Yes, A Second Time



Back when the Beatles were touring the US, they came to St Louis, Missouri. Dad thought, “surely, they’ll come closer – at least to Kansas City,” but they didn’t. And then they broke up. 

When Sir Paul’s Back in the US tour came through Omaha in 2005, we were dying to go. I’ll always remember being in class, seeing that I had a voicemail from mom. I dialed it up and cradled my phone in my arms with my head down. I had to keep from crying right there in class as I listened to mom breathlessly announce, “Happy Birthday, Nina! Oh my God, I got them; I got the tickets! We’re going to see Paul McCartney!”

Tickets sold out in something like eight minutes. 


When Paul McCartney announced he would be coming to Lincoln, Nebraska this year, there was literally no thinking-about-it to be done: I was going.

Furthermore, my dad was going. 

I was in Australia when I got the notice about tickets being on sale. I had to tell the girls to pause our Game of Thrones marathon because there was something I had to take care of. I think it was about 1 or 2am there.

There were some VIP tickets and some levels of ‘special’ tickets and I knew I was going to spend a hell of a lot of money, but I was prepared. 

Right away, the VIP tickets were sold out. I mean, within seconds. I hurriedly put two of the Gold Package tickets in my basket and then thought, shit, I should see about two normal tickets just in case, so I threw those in the basket, too.

Near $2000 later, I had four tickets. The concert was shortly after mom’s birthday, so I figured she and her fiancée could go. 

I called dad right away, knowing it was about 10am at home. “Dad, did you get the tickets?” He said, “Shit! I’m not even home, I totally forgot.” 

“Well, I guess you’ll have to settle for my main floor tickets then.” 

In true Dad fashion, he replied: “I mean, if I have to, I guess those will be okay.”

Then I called mom and asked her if she got tickets. “No! They sold out too quickly!”

“Well, I’m sorry, but you’ll be getting tickets for your birthday.”


Trying not to cry right now with the memory. Ahem.

(See, I’ve been putting this off because it makes me so damn emotional). 


Fast-forward to the night of the concert. And hand me another tissue.

Dad drove over to my place and we hopped in my MINI to head to Lincoln. I can’t even remember what all we talked about, except when someone almost sideswiped us in front of the gas station. I let loose a string of “fucking motherfucker”s and “cunt sonsofbitches” and dad just cracked up. Upon pulling out of the gas station, I said, “ugh, let’s just get out of here!” Dad: “You mean, get the FUCK out of here!”

Conor says he can always tell when dad’s been around me because his cussing game is too strong. *bows*

We get to Lincoln and I’m about to ask dad just where the Pinnacle Bank Arena is when this massive, shining, 2001:-A-Space-Odyssey-lookin’ building appears out of nowhere. The exterior actually reminded me of the Wales Millennium Centre in Cardiff. 

We found the parking lot (after being cut off by some douche bag in an Eclipse, who then rolled up his windows when dad and I started loudly mocking him – holy shit, we’re a bad influence on each other), which was only about a five minute walk from the arena. 

The arena itself had really adorable British decorations going on out front. There was a street sign that said “Abbey Road” and a red phone booth with Union Jacks all over it. There were also tons of people. 

Dad and I are forty-two years apart. There were some folks younger than me and some folks older than dad. It was the most obvious display of the absolute reach the Beatles have had. And continue to have. Talk about timeless.

Anyway, after some selfies with the phone booth and tour banner, we got inside. Dad didn’t know exactly where we were sitting. He saw the tickets said ‘Main Floor’ but they also said ‘Sec 51′ which sounds like it could be anywhere. I led him ’round to the floor entrance and tried very hard not to get stopped by any helpers because I didn’t want them to give away just where we were sitting.

On the floor, there were about six or seven different sections, and we were directed to walk up the middle. We would get to a section and I’d turn around to dad and muse, “mmm, no, a bit farther, I think.” 

