Well, the last two weeks or so there’s been a cat and her kitten hanging around my backyard. Because I can never just leave these things alone, and the Mamacat, (who I named The Cat) was so skinny and sad-looking, and the Babycat (named The Kitten) was so playful and oblivious, I started giving them food here and there. And then more here than there, and then every morning and night.

Now, the plan was to feed them until I could catch them (without touching them, because, ew, fleas, and weird kitty diseases and I have my own animals to think about). The Cat was immediately surprisingly friendly and kind of insisted that I pet her (I obliged with a long stick), but The Kitten had clearly never been touched by a human and freaked when I went near.

I have a pretty good view of where the cats hang out at night from my bedroom window; last night the kitten was playing with the lawn chairs as usual while The Cat looked on. All was well, I fell asleep. And then this morning, my mom goes to work and gets a nice surprise – dead kitten on the sidewalk! More effective than coffee for waking up. It looks like the next-door neighbor ran him over on their way out – there’s blood and all. I believe it was The Kitten’s first time out of the backyard in a while, and perhaps he didn’t understand that when the car starts to move, you run away.

It’s actually rather depressing. Or at least, upsetting enough that I’m here writing about it instead of finishing that online quiz. On the one hand, they were not my cats, were only around for a couple of weeks. On the other hand, OMG DEAD KITTEN! So I feel torn between “I shouldn’t really care about this” and “Aw, poor kitty.” Which probably doesn’t sound like much tearing, but still. *sigh* I don’t like it when my plans are interrupted like this!

At least – if I’m going to look for a bright side – now that the skittish The Kitten is gone (RIP), I can probably get the more trusting The Cat into a box this weekend, and then it’s off to the Humane Society.

Obviously, the Song of the Moment has to be “Ding Dong”, by Nellie McKay.



My cat died and I quickly poured myself some gin.
Did she die from old age or was it for my sins?
God I loved her oh so much, miss her little kitty touch
Does she miss me, does she care?
Oh I miss her kitty stare.

Do you have a little time? Would you like to ease my mind?
Talk for hours and never stop,
chop your head off, be a lighter person, brighter person,
nicer, but you’ve heard it all before.

So ding dong, there’s the doorbell,
Hello, man in white. He’s gonna
make you all well, get you through the night.
But hey, now, you don’t feel better,
as you take your fresh bromide, maybe this man of letters lied.

let me tell you ’bout a dream I had the other night,
you were in it, boy, you sure gave me a super fright.
I was walking down the street,
downtown by the DMV,
you popped out behind a door,
it was odd you were on all fours.
Do you have some time to spare,
you were barking at a bear,
it said, hey you’d better stop.
Chop your head off
be a lighter person, brighter person
but you’ve heard it all before.

So ding dong, there’s the doorbell.
Hello, man in red.
He’s gonna make you all well, getcha into bed.
But, hey, now, you don’t feel better,
as you wake and slowly rise. Maybe this smooth jet-setter lied.
…Stick around one minute more…I’m smarter than you think.
Do I sound like an old bore? Oh man,
it’s just the drink. I didn’t always hit the gin.
There were times when I fit in.
They’ll never know how much I tried.
Did I tell you my cat died?
Do you have a little time, would you like to feel sublime?
Run away and never stop, chop your head off,
be a lighter person
brighter person
but you’ve heard it all before.

So ding dong, there’s the doorbell.
Hello, man in black. He’s gonna make you all well,
there’s no going back.
But, hey now you don’t feel better, as you drift off in the tide.
Maybe this jack the ripper lied
and you died


I’m one of those “no use crying over spilled milk” people that I so loved to mock. Who knew? At its core, it’s just a matter of self-preservation, though, and I’m all about that.

I did one of those amazingly stupid things that I sometimes do, except this time it cost me four-hundred dollars worth of damage. Yes, I lost my ipod. It continues to utterly embarrass me to admit that.

I’m usually anal about my possesions to the point of irritating the people around me with my constant checking and rechecking of their well-being. Yet I managed to leave the pod and headphones lying at the computer desk I was using when I went to class yesterday. The frustrating thing is, as I walked to class I actually did check to make sure they were in my bag, and was sure that I saw them. I hallucinated! My mind clearly saw that something was missing from the picture of my bag’s insides and filled in the hole. Christ.

