It is always nice when a close friend is asked out by a guy she likes. Possibly nicer than when you get asked out yourself, in fact. I say this because, when you watch it from afar, there's no painstaking decisions, should I, shouldn't I, there's no worry that in a minute he's going to turn round and say "Uhhh, maybe not..." and there's no trepidation about what's going to happen now? There's just the nicness, all wrapped up like a package holiday. In case you're interested, she did say yes, and I'll let you know if it works out.

He woke me up in the morning. I loved it. This is how I want to wake up in the mornings. Afterwards, we ate breakfast together. Later, I watched some old episodes of Six Feet Under. I love it, and I love the characters in it. They are so lost in this world that it makes it easy to love them despite their flaws. In real world, it’s not at all that simple to love the messy nutty people around you or the one you are yourself. I guess it’s always most difficult to love yourself and especially forgive yourself.

I was raised within the pop cult.

I quote Simpsons with deadpan so practiced, so innate; I reference fifty television shows, movies and books daily. My childhood was a lateral view of america through the eyes of a million acerbic writers, poets, rabble-rousers. I heard about that other stuff, Rockwellian values, but not as realism. Those were fairy tales, like news reports of vast riots and murders i’d never met.

Is it any wonder that pop culture is its own language? We’re bilingual, people like me. We speak Old American and Pop-Adaptation. Like computer language but practically comprehensible.