Finally, we got to our section. Our seats were 1 and 2, right on the end, and we were row MM. I didn’t count, but I’m going to assume that as M is the thirteenth letter in the alphabet, we were thirteen rows from the stage. 

Dad just kind of looked at me in disbelief as we sat down, and then shook my hand. 🙂

Mom and Tom wandered up and found us – they were on the main floor, also, just a few sections back. They were so excited; it was adorable.

I think by the time the lights went down, I was already tearing up. (I told you, I’m seriously emotional about this. I’ve been waiting for a day where I’ve got no makeup to ruin because I knew I would cry just typing this shit up). 

I said to dad, “it hasn’t hit me yet that we’re seeing Paul McCartney.” 

Dad: “Paul FUCKING McCartney.”

I was in a bit of shock when he first came out on stage. The same thing happened in 2005. It’s just the “holy shit, that’s Paul McCartney, that’s one of The Beatles; he’s about to sing and play music, live, right here, and I’m here, and he’s there, and I’m going to hear and see him sing and play music, but not just any music, music he wrote for The Beatles, music he wrote for Wings, music he wrote solo, music I’ve been listening to my entire life, music dad has been listening to almost his entire life, and we’re here together, to hear Paul McCartney – PAUL. MCCARTNEY. – sing and play, sing those songs he wrote, play that iconic Höfner bass, play that colorful upright piano, oh my God,” you know, that whole thing.

He wore a Husker red blazer at first. It reminded me so much of Tom Osborne. I wonder if he met Coach. I wonder if Coach is a fan. I know he hung out with Warren Buffett in Omaha the night before the concert. Just up town from where I was drinking. If only I knew. I mean, seriously, the two of them got ice cream and sat on a park bench. Ridiculousness. 

Anyway. Since I’m on the topic of the Huskers and all-around Nebraska awesomeness, during some of Sir Paul’s little talk-to-the-audience breaks, he said some things that I swear I’ll never unhear: “Go Big Red!” “There is no place like Nebraska!” “Go Huskers!”

Now, I know he tailors all talk-to-the-audience breaks appropriately, but in that moment, all he cared about was us. For a lifelong Husker fan as well, hearing one of my heroes say those things… Like I said, I’ll never unhear them. Dad and I looked at each other, and the shock and awe that were written all over his face, well, I think we both could have died happily right then.

It sounds utterly ridiculous and dramatic, I’m sure, but it was everything.

I can’t remember every song he played. I took about a thousand photos and as many videos as I could get away with: Let Me Roll It (which went into Foxy Lady by Hendrix), I’ve Just Seen A Face, And I Love Her, Something (played on ukulele as a tribute to George), Back in the USSR, LIVE AND LET DIE (caps added for the fucking unbelievable amount of pyrotechnics used), Hey Jude (oh my God, they did the bassline from the ‘Love’ version and it was positively glorious), he and the band came out with a US flag, UK flag, Nebraska flag, and a Blackshirts flag (Go Huskers!), Hi Hi Hi, Saw Her Standing There, Golden Slumbers medley (started on the piano and then came out for the three-leads bit). I got some audio, also: Blackbird, Here Today (as a tribute to John), All Together Now, Lovely Rita, Let It Be.

All Together Now was fantastic and hysterical. When it was over, he said, “That was one of my more sophisticated songs.”

After Blackbird, he asked how many people had tried to learn that on guitar. Most people cheered (myself and dad, included). And then: “No one did it right. Only I can.” The cheeky bastard.

He told some funny stories.

I guess Jimi Hendrix opened a show with some Sgt Peppers songs, but in using his whammy bar, he threw his guitar out of tune right away. He stopped and asked if Eric Clapton was in the audience to help tune his guitar. Eric WAS in the audience and said, ‘tune your own guitar, man!’

He talked to Warren Buffett about playing ukulele, because I guess Warren plays. He said he’s pretty good!