Well anyway, after realizing they were missing (when I tried to take them out for my bus-ride background music), I went back to the library. I wasn’t freaked at this point. I figured, seven out of ten people finding something of that sort in a library would take it to the front desk – wouldn’t they? I thought, there’s a good chance my ipod’s doing alright in a drawer somewhere. But when I got the computer desk I saw my headphones lying alone, ipod disconnected and whisked away (which, asshole thief? Those headphones are pretty expensive themselves). I did the rest – checking the desk, security, ect., but obviously it was just taken.

But I surprised myself by not utterly freaking out. I mean, certainly I felt nauseous, and a little dizzy/giddy, but I did not fall into a deep pit of horrified dispair. I thought, “It’s definetly gone. I have no earthly way of getting it back. There goes four hundred dollars. It’s certainly going to suck dealing with this.”

And it does, by the way, suck dealing with this. Parental fallout, mostly, because that was a Christmas present, and those long empty spaces where the music used to be. But this, too, shall pass. I guess. I think this is part of that whole “getting older” thing I’ve been doing the last few years.

Instead of sending me “a few songs for the summer”, my sister went a little insane and sent me ninety-six. So I’m listening to them in groups of six to eight at a time. They’re pretty good, for new music (I’m one of those people who needs to acquire tastes) so I’m picking one song from every new set to feature as Song of the Mo’, and that takes care of that for the next few…months?

Anyway, here’s your SotM! I’ve often mocked the Be Good Tanyas for their unshakably lesbian-indie-folk-group vibe, but I’ve never disliked the music. It’s always pleasant, and “Littlest Birds” is a great example of that. Hereya.


Well I feel like an old hobo,
I’m sad lonesome and blue

I was fair as the summer day,
now the summer days are through.
You pass through places
and places pass through you
but you carry ’em with you
on the soles of your travellin’ shoes.

Well I love you so dearly, I love you so clearly,
I wake you up in the mornin’ so early
just to tell you I got the wanderin’ blues,
I got the wanderin’ blues
and I’m gonna quit these ramblin’ ways one of
these days soon.

And I’ll sing,
the littlest birds sing the prettiest songs [X4]

Well it’s times like these
I feel so small and wild
like the ramblin’ footsteps
of a wanderin’ child.
And I’m lonesome as a lonesome whippoorwill
singin these blues with a warble and a trill.
But I’m not too blue to fly
No I’m not too blue to fly cause

The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs [X4]

Well I love you so dearly, I love you so fearlessly
I wake you up in the mornin’ so early
just to tell you I got the wanderin’ blues,
I got the wanderin’ blues
And I don’t wanna leave you, I love you through and through

I left my baby on a pretty blue train
and I sang my songs to the cold and the rain.
I had the wanderin’ blues
and I sang those wanderin’ blues.
And I’m gonna quit these ramblin’ ways
one of these days soon

And I’ll sing,
the littlest birds sing the prettiest songs [X6]


Whippoorwill: a nocturnal North American nightjar, Caprimulgus vociferus, having a variegated plumage of gray, black, white, and tawny.

I’m getting a bird! Probably not a yellow one, though – turns out male canaries (the ones who sing, generally) are actually hella expensive. Sorry, Conor (and yeah, that would have been the canary’s name). For a few months there I backed and forthed it between canaries, finches and parakeets. Here was my thought process:

red factory and yellow canary


– Pros: Smaller than a parakeet. Bigger than a finch. Pretty. Nice sounds. Solitary (the house is empty quite a bit, sometimes). No worrying about letting little Conor out of his cage.

– Cons: No taking little Conor out of his cage! No handling. And, it turns out, expensive as all get-out.

society finches


– Pros: Smallest bird that I would like. Not needy. Teenie weenie. Easy to care for. No worries about letting them out of the cage. Cheap.

– Cons: Less interaction than I would like. They’re not, it seems, real big “humans” fans and yet aren’t solitary like the canary (two male canaries will fight for dominance in a cage, two females will get paranoid and fight around mating season [all of spring], and a lady and gentleman will mate, which, no). So I’d really have to get two, because I’m not gonna have a little finch be miserable by himself. Two birdies means bigger cage and potentially some angst about not getting a boy and girl accidentally (seriously, I don’t want to deal with baby care!).


The Budgie:

Pros: ‘Keets will interact with you more. Potential talking fun (I’d be amused by any imitation tho’, like whistling). Can be handled and played with. Colorful. Can be let out of cage (clipped, for me). Cheap.

