stamp.) I’ve set out my outfit before I fall asleep, so Morning Weatherly doesn’t make me show up to work in five different patterns, half of which are pajamas (I like patterns, but come on Morning Weatherly, we’re trying to teach English not give out seizures like candy.) I’ve set out breakfast fixings with a cute little note and actually eaten breakfast before going to work, something I can safely say I’ve done… maybe 10 times in the three (four??) years I’ve been out of college. I’ve even started thinking about a budget, and like… time management and shit. Seriously guys, it’s a little revolting. Am I becoming an adult? And if so… can I make it stop?

In all seriousness, i have about six months until I leave Korea. I know, it’s kind of weird for me too. (What, you weren’t going to say it’s weird because it’s hard to really invest in the timelines of strangers?)

The thing is, I’m actually shit at the adult things that really count. It’s been less than a year *cough* month* that my bank account has been withdrawn. My student loans are all a mess. I’m paying for my car from overseas, but I take full advantage of the several day grace period before late payments are penalized (yeah but when are they really due? *twirls hair*) I have been eating vegetarian at home… because I spent too much money on my Japan trip and therefore have zero money to spend on groceries (actually JUST got paid, thank GOD.) It’s like half of my brain has moved up to Fix it Felix while the other half is still stuck in Sugar Rush. (Yes, I just watched Wreck it Ralph, ok? Not my fault the high-minded cultural references are lost on you…)

I’ve made some good decisions, though. Some about grad school, some about life in general. I’ve felt a lot more motivated to do things. I hope it lasts.

Here are some things that have been inspiring me, in this crazed self improvement

What a disappointment.

Just found out the movie isn’t Tinker Taylor, Soldier Spy, about a super clever, militarily involved adventure seeker with an alliterative name…

But is actually Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy about… some boring crap that isn’t Tinker Taylor, the James Bond Harry Potter.

I’m honestly much more upset by this than I was expecting.




P.S. I’ll post my Japan pictures soon. I’m the slowest/worst/busy.


The Old Razzle Dazzle. (On Sarah Palin and Donald Trump)

Guys. I think it’s time. I really think it is. We need to talk about Sarah. Palin. We need to talk about Sarah Palin. And maybe about the possible ergot poisoning happening in Alaska, because the speech she gave to endorse Trump has been haunting me in a way that I can’t quite put into words. (Don’t worry, I’ll let her do the wording.)


So. Sarah Palin. What a trip, right? She’s like Tara Reid from a few years back, popping up every now and then just to remind us, it seemed, how much we hadn’t missed her. For some reason the PR guys behind 2016’s worst excuse for a presidential candidate and the PR guys behind purposefully firebombing poor (very) old John McCain’s doomed presidential run decided that they were both bored as hell and needed to join forces. Why? Because SNL has been boring lately, the media train that is Star Wars the Force Awakens has quietened down a little, and people are going to need some new crazy to fuel the blizzardy week. Or maybe they’ve just given up hope.

Or maybe.

They’re actually post-post-postmodern literary geniuses looking for a stage.

I’ll take any of those options for $200, Alex.

Now, there are tons of articles out there tearing the speech apart as “nonsense” and as “psychobabble” and as “giving a sendup Paula Abdul’s run on American Idol” (that last one was just the article I’m writing in my head, but wow on point, right?) But I’m not here to do that. No, I want to take some of the best quotes to highlight their literary quality. Because it takes a lot of prowess, and a lot of ignorance, to say so many words that fit together so poorly with such a big smile. Let’s begin.

“Are you ready to make America great again? We all have a part in this. We all have a responsibility. Looking around at all of you, you hardworking Iowa families. You farm families, and teachers, and teamsters, and cops, and cooks. You rockin’ rollers. And holy rollers! All of you who work so hard. You full-time moms. You with the hands that rock the cradle. You all make the world go round, and now our cause is one.”