When he met with the Russian dignitaries back in the day, one of them told Paul, “First album I ever buy was Beatles album.” Then, “I learn English from Beatles album. Hello, goodbye.” Paul: “It’s true!”

He was a total hamball. Always goofing off and posing and definitely not acting his age. He never took a break, he never took a drink of water; he hit every single high note; he just never faltered. 

I think I sat down once – when everyone else sat – otherwise, I could not keep still. 

There were about 19,000 people in the arena, I think? People were so. well-behaved. I wouldn’t expect anything less from the people of the Midwest, but damn, no one was a drunken jackass, people stayed in their seats for the most part, we sang along, we brought out our lighters/cell phones for Let it Be, we really gave him our full attention. Then again, he commands it, doesn’t he? 

When he played a couple songs from his newest album, he said, “You know, I can tell when people like the song because I see the cell phones come up. [everyone laughed] We can tell, we can tell.” 

The crazy thing was when he played ‘New’ from his New album. I have a clear memory of walking Embankment in London last year, I was actually just outside Embankment station and making my way toward a tourist trap to see if I could find something for a friend. My iPod had died and for the sake of space, I had maybe four songs on my iPhone: New was one of them. It was the first time I’d heard it and it just fit my mood, the weather, where I was, everything, so well. 

And here I was, back home, hearing it live from the man himself. Funny how things work.

I’m just glad the people in front of me didn’t turn around too often. I didn’t wear mascara on my lower lashes because I knew I’d be sobbing most of the time. I probably looked a sight anyway.

Oh man, his encores, though. He came back for three encores. I can’t remember exactly what he played for each one, but at this point, it had been like two and a half hours. Most bands come back for one encore and do like, one hard song and one acoustic song because they’re tired AF. 

Not Paul. He played a few songs each time, and I’m not talking Blackbird (although he did play that as part of one encore, technically), this dude came back out and played high bpm songs like Saw Her Standing There, songs with a high degree of technical or vocal difficulty like Helter Skelter; I mean, the man did not phone it in. 

And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.

At The End, he said, “we’ll see you next time!”

I’m gonna hold you to that, Paul. 


21 Jan to 31 Jan

Now that I’ve got the exciting stuff out of the way, I can continue on these daily prompts. I have a feeling I won’t be caught up til summer, but I’m gonna give it a go.

January 21st – Sweet sixteen:
When you were 16, what did you think your life would look like? Does it look like that? Is it a good thing?
I honestly don’t remember what I thought my life would look like when I was sixteen. I could go back and read through my journals to see what I actually thought, but I don’t remember really thinking too far into the future at that age. I’m sure I didn’t picture myself traveling so much or being jobless. Not that I can really complain.

January 22nd – I got skills:
If you could choose to be a master of any skill in the world, which skill would you pick?
Oh my God. This is like asking favorites. There’s a shitload of shit I’d love to be a master of. A lot of the skills I wish I had mastered would be used as party tricks – have an amazing singing voice for karaoke, be able to play anything on piano to show off whenever there’s a piano around, be super flexible for dance or gymnastics for no reason. Any skill in the world… I’m really not sure. I’ve kind of always wanted to be an actor. Just because I love to tell stories and watch peoples’ reactions. Maybe a good one would be being able to make decisions when prompted.

