April 24, 2004
I, Isaac Vis. The scrawny, pale fifteen-year-old whose mom still cookie-cut his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches into heart shapes. Had. Kissed. A. Girl!
I, Isaac Vis. The scrawny, pale fifteen-year-old whose mom still cookie-cut his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches into heart shapes. Had. Kissed. A. Girl!
Metalcore, death metal, melodic death metal, black metal, djent, speed metal, thrash metal, hair metal, nu-metal, doom metal, grind, hardcore, post-hardcore, southern metal, sludge metal…
“Guys, I’m pretty hammered right now. Who’s feeling Arby’s?” said no one ever.
Sometimes my mind gets stuck on things. For the last five years or so, it’s been stuck on a person: Jai Paul.
But, as a single woman with no romantic prospects on the current horizon, I’ve gained the most intimacy with two men I have never met.
I’m proud to present my abridged and condensed translations of Maria Andresen de Sousa’s brilliant book Lugares.
Of course Michael Phelps won another gold medal. Why should we expect anything different?
Success, money, fame, and even romance feel laughably conceptualized when placed against the visceral reality of friends singing along the highway and filling the car with farts.
Tommy Boy, the stupid, slapstick-esque comedy with Chris Farley and David Spade that was made in 1995, is not a good movie.
More crucially, the Time-Turner plot that comprises the latter two-thirds of the play codes almost as a kind of high-level fan-fiction.