-This is the equivalent to the band’s calling out the city that they’re in during the first song. Sarah Palin knows you’re there, you plebeian masses. And she’ll prove it to you by reciting all of the jobs she found “normal people” do on Wikipedia. And to show she’s a soaring orator like “Barry Obama,” she’ll use the literary technique of repetition, using words and sounds multiple times in a sentence to indicate a unity. In her case, the first use is generally sensical, while the second use is generally… just words, sort of strung together with phrases taken from discarded Bon Jovi lyrics. But still. Powerful. Let’s continue.

“Well, I am here because like you I know that it is now or never. I’m in it to win it because we believe in America, and we love our freedom. And if you love your freedom, thank a vet. Thank a vet, and know that the United States military deserves a commander-in-chief that our country passionately, and will never apologize for this country.”

-Here we see Palin moving into the real meat of the issue, her head’s in the game, but her heart– her heart is just in the song. These lines are, of course, the inspiration for the astoundingly poignant upcoming sequel to High School Musical 4, High School Musical 5: Fight for your Right(s), where Troy is drafted into a newly mandatory army and sent overseas where he must fight the forces of a decidedly Middle Eastern-looking evil, in order for them to release their hold on the American people’s freedom of self expression through dance. The villain is the Capitulator-in-Chief, who would rather negotiate with enemies than see his country obliterated by nuclear holocaust. The hero leads the army in a decimation by droid fire, and then sings a touching duet moment with his pregnant wife while dancing on the ashes of what was recently an elementary school. The movie ends with his triumphant return home and his encouragement to everyone in his hometown to fight for their right to dance, before he tragically dies of radiation poisoning. Recently announced: In High School Musical 6, the gang goes to Havana for Spring Break!

“He is from the private sector, not a politician, can I get a “Hallelujah!” Where, in the private sector, you actually have to balance budgets in order to prioritize, to keep the main thing, the main thing, and he knows the main thing: a president is to keep us safe economically and militarily.”

-Here we see Palin’s sophisticated use of verbal irony, assigning the character trait of fiscal responsibility to a figure with multiple bankruptcies and business failures, in order to highlight the fallibility of the superman character in the narrative.


There’s a lot more to the speech, but honestly I got bored of dissecting it. When listening to Palin’s speech I couldn’t help but think of this quote by Dr. Robert (Bono) from Across the Universe:

Across the Universe (2007)

Dr. Robert: We’re navigators, we’re aviators, eatin’ taters, masturbatin’ alligators, bombardiers, we got no fears, won’t shed no tears, we’re pushin’ the frontiers of transcendental perception. Wait… Is Sarah Palin tripping acid? Because that was a gonzo kookookachu moment if I’ve ever seen one. Is she beaming down on us from a higher plane of consciousness? Mhm, probably not.

But she was definitely chosen as a speaker for a reason. Because after McCain’s fail, nobody involves Sarah Palin to help boost political credibility. You may as well call Tina Fey to speak in her place, for all the country sees her as a credible political entity. What Palin is used for is the old Razzle Dazzle.

She draws a crowd. And that crowd, no matter what their political beliefs, keeps listening until the end. People always use the term “like a car crash” to describe something you can’t look away from, but I’ve never seen a car crash happen in real life. I think a better term is “like that one couple having a heated fight at a party.” You know you shouldn’t watch, and deep down you don’t really care, but man is it entertaining.


See, Trump doesn’t really want the nomination. No, I know, he’s certainly making a show of pretending like he does. But what Trump’s career has shown us is that Trump’s power is in the ability to command attention. Not to influence thinking, not to engage in discourse or wield power over intellectuals, but to loom large in the consciousness of the masses– to engage in the Platonic immortality of not being forgotten. The Apprentice, Trump Enterprises, the illustrious Miss Universe pageant. The strength of his personality grows with every hash-taggable situation.

Or, to put it in a quote,

“Do you not know that a man is not dead while his name is still spoken?”
Terry Pratchett, Going Postal

This campaign is a win-win for Trump. Will he get the Republican nomination? Probably not. Will he win the presidency? Nope. But in the next two years after the race, will any book he puts out, any show he stars on, any business venture or endorsement deal or reality show fuckabaloo he participates in be the top story on every news outlet in America?