Cons: I have to let them out of their cage! Ew, they’ll poop. Wait, I can deal with that, especially since keet poops are apparently really tiny (like a grain of rice!) and mostly hard. Worries about loneliness during day if house is empty. Biggest bird of the three (which of course calls for big cage).


Anyway, my mom thought the finches were ugly (she’s harsh, like that. I thought they were quite cute. So tiny!), and of course balked at the canary prices (the store we went to [alright, it was petsmart] had them at a hundred a pop). She likes how pretty the keets are, although she doesn’t know that they’re more trouble and I don’t really plan on telling her. She’ll just have to deal with that afterwards, ’cause I want a birdie and dammit, I’m gettin’ it.

She just greenlighted me for the bird buying today. Here are some lists I’ve started.

Things to Buy:

– Cage. $40 budget.
– Thrift-store table thing to put cage on. $25 budget.
– Toys! Ladders, bells, mirrors, swings and slidy things! Also an extra perch or two. Alright! $15 budget
– Food – probably pellets and some millet to start. I hear seeds are awful messy but I’ll probably give it some once a week or so. I’m not sure how much this costs, actually.

Birdie Names:

Rupert/Ripper (a Buffy nod, of course, which gets it all kinds of extra points)
Abbey Road (called Abbey)

* Since I used the lyrics for my post title, I’m making “We are Nowhere and It’s Now” the new Song of the Mo’. From the Album I’m Wide Awake It’s Morning.

 If you hate the taste of wine,
why do you drink it till you’re blind?
And if you
swear that there’s no truth, and who cares,
how come you say it like you’re right?
Why are you scared to dream of God
when it’s salvation that you want?
You see stars that clear
have been dead for years
but the idea just lives on

In our wheels that roll around
as we move over the ground
and all day it seems we’ve been in between
a past and future town

We are nowhere and it’s now
We are nowhere and it’s now

And like a ten minute dream in the passenger’s seat
while the world was flying by,
I haven’t been gone very long
but it feels like a lifetime

I’ve been sleeping so strange at night.
Side effects they don’t advertise.
I’ve been sleeping so strange,
with a head full of pesticide

I’ve got no plans and too much time.
I feel too restless to unwind.
I’m always lost in thought as I walk a block
to my favorite neon sign.

Where the waitress looks concerned,
but she never says a word.
Just turns the juke box on and we hum along
and I smile back at her.

And my friend comes after work
when the features start to blur.
She says these bars are filled with things that kill,
by now you probably should have learned.

Did you forget that yellow bird?
Oh how could you forget your yellow bird?
And she took a small silver wreath then pinned it onto me,
she said this one will bring you love.
And I don’t know if it’s true
but I keep it for good luck.

Things about this election. It’s been disappointing to say the least – and of course, I’m saying that as a Clinton supporter, but not because she lost. It’s how the shit went down, I guess.

Now, when we started down this weird road (oh, those innocent first few months!) I was pretty excited. I’ve heard people say they’re just now realizing the magnitude of the history that’s being made – I saw all that from the beginning. I mean, I’ve always been one to consider the history of things, and it isn’t long ago – at all – that women and blacks were in a pretty bad way. So yes, I was super excited to have a woman and lo, a black man running for president – nervous, but excited, and I took my pick of one and waited to see what would happen.

Six months later, and I’m feeling less than enthusiastic about the whole thing. There’s still the intellectual part of me that can, thank God, appraise the situation and say: Obama’s charisma is undeniable. I don’t particularly feel it, but the numbers are there, and that sort of enthusiasm for politics, even only personality (especially if you can consider personality politics to be a gateway, at least for some people, to the actual issues), can only be good. I can see why Clinton lost; I can see why it’s good that she lost, considering what I really want is to get Dems in – into the white house, and that other house, and the Court and anywhere else you can stick them.

Still, something went horribly wrong in this primary, and it wasn’t it’s length or the behavior of the candidates. It wasn’t even necessarily the media — though they were so cringe-worthy in their reports I admit I barely followed mainstream media at all. The trouble came in the form of the party’s reaction to itself. If we’re honest with each other, we can admit that the two candidates had nearly identical platforms, near identical (public) politics. Instead, people went insane. People who believe in a, b, and c viciously attacking people who believe in a, b, and c. The animosity was pathetic, and I found myself visiting my favorite liberal political websites less and less as time wore on, until it’s got to the point I haven’t checked any since March.