January 23rd – Shipwrecked:
Read the story of Richard Parker and Tom Dudley. Is what Dudley did defensible? What would you have done?
Well, for the sake of summary. The story is that these four guys were forced to abandon ship mid-ocean and take off in this rickety lifeboat. After however many days with no food, they kind of discussed the fact that they’d probably have to kill one of the four in the boat so that they could survive. Parker, the 17 year old, apparently got sick and was likely going to die, as pointed out by another Dudley. The next day, Dudley and Stephens nodded to each other without consulting with Brooks, the other guy, and while Stephens held Parker down, Dudley killed him. They ate the kid and were later rescued. 
Is what Dudley did defensible? It’s obviously impossible to say what any of us would do in that situation unless we’ve been in the situation. The human instinct and drive to survive will likely overpower moral in a situation like that. The kid was already sick and likely about to die – once he died, his blood would not be healthy to eat (or so they believed). He was heading toward his natural death, and they sped up the process. They didn’t know when they would be rescued, if at all. There’s always that one person in the situation who is ‘strong’ enough to take the lead and make horrible decisions for the benefit of the others. Dudley did that. While he couldn’t save everyone, he did save three out of four. Still, it’s hard to justify such a thing – it was murder after all. There had to be another option.
What would I have done? I have absolutely no idea. I’d like to think I wouldn’t have killed anyone to save the rest of us, but like I said, how do any of us know for sure? 

January 24th – Ready, set, go:
Set a timer for ten minutes. Open a new post. Start the timer, and start writing. When the timer goes off, publish.
Well, since I’m combining prompts, I’ll just move on to the next prompt when the timer goes off. Readyyyyyy, go.
-> What to talk about. I guess the next exciting thing coming up is that I’m going to Nashville to see my friend Steph. We met at the University of Evansville our freshman year of college. Neither of us knew anyone and we were actually slotted to room with other people. My roommate called me the day we moved in and said she wouldn’t be there, and Steph was roomed with this super blonde gal. And when I say super blonde, I mean like, white blonde, if I remember correctly. Then again, who knows. Anyway, I was very happy being alone in my room for the most part, but then the university contacted me and said that unless I find a roommate, I’d have to pay double for the room. Which is total bullshit. Steph didn’t like her roommate, though, and she was just down the hall a couple doors, so she moved in with me just before semester. We had a hell of a time. We both hated the school and most of the people there. We spent a lot of time at the gym, or when she got her car, we spent a lot of time just anywhere but campus. She came up a few years ago for a Husker game, but we haven’t seen each other since.
Nashville is hosting a color run at the end of the month, so she invited me down for that. Then the whole arrest happened, and the prelim hearing is now slated for, I think, the day before the color run. Dad told me to just go ahead and go, but I wouldn’t do that. I know he’s just trying not to disrupt my life. I’m still going to go to Nashville, but I’ll just go after the hearing. I should be able to leave the same day, depending on what time it is, but I think I’ll miss the color run. I’m disappointed about that because I’ve never done one. I’m not in any shape for one, thanks to being lazy and then being made even more lazy by the accident (my God, my life is super exciting). Oh well, I guess. Perhaps there’s a reason I’m meant to go down to Nashville a few days later.
Once I come back from Nashville, I’ll have to do some laundry and then repack for a week-two weeks in Australia. My friends Jen and Janine, who I met in London last summer, live there and have invited me. I’ve always wanted to go to Australia. It just so happens, also, that there’s a Comicon there. So I’ll get to see Sydney, some heroes, some nerds, and some friends. At first, I was apprehensive about going. I’m still, regrettably and admittedly, iffy about international travel after the whole London thing. I wasted so much time and money and was so absolutely heartbroken and I don’t want to go through that again. I know the whys and hows of the denial into the UK, but now getting turned away at any border is a fear of mine. I’m sure I’d be fine going to Australia because it’d be the first time I was there, I’d have tickets to the con, I’d be staying with friends, and I’d obviously have my return ticket already and all of that. But this time, should I bring a copy of my bank statement? My lease? My car title? I mean, should I say I work for my dad so that it looks like I have a job to go back to? Should I say I’m in the process of buying a house? What should I do? Last time, I thought I was prepared and I told the truth and look where that got me. I hate that it changed me. I was so carefree before. 