You betcha.



I’m feeling a bit down today. No reason, I don’t think, and not really too too down, just a little bit. Just thoughtful. Just interested in being alone while recognizing loneliness. Just pensive.

Nice things today:

  • Cooked my dinner with lots of vegetables. No recipe. Came out delicious, and I have leftovers. May do it again this weekend. It made me feel like I could maybe do this thing, this adult thing. Then again, maybe it takes more than that.
  • Read a novel-length fanfic while ignoring the actual novels on my to do list. Sometimes you just want to read things that you can forget about afterwards. It was Harry Potter. I liked it better than Deathly Hallows. I won’t tell JK Rowling.
  • Snow. I didn’t feel it, and I didn’t go outside today at all (maybe I’ll go for a walk?) But I saw the flurries from my window and the little tufts of white on the sidewalk.
  • Thinking about writing a lot of things. Short stories, graphic novels, short films, a zine. Thinking about it more than doing it. But at least I never stop thinking about it. That would be worse.



It’s my birthday.


I don’t like my birthday. I could probably trace it back to this dream I had when I was little where I was stuck behind a glass wall in a sewer, watching my dad on the other side giving my birthday cake to someone else.

But I won’t, because come on. I don’t even like cake that much. Instead I’ll trace it to this simple fact: I don’t want to get older. I don’t want to have another number that says I should have accomplished something by now. And I really, really don’t want to have to buy my own insurance (that’s 26, right? Please say that’s 26.)

Not to mention, my birthday falls on the eve of, I’ll say it, the most disappointing holiday of all time.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I actually really like that fact. I love that I get a headstart on New Year’s Resolutions– it’s a new year and a new me, literally! (Sort of literally? Literally has been used so much that I’m just going to throw it in there for emphasis and to imply something about cells regenerating or mental calendars or something.) I really love making resolutions, and buying new calendars, and cleaning out my house, and starting new plans, and in general the feeling of a fresh start. It’s just nice.

What I don’t love? That wretched parade of “let’s all go to a public place and kiss and pretend we’re having fun.” It was fun when I was younger, really. My family would all get together to watch fireworks, we would eat good food, and have cake, and then go downtown and walk around, fun for everyone. But the older I get, the more expectations are placed on New Year’s Eve being an absurd, huge, blowout party. And I LOVE parties, I do. I just don’t like everyone relying on me to plan them, or expecting my birthday to be their kickass new years.

This year is my first super-chill birthday in a long time. I’m at work right now, no class, just relaxing in my heated classroom digesting the cake my coworkers got for me. My principal is taking me out to lunch later (hopefully not all alone, that would be awkward as hell), and then after work a friend and I are going for dinner, then doing beers and bowling. Totally casual, totally not me being the center of attention and therefore the object of everyone’s disappointment when they aren’t surprised by a handsome stranger to be kissed at midnight. (Seriously, have you seen the faces of single people when the clock strikes 12 and everyone around them is kissing? It’s just sad.)


Tomorrow (incredibly early) I’m taking a train to Busan to spend the weekend with two friends. Our plans? Bookshops, drinking, and SpaWorld. I haven’t been so excited for birthday plans in years.

So yeah. This post has very little point, except that I want to able to look back in a year (or five) and remember where I was when I turned 25 (27 in Korea. I hate their age system.) I have a feeling this year is going to be strange, but I’m hoping it will also be wonderful. I have 9 more months in my Korea contract, I have a Japan trip planned, I have a ton of things I want to write, and I still feel a little like a kid (I’m wearing a Pikachu hat as I type this), but I think that’s okay.


Also, stay tuned for my “30 Before 30” list soon because eww I’m going to be 30 in 5 years who allowed that to happen?

I’ve read 93 books…

of my 52 books challenge.