It’s over now, thank God. I hope we can focus now on repairing some of this damage. We smashed each other up a bit. I know we did because I’m still afraid of checking the liberal blogosphere, in anticipation of all the hate and bitterness and contempt that I’m somehow sure is still floating around — and dammit, I shouldn’t be. I won’t beat around the bush now, and say that I do think – from my experience, and I did try to look at this evenly (though I was almost always a Clinton supporter, I was never particularly passionate about her because her and Obama’spolitics are so much alike, that I would have been happy with either), the majority of the vitriol didn’t come from the Clinton camp, but form Obama’s. Not Obama and his staff specifically — the candidate himself was always gracious and more or less likable, but his supporters, particularly online– boy, howdy. At first I was sad; I was looking forward to a campaign from a black man, the first real, seriously could-go-all-the-way-yay campaign from an African American for the US presidency, and I wanted it to be smooth and dignified and successful. And instead, there was hate. It drove me from the entire blogosphere for months; it felt irrational to me, bitter accusations when they were losing, bitter condescendencewhen they were winning, and always the contempt for anyone who was not entirely with them. This isn’t to speak for all of Obama’s supporters, or even most, but for a minority which was unfortunately as vocal as they were obnoxious.

During Clinton’s speech after South Carolina, she spoke of her supporters, and how they need to be respected. That really summed up my problem with this whole past primary. There were a large number of people who felt it was a good idea to belittle nearly half of our party. That’s ridiculous.

The contemptuous and condescending calls to drop out as early as February, growing louder and ever hateful as the months wore on? When the entire time the race was so close that a state here or there may have tipped the entire thing? Stop that. That’s annoying. You don’t look at someone who’s all of a few dozen delegates behind and say “Christ! Give it up, will you! This is pathetic, and you’re destroying the country!” Yes, Obama was ahead for a long time, and the support he drummed up was and is awe-inspiring. I always respected that all these people came out, taking time out to support him and vote for him and celebrate him. More than did for Clinton, admittedly – but not that much more, really. Not enough that you can dismiss the nearly-equal amount of supporters on the other side because you’re eager for you guy to win already.

Looking back, I have to admit that I liked Obamagood deal better before coming into contact with many of his supporters. It almost felt like, as Obamaraced forward a bit in the polls and funds, they became drunk withthe power of it. They saw themselves as in the majority – no matter how slight of a majority it was – and felt free to insult Clinton and her supporters casually and often with a disturbing sort of hate I had only seen coming from the right up till then. Suddenly, inexplicably, Clinton was a rightwinger, her supporters stupid, conservative, racist or any combination thereof. This despite the fact that Obama has consistently gotten more independentand republican voters in open primaries than Clinton, despite his message of bringing both parties together (which I’m not criticising) against her long history of almost paranoid hatred of the right wing (which, though totally understandable on a personal level, I’m not saying is something I support in a president). I wasn’t exactly personally offended by these comments (which became inevitable in any political thread, and were repeated ad nauseum), because I know how much they don’t apply to me whatsoever too much to feel anything personal. But the irrationality of the arguments, the repeated inability to expand on them or offer anything except blind hatred for people who have the same values, essentially, as the commentersbut choose to support someone else – that’s what eventually got to me. For the first time I felt truly disgusted with my fellow liberals, and this upset me somewhat.

I grew extremely tired, an exhaustion I can still feel now, months later, of this group of supporters’ persistent childishness. The vapid, automatic and often irrelevant insulting of Clinton herself which made my feminist hackles rise – the ones I had no idea I possessed, because I’d apparently never had cause to use them before. One tactic which first infuriated and then depressed me for its frequency was the assertion, in nearly every thread, that a person refused to vote for Clinton under any circumstance, even if the alternative is McCain. Clinton became not the other Democratic candidate, but the enemy. I’m not sure what the enemy of – not of democrats or liberals, even if you’re radical about it – not more so than McCain. I couldn’t understand where the hatred was coming from, could only guess it was a sort of rabid defense of Obama. And it was never a comment, but always a threat – if Clinton wins this primary, we won’t vote in November. Holding the general hostage, as it were.

