Posted from: Charleston, South Carolina

South Carolina, staring off toward Europe: The last time I went to the beach, it was in California with a boy so delicate he balked at the sandcrabs.

I’m by myself here now. I follwed the map Page lent me to a boardwalk (see: walk made of boards) that rolled over baby dunes, and swallowed on both sides, but not ceilinged, with a plant I couldn’t name. It went up over sand and and down over still puddles of salt water risen out of the ground. And then it opened, and I knew the sky had never been so wide.  

Posted from: Beijing

In a move that thrilled kiss-ass enthusiasts the world over, the Chinese Olympic Preparation committee issued a statement yesterday officially recognizing brown-nosing as an Olympic sport. The decision effectively ended the long-debated question of whether or not anyone except “bum-sniffers” can, in fact, do that.  

Through Kyle I just discovered a song that makes me want to kill myself by jumping off a building. Or be a vampire. This is not remarkable because I might consider suicide or blood-sucking, but rather that I would consider the 4-second-bird route rather than a nice all-American 9 millimeter. It’s by Drome (which I somehow can’t find online – shame on you, internet!), and the track is called What I Got You Got. Or, um, Want What You Got That I Got. Or I Got What You Got. Or something. Soundtrack your rooftop today.  

Posted from: Beijing, China

Just because I, in pasta-sauce-stained sweatpants, blew all the fuses in a three-block radius with a pair of scissors and an air con cable does not goddamn mean that the incident deserves a mention in Russel’s blog. I was entirely unable to resist the urge to write a Reply All email to his entire list of friends and family, an excerpt from which goes:  

Talking to him is like talking to myself, by which I mean it’s the most natural thing in the world. He’s like a sentient, awesome-mouthed diary that I never actually wrote. So either the dawn has just risen on the fact that I’ve been talking to myself since birth, or I have the hugest crush since the emergence of the trash compactor.

Being insane would be so much more convenient.