At least, it was supposed to be a 52 books challenge. 52 Books in the year of 2015, and one I would have finished neatly the week I arrived in Korea. Upon finishing and realizing that without the deadlined reading minimum set by an imaginary internet challenge I would never read another book, I upped the goal to 75 books. Then to 100 books. Because fuck having a social life, I need to be as competitive against myself as possible. That’s where real joy comes from.

And now I only have 7 to go to win.


I’m pretty pleased with myself.

I’ve come to realize (not recently, this is one of the only things I’ve been sure about myself from pretty much day 1 of language memory) that I do not respond to outside motivation. I mean that in maybe the opposite of the intro to psychology way, I’m not sure, it’s been several years since I took that class and let’s be real– I was never going to last as a Psych major. (Did you know that as a psychologist you have to actually talk to actual people? Eww.)

I mean that outside motivation– of the “this is the job I should have by now, this is the salary you should be making, this is the goal you should be striving towards” type– just doesn’t work for me long-term. Sure, I feel guilty, and a little like a failure, when I compare lives to my peers and realize they’ve just won the Pulitzer while I’ve just opened a $9 bottle of wine with a pair of scissors and stained my face and half my kitchen purple.* But the guilt doesn’t make me want to do better, it just makes me feel guilty. And like I need different friends. And like I need a shower (ok, that’s just the wine. I’m sorry, but who designed wine bottles that you need an extra tool to open? Shouldn’t such a commonly-drunk drink be stored in self-sufficient packaging? You, with the powers, go back in time and have that obviously-always-prepared, never-without-a-corkscrew, inventor flayed for uselessness and lack of forethought.)

I’m also not one of those people that when told “you can’t do that” thinks “you know what! Yes I can!” And proceeds to go out and become the next woman president, or whatever the naysayers are naysaying at these days. Usually, when people tell me I can’t do something, I don’t listen to them. Because I feel like they’re wrong? Nah, it’s just because they’re dicks. And I try not to listen to talking dicks, because then where would we be? Talking Dick World, where we get all of our advice from phallic-y jerks who are constantly naysaying about random non dick-related queries?


What am I even saying? Oh. Right. My locus of motivation or something. I hope I don’t publish this. Ok. Here’s the thing: I am really only motivated to do stuff I have decided is important. This seems obvious, until you see upon closer inspection that apparently I have decided things like shaving my legs, or paying my bills, or writing research papers that are 50% of my grade, or finishing college in a timely manner (whoooo, got that one out of the way two years late!), or getting my car fixed before it explodes, or… well. You get it. That stuff does not get my Bunsen(s?) burning.

Random goals I set that have no way of affecting my future prosperity like, say, reading 100 books in the year 2015? Those I will work at until my eyes bleed from the staring strain, and the neural pathways in my brain misfire due to the overload of information being shoved in at the last minute, just to get that shiny purple 100/100 achievement badge on Goodreads.


Basically what I’m saying is… *licks finger and sizzles* I’m doing great.

Not sure when the next time you’ll hear from me will be, but when you do, you can be pretty certain it will be about books. Or maybe the yawning abyss of dread and self-doubt that made up my last post.

Prolly books tho.



*the funny thing is, I’m not drinking wine at this moment, even though it sounds like it, but I did experience this exact catastrophe two weeks ago and now there are purple splashes on my kitchen wallpaper. I think of it as a little personal touch, to give it that sought-after *lived-in* feel.

Cheers to the Freakin Weekend

I’ve got several AWESOME picture posts from my Virginia trip coming up, but this week has been much too life-busy to worry about picture editing. I’ve also got a nice roundup of July Favorites, which I am sure will be WONDERFUL.

See, if you stay positive anything can sound like good news.

Stay tuned for the first of those posts this weekend. Until then, enjoy this song, it’s too beautiful. (I also love all of the remixes. Oh Spotify, how did I ever live without you?