January 25th – Dearly departed:
Write your own eulogy.
Funnily enough, I already have. Molded 100% off of Dean’s eulogy for Jonathan in Serendipity.
“Christina Friis, prominent media psychologist for the BBC, died last night from complications of losing her music. She was 26 years old. Soft-spoken, yet outspoken, Friis never looked the part of a hopeless romantic. But, in the final days of her life, she revealed an unknown side of her psyche. This hidden persona surfaced during the five-alarm pursuit of her extensive music catalogue, music she’d only collected her entire life. Sadly, the protracted search ended late Saturday night in complete and utter failure. Yet, even in certain defeat, the optimistic Friis secretly clung to the belief that life is not merely a series of meaningless accidents or coincidences. But rather, is a film reel of events the culminate in an exquisite, awesome plan. Asked about the loss of their finest colleague and friend, the BBC stable of actors described Friis as a changed woman in the last days of her life. ‘Things were clearer for her,’ they noted. Ultimately, Christina concluded that if we are to live life in harmony with the universe, we must all possess a powerful faith in lyricism and rhythm.”

January 26th – Musical:
What role does music play in your life?
I swear I didn’t read on before I did the last one, but it’s fitting, isn’t it? Music clearly plays a most important role in my life, since it could kill me if I were to lose it. It’s simple, really: I was brought up on music. It enhances my happiness and eases my sadness, it puts into words what I cannot and takes away my words when they’re not needed. I feel it everywhere – there are bits of music that make my chest flutter and ripple outward to my arms and legs. In short, nothing makes me feel the way music does.

January 27th – Sliced bread:
Most of us have heard the saying, ‘that’s the best thing since sliced bread!’ What do you think is actually the best thing since sliced bread?
I’d say social media. I know it’s not technically a ‘thing’, but it lets us talk to people we’d never normally get to talk to, it lets us express feelings we might never normally get to express, it lets us do all sorts of shit. Sure, there are drawbacks, but there are drawbacks to sliced bread, too. I mean, it probably expires more quickly than non-sliced bread.. or.. it can get squished easily.

January 28th – Ode to a playground:
A place from your past or childhood, one that you’re fond of, is destroyed. Write a memorial.
Oh, God, I could so easily do the house in which I grew up, but I really don’t feel like crying tonight. Um, I’ll just stick with playground since that’s the title. 
“The Ponca Elementary School playground. When I think back to elementary school, I think of recess. I think of running across the cement to the twisty, yellow slide. All of us. Climbing up the ladder to the top and designating one person to be the first one. Someone strong. That person would be the foundation for the rest of us. Once we were all piled up on the slide, the foundation would start to slip, and we’d all come crashing down to the gravel. Over and over again. Or a few of us girls would climb on top of the monkey bars to chat. Or we’d take turns running across the unstable, wooden bridge and jump off the other end. Or we’d go back to the cement that we ignored in the beginning and we’d kick soccer balls back and forth to each other. Whoever got a ball past the end of the cement would score a point. Whoever kicked a ball too forcefully and made it over the fence would have to run across the street and stop it from rolling away into oblivion. We never kept score. We never fought. We played. Always played. Now it’s gone. All of it is gone. It lies in ruin. It became unsafe. It became about worry, it became about fear. It wasn’t what it used to be. Our memories may have faded, much like the yellow of the slide, but they’ll always be in the recess of our minds.”

January 29th – Through the window:
Go to the nearest window. Look out for a full minute. Write about what you saw.
I’m going to treat this like my film class and just take quick notes while I stare into the darkness: Immediately in front of me are the bars on my balcony. The support beam blocks a bit of my view, but then again, it’s pitch black out. I can see light reflecting in the ice of the little pond just down the hill. Beyond that, I can see the source of the light – streetlamps outside the adjacent apartment building. I can see the lights on in the stairwells, but everyone seems to be asleep or at least has their bedroom lights off. One of the streetlamps just went out. There are cars in the parking lot – two white ones stick out among the dark ones. There are some lights behind the apartment building – they look like streetlamps, also. Again, it’s pitch black, so there’s really not a whole lot to be seen. I’m going to call that a minute.

