lies, damn lies, and statistics
Rain makes the crops grow and protects the family farmer from drought. I am trying to be happy for him.
Prom: dance, drink, you know. About a year ago I came to the perhaps obvious conclusion that all dancing is ironic, at least in the social milieux I frequent. Therefore I no longer have to sit in the corner and scowl at the vanity of the world; instead I can release my inner gay man and shake my ass with the best of them, at least until closing time.
Other patterns of behavior are more resistant to change. I haven't been able to link to much lately; I'm deep in the pit of myself and find it hard to care about who won the PEN award or whatever. How are things up there? That corpse you planted last year in your garden, has it begun to sprout?