Looking back it’s not so surprising really – I was confused by it because I thought we were all here for the same reasons – to get someone who will act Democratically in office, who will veto and give speeches according to that party’s general platform. I was wrong. I was there for the issues, and was foolish enough to think everyone else was too. But there were (and I suppose, are) a large number of people who were only there for Obama. Obama, and nothing else, not stepping closer to socialized medicine, not slowing if not stopping our backwards slide in just about every current issue – only for Obama. It makes sense, of course, especially when you consider that a large number of his voters are people who don’t generally vote, people who are independent and people who are republican – it makes sense then, they aren’t so much passionate about the issues (although, interestingly enough I admit that he also attracts the more radical and passionate liberals as well). That’s in fact Obama’s greatest strength – that he can get these people to vote for him. That’s how you win presidencies, that’s why in the end he always had to win this primary, and was always going to.

I don’t regret that. I only wish they had let us, the Clintonites, lose with a shrug and a “see you in November”, and not the repeated slaps in the face we actually got. The damage we have to repair now is the scores of people who have been left feeling insulted and condescended to. People like my mother; a virtual full stereotype of a Clinton supporters, she’s middle-aged, working class, Hispanic and has voted loyally and a little blindly for some twenty odd years down the line “D”. People who, like my mother, have been worn down by the bizarrely relentless attacks on her favorite to win for several months by her own party and allies. Some of Obama’s supporters may sneer at Clinton’s base, but we can’t forget that’s who the core of the Democratic party is – the working class, the Hispanics, the down-the-line-“D” voters. It’s nice that Obama won the primary; I’m happy for him, and his voters as well. But unless that’s where your goal ends (or, unless your goal was merely “beat Clinton, don’t let her win”), and other things like getting a democrat back into the white house, realistically speaking, don’t matter to you at all – then you need to acknowledge that those people, stupid racist rednecks or not, are necessary. They don’t need pandering – never have – but be wary of actively turning them off. Those are the wounds we need to heal before November. Obama’s speech after South Carolina was truly a step in the right direction, but, as I’ve thought often throughout this primary, I can only hope his supporters will follow his lead.

I apologize for the messiness of the above. I’m no political science student, only a girl who’s interested in what happens next and needed to get a few things down before she can understand them and move on. In the interest of ending on a high note, I give you Song of the Mo’, “Baby, I’m an Anarchist” by Against Me!, from their Reinventing Axl Rose album. Um, the song ends at 2:41 and yet the video keeps rolling. I don’t know why.


Through the best of times, through the worst of times.
Through Nixon and through Bush.
Do you remember ’36, we went our seperate ways,
You fought for Stalin, I fought for freedom.
You believe in authority,
I believe in myself.
I’m a molotov cocktail, you’re the dom perignon.
Baby, what’s that
confused look in your eye? what i’m trying to say is that
I’ll burn down buildings
while you sit on a shelf
inside of them. You call the cops on the looters and pie-throwers.
They call it class war,
I call them co-conspirators.

‘Cuz baby, I’m an anarchist
and you’re a spineless liberal.
We marched together
for the 8-hour day and held hands in the streets of Seattle.
But when it came time to throw bricks through that Starbucks window you left me all alone.

You watched in awe
at the red, white and blue on the 4th of July.
But while those fireworks
were exploding
I was burning that fucker and stringing my black flag high.
Eating the peanuts
that the parties have tossed you.
In the back seat of your father’s new Ford
you believe in the ballot,
you believe in reform.
You have faith in the elephant and jackass.
And to you solidarity is a four-letter word.
We’re all hypocrites, but you’re a patriot.
You thought I was only joking
When I was screaming, “kill whitey”
at the top of my lungs
at the cops in their cars and the men in their suits.
No, I won’t take your hand
and marry the State.


So you haven’t heard Regina Spektor’s “That Time”? That’s ok; I’m here to enlighten you. So it’s SotM!

This is my favorite Regina song, and most of that is the lyrics, which are fantastic, as far as lyrics and song concepts go. The actual music doesn’t, by itself, wow me. It’s different from her most popular songs, like “Fidelity” or “On the Radio” – I’m not a music person so I’ll describe it like this: with “Fidelity,” I do faux-ballet-mod dancing. With “That Time” I dance spasmodically and with very little conscious art. In the end, though, “That Time” is just a lot more fun, light-hearted with just enough depth to make you wonder exactly how light-hearted it really is. You can sense the complexity – it’s there – but you don’t feel particularly compelled to examine it.

