sorrysorrysorry

I'm at the library writing a final paper about Brazilian street children, and I know it's been way too long since I've posted. SO, while the library catalog is loading, I'm going to copy/paste an entry I wrote during the end of summer but never posted. Enjoy!

I'll be back after this week, starting off with some poetry I wrote after an inspiring English Department event.

David Lynch is a Face-melter, I Get Rapped to On the Street

My Scrabble-free weekend entertained me in ways I hadn’t dreamed possible.

On Saturday, I went out to say goodbye to The Cleveland Brawler, who is leaving Cleveland for American University’s MFA Program. It was a very pleasant event, populated by a great mix of people, and I had an all around good time.

While on a smoke break at the bar, my little group was approached by an unassuming kid (eighteen year old University of Oregon student, raised in Cleveland Heights) with a backpack, who asked us if we’d like to hear a song. We shot each other puzzled, amused looks and agreed. He pulls out a piece of paper with his “31 Flavors” on it, and TCB immediately says, “Is that song about September 11 funny?” He was disappointed with the negative answer, so Justin picked out a song called Vegetarian.

So this kid launches into a rap song, complete with verses and choruses, all memorized, about being a vegetarian. It was HI-LARIOUS. Over the course of the next few trips outside, Justin and I were treated to four different songs from the list, including the satirical “Vote Conservative” and the throwback “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” during a particularly entertaining double-header.

I’d never previously been approached by a troubadour, and this was quite an experience. He was a little nervous but basically confident, rapped louder when more people were walking past, and seemed generally unfazed by the fact that he was completely putting himself out there. A total baller.

On Sunday, we spent a rainy day bumming around the apartment. Justin napped; I mourned the loss of my last clean sponge, which had somehow been covered with a gross tar-like substance that prevented me from cleaning the kitchen. So I read The Kite Runner instead. It was alright.

Our innocent trip to Blockbuster at 10PM resulted in the most horrifying experience of my life. We rented the new David Lynch movie, INLAND EMPIRE.

It was by no means a “boo!” scary movie. During the three hours, I felt legitimately hypnotized, trapped in a bad dream I could not escape from. I am not kidding. Justin put it well, saying it was as though Lynch had created an evil force that was somehow reaching us, although we were just watching a movie. At one point, we both grabbed hands and screamed out loud. I can only imagine what the neighbors think.

My advice: rent it, watch it, and read about it after to help you figure it out. There are some pretty in-depth interpretations on the web, but it’s definitely something that should be virginally experienced. Good luck and don’t worry, just watch Finding Nemo for a Disney detox. I find that’s the best way to recover from getting the shit scared out of me.