It’s a Quiet Day in the Neighborhood

On Saturday I took Ned on our usual silent afternoon walk around my neighborhood. I say silent walk, because that is the way I prefer them.

Yes, this must be the missing piece of the space ship, Captain!

20140721-200002-72002679.jpgMy neighborhood consists of one apartment complex with dozens of buildings, spread around grass inlets and faux-soccer fields, filled in swimming pools, and randomly-placed rock formations that resemble Pride Rock en miniature.

It was just after a storm, and the ground was puddles and muck. The water swallowed half of Ned Nickerson the Cocker Spaniel/Mystery Solver each time he stepped off of a sidewalk, but this did not manage to dissuade him from stepping off the sidewalk every other step, so that he performed a sort of ‘skip to my lou’ of furry splashing.

After the rain is my favorite because it is very, very quiet. I’ll tell you a secret: I really don’t get out much.

Try to contain your surprise.

The thing is, I like being “out.” Being in nature is really calming, and I love walking through it alone. But… the possibility of running into someone else on that walk– of possibly having to discuss the parking tendencies of drunk neighbors, or the bald patches where said neighbor’s tires wheeled away the grass; the possibility of having to interrupt my thoughts of stories and aliens and vanishing islands and do small talk like small talkers love to do; the possibility of– god forbid– someone actually thinking my awkward grin and head bob are genuine signs of enthusiasm rather than a desperate attempt at a conversation I long to end and therefore extending it to Joyce-like lengths a I silently agonize over which words sound least argumentative…

Well. Anyways. I stay inside a lot.

But when I am on walks, my favorite thing is to catch small details in the place I see every day. Walking Ned is a time when I am out in the world and nobody bothers me. I don’t mean to make it seem like I don’t like people, I just like to be prepared for them. On walks, Ned barks whenever we are nearing 20-50 feet away from anything that could possibly need preparation.

He’s considerate like that. His barking usually means nobody comes past that 20 feet mark, which gives me a bubble of quiet in which to think without interruption.

Every introvert should get a badly-behaved dog.

On my Saturday walk I saw this mouse on my way back to my door. It was lying on my neighbor’s back porch, its bones exposed from the rot and rain. I thought it was fake, at first, it is so perfectly laid out, like a model someone had ordered off Discovery and then quickly lost interest in. (Perhaps it would be creepier if my neighbor’s had a fake skinned mouse than a real one…) It captured my attention and for some reason I found it hard to look away. The bone structure was just so visible, the muscle so useless, the fur and whiskers and eyes and nose so… negligible. I had the thought that this creature had, at some point in the last few days ceased to be a mouse and had something much less defined, more the idea of a mouse, or perhaps, the memory of one. The physical vestiges of a mouse gone by. I’m not sure why this struck me as so fascinating, or whether the idea itself was worth writing down, but the naturalness of it prompted me to take a picture. Perhaps it’s the old “Circle of Life” concept that reminded me that I, too would become little but bones and air. Perhaps someone will take a picture of me and blog about it.


I’m a cheery one, that’s for sure.

At first I thought maybe I shouldn’t put this picture on here, possibly because people may think I’m a serial killer, or it wouldn’t go with the overall theme… But I figure it’s my blog, it’s my rules.

And obviously my rules include dead things. And, you know, science. I don’t want to shy away from things I think are interesting, even if they veer from interesting to uhhhhhhmmmmm what now?

We shall see how this goes.


This post has little point, other than: I’m back to blogging. And I’ve got big plans ahead.

Don’t worry, of course they include dead mice and Star Trek.

