And now for The Walking Dead, and the lessons they’ve taught me.
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You were bound to find out. I’m a liar. I mean, I do sleep a lot because I love sleeping so that part from my blog the other day is not a lie. But, the part where I said I don’t watch a lot of TV? That was a lie. A big, fat, bald-faced lie – so called because 18th-19th century businessmen often grew beards to mask facial expressions when making “deals,”(Check it out http://tinyurl.com/5s9k7). By the way, though: Props to bald people. Get a rough end of it, don’t they? But back to me. I’m obsessed with TV right now. It wasn’t always like...
That time I was in a Sartre play: part of a memoir, sort of.
I'm considering penning a memoir. I'm serious. I'm sure there's a finer art to it than what I'm putting to paper. No, I know there is as evidenced by PaperGirlMemoir's blog. I enjoy her blog, among several others, those detailing their writing journeys. I suppose she's serving as a "model," though she has a much better, cleaner handle on how to go about writing one than I do. I tend to ramble. (I'm pretending it's my style, so don't say anything). At first, I thought, why on earth would I think anyone wants to read a memoir by me. And then, I...
I don't believe I cared much for sixth grade.
I don't believe I cared much for sixth grade. I was already fully in the grips of a terrific identity crisis (mostly sexual) by the time I was rounding out my junior high years. At my school, sixth grade was the last grade on the junior high side. Seventh graders had to move around to the right side of the building, and that side was high school. They also had more than one teacher, and several different classrooms. That didn't shock me nearly as much as when I was told they also had periods. Even the boys. I was terrified of high school. ...
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