There’s no official video, so you can just enjoy this static picture of the album cover while you listen, I guess.


Hey remember that time when I found a human tooth
down on Delancey?
Hey remember that time when we decided to kiss anywhere except the mouth.
Hey remember that time when my favorite colors was pink and green?
Hey remember that month when I only ate
boxes of tangerines?
So cheap and juicy!

Hey remember that time when I would only read
Hey remember that other time when I would only read the backs of
cereal boxes?
Hey remember that time I tried to save a pigeon with a broken wing?
A street cat got him by morning and I had to bury pieces of his body in our building’s playground.
I thought I was gonna be sick.

I thought I was gonna be sick
Hey remember that time when I would only smoke
Hey remember that time when I would only smoke
Hey remember that time when I would only smoke
Hey remember that time when I was broke? I didn’t care I just
bummed from my friends.
Bum bum-bum-bum-bum bum bum-bum-bum-bum

Hey remember that time when you OD’d?

Hey remember that other time when you OD’d for the second

Well in the waiting room while waiting for news of you I hallucinated I could read your mind
And I was on a lot of sh*t too but what I saw man I tell you it was




Here’s one of the things you’re supposed to do: exercise.

I know that. I know all about “healthy lifestyles,” watching your weight and lifting your weights and being cheerful and nine hours of sleep. There’s a bit of a hysteria in this brave new world of infomercials and obesity epidemics about weight, exercise and “healthy living.” Everyone’s got to meet all three of these standards, at least, and if you don’t you’ve obviously failed at life and should be shamed and tsk-ed at until you get your shit together and start being perfect, with the pre-approved body to prove it. I’m not going to try and comment on any of this, because, well, I’m not good at that sort of thing and I can’t say I know enough about this to feel comfortable ranting.

What I do know is that healthy living one of my big downfalls; one of my gaping moral failures (because, let’s not pretend that how much you exercise and what you choose to eat aren’t moralized nowadays, separated into “good” and “bad” and “persistent” and “lazy” and whatever else. Come on, now). But I know.

Now, I get a pass from society at large on the weight-stuff. I mean, yeah, normally, I should always put down the cookie in favor of the carrot stick. Except, as long as you can’t tell from looking that I’m eating cookies and not carrots, turns out it doesn’t really matter, after all. No lectures, no condemning stares; I’m allowed, and no one’s going to mention my supposedly allimportant health – that stuff just goes right out the window.

Not so with the exercising. Again, I fully realize and appreciate that I’m supposed to be spending X [hrs/mins] a [day/week] (depending on who you consult) lifting weights, and running in place, and tangled up in all sorts of machines as God intended. But I don’t. I’m told if I give these things a decent try, I’ll come to enjoy them. Because endorphins will go off in my brain, or something; after repeated testing of this claim, I’m unable to verify it. Lifting weights only serves to make me kinda tired, and remind me of all the things I’d really rather be doing.

I’m not saying exercise is bad; of course not. I think exercise is very good. But we need to ask ourselves what it really means to exercise, and we need to be careful not to mutate it into something ugly and unnatural. Here’s the thing; they keep showing up – at my schools, in my magazines, my TV and my internets, to tell me I should do things that do not make me happy, like this or this (links open new windows). Well, look at us: we’ve turned moving into a chore.

And, it isn’t. Your body wants to move. Your muscles are waiting. And they aren’t alone – your mind (your spirit, I could say, or maybe for those more religious among us, your soul) has stake in this too. The exhilaration of flailing with mindless abandon, or propelling forward through space. Or the concentrated serenity of exerting discipline –  acknowledging every muscle: like the God of your own body, asserting your absolute control over your physical realm. You should enjoy moving, and when millions of people groan miserably in anticipation of movement and health, we’ve done something wrong.

 So it’s time for Song of the Mo’ – Jump, Jive, an’ Wail, by the Brian Setzer Orchestra***. And everyone can just move.


*Or, the original by Louis Prima . (opens new window!! Exclamation points because I just spent fifteen minutes learning how to do this.)


*Also, it was really just time to end Total Eclipse of the Heart’s reign of terror as SotM…


*Personally, when it comes to music like this and I’m alone I like to pretend I’m in an ipod commercial.

ipod ad

But, uh, you can do whatever you’d like.


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