Later gators,


Twitter vs. Snapchat and the Freedom of Social Media (Or: Long Post About IMPORTANT TOPICS #sortof)

I think really hard sometimes about the differences between social media outlets.* There are so many of them, and they are all so closely guarded by the social media police which are different from the selfie police, but pretty much the same as your boss and your mom, that sometimes it’s hard to tell which part of yourself is okay to express to which outlet. Instagram vs Facebook? Fairly easily distinguished, if you posted as many close-up shots of your Starbucks cup on Facebook, people would assume your About Me was a joke, your real job was a lie, and you were actually a barista at Starbucks. Either that, or that you were homeless, and using your newsfeed as a virtual change cup to prompt people to send quarters via Paypal.  Image

Twitter is a little bit better, because you can imply something without ever supplying the physical evidence to make it plausible, earning instant internet points, which can be deposited into the internet bank, and which can be traded in for likes and comments later on. I can make a pithy, 140-character observation about a party, like… “Bitches be cray. #partyhardacus” and people will just assume I’m at a party. Not just a party, a party with some secret, Spartacus-themed motto that would be repeated in status updates for days, and which non-attendees would never really understand, but would be crazy freaking jealous. And I don’t have to back up that post with any sort of proof. It’s a magical system.

But Snapchat… Snapchat is like an adult baby monitor. Anytime you send a snap, people know immediately what you’re doing and where you are. So I can’t be like, “damn, I love Remy Martin.” just because I think it’s funny. I have to be holding a Remy Martin botte. It’s so limiting. Do you know how expensive Remy Martin is? Neither do I, because I don’t love Remy Martin, I just think it would be funny to say. Do you see what I mean?


I guess I just don’t know what to use Snapchat for. Like, I feel like, if I used it often, it would just give people too close a look at how sad my life is. Like, my friends will snapchat me awesome things like a picture of a sunny lake, “going drinking on a boat!” or a rave with a crowd of people splattered in neon paint, “afterparty is crayyyy.” And respond with a picture of my computer on top of my legs, which are covered in a blanket because it’s chilly. “Eating pepperonis!! Trying to decide between playing Minecraft on my Xbox and watching Netflix on my laptop, or watching Netflix on my Xbox and using my laptop for Tumblr. BIG DILEMMA!!”

Not only that, Snaps go away. Immediately. Forever.


You can delete a tweet, or a Facebook post, but it’s still there, burned into people’s minds. As far as anything can be burned into a mind that spends its time reading 1 sentence reports of hundreds of lives that scroll by in less than a second.  Plus, there’s always the possibility that it could be like that time I was trying to search this guy’s name to see if he was cute-cute, or just only-guy-in-science-class cute, and instead of searching “Zack Morris” I typed “Zack Morris” into my status box and posted. (Yes, name changed because in the lifespan of social media, blog posts are forever and that shit was awkward.) Believe me, you don’t want to be like that time. No time should resemble that time.

But with Snaps, it’s no big deal. You send, they open, they have 10 seconds to show it to as many people in their vicinity as possible, and possibly but not sneakily screenshot it, and then it’s gone forever and that’s the end of it. You can easily brush it off later as “I was drunk,” “I sent it to everyone,” “I just wanted to see how my left nipple looked in this lighting but I accidentally sent it but haha #whatevs #yolo #socks,” or any number of other perfectly viable excuses and then move the fuck on. This makes it simple. Calming. Fine.

It is also what makes it terrifying. Because it transforms your phone into a portal through which you can gaze upon the human soul. Yeah. Stay with me. The 10 seconds of freedom that come with a self-destructing message are transcendent. Those seconds equip the user with the knowledge that anything that they send, anything, anything at all. And that kind of freedom makes people sort of… Crazy. Dickpics, barfpics, language-you-didn’t-know-existed Crazy. This is what people do with that kind of freedom. This, and hourly updates of how bored they are, with their head squished against their fist in their desk chair, eyes comically but attractively cast upwards.



It’s a weird divide.

I still haven’t decided if it’s a good one.

This is the end of this post.


By the way, you can follow me on Twitter: @Notwaverly.

You cannot follow me on Snapchat because of previous stated downsides. Also because bluuuhhhhhhh no way.

*The difference between Twitter/Snapchat and this blog is that I can say something like this sentence, then ramble on about it for a full page and nobody ever cares if this sentence is true. Which, for posterity reasons, and possibly future legal reasons, I must admit that it is not.