January 30th – Burning down the house:
Your home is on fire. Grab five items (assume all people and animals are safe). What did you grab?
Can we also assume that I’ve got my phone on me already? Because I leave the house with it at all times anyway. Okay, yeah, let’s do that. I’d grab my external harddrive since that has all of my music and photos on there from both computers. I’d – oh my God. This is difficult as fuck. Um… This is the problem with worldly possessions. I mean, obviously, I wouldn’t grab my DVDs or whatever. I’d grab my laptop, I guess. That’s two things, right? I think most of my important shit is in a tub in my garage, which is nowhere near my ‘house’, so that shit should be fine. Maybe I should take my file drawer since that will have my tax returns and other documents. That’s three. Luckily, it’s fairly warm outside, so I wouldn’t need a coat. Can we also assume car keys are a given? Really, purse is a given. Still need two things. I guess, in a way, it’s good that it’s difficult to decide because out of all the crap I actual have, 99% could be replaced. OH, here’s four: my box of journals. Def can’t replace those. Also, it goes without saying that in the event of a fire, the adrenaline would make me strong enough to carry these things in one go. Still need number five. My degrees? Maybe. Oh, darn, I have two of them. Actually, fuck both of them: I’ll make number five my grandpa’s diploma

January 31st – Burnt:
Remember yesterday, when your home was on fire and you got to save five items? That means you left a lot of stuff behind. What are the things you wish you could have taken, but had to leave behind?
Well, honestly, the obvious answer is just about everything. It would save me money (although I do have insurance) and it would save me time trying to replace all of it. I have such a hodgepodge of different artifacts and I’d never remember everything. Makes me anxious to think about it. 


Hey! I’m done with January! I think when I started, I was 52 days behind. Now I’m 39 days behind. Not bad. February 1st already looks annoying. 

Star Trek: Into Darkness

So back when the Star Trek app was released, I downloaded it and was able to buy a ticket to the early sneak of the film (then two days before it would be released here in the US). Finally, the day had arrived.

I was already in a frenzy of anticipation because it’d been building for who knows how long. I didn’t grow up with Star Trek, always made sure to flip past it when I saw it on SciFi. I was more of a Star Wars fan. Then JJ Abrams made Star Trek a few years ago and after much pleading from my boyfriend at the time, I sat down to watch it.

It absolutely blew me away. The score by Michael Giacchino, the cinematography, the acting by Zachary Quinto, Chris Pine, Simon Pegg, etc; the action, the romance, the comedy, the drama, the excitement. I loved everything about it. (Well, besides, “Are you out of your Vulcan mind?” Damnit, Bones). I immediately bought it on Blu-Ray and downloaded the soundtrack. Just thinking about Enterprising Young Men gives me goosebumps.

Between that film and this one, I have become such a fan of Benedict Cumberbatch’s work, so when I heard that he was to play the baddie in the new Star Trek… And actually, ‘baddie’ doesn’t do him any justice at all. Benedict as an actor, nor his character in the film. No, he’s not just another Englishman made sinister due to his accent and angular face. He’s outrageously talented and provides such a likeable quality to this villain that you sit conflicted as to whether you should be rooting for Kirk and Spock or hoping John Harrison gets away at the last second.

I was already vibrating in my seat when the first few bars of Michael’s score started (mind you, this is during the introduction of the production companies). I won’t reveal anything because it would be ridiculous to do so after JJ and his cast did such a tremendous job of withholding some long-since-abandoned-in-this-industry secrecy throughout; but holy shit. What a fucking film.

I laughed a ton, I cried, I wanted to shout, I wanted to beg; I wanted to watch it again as soon as the credits rolled.

I walked out of the theatre finding myself unable to form real words, and yet wanting to call anyone who would listen to me and expell my feelings. It blew me away. It floored me. It left me emotionally compromised and stunned (thank you). It did not disappoint in the least; if anything, it took any expectations I had and made them look miniscule in comparison to the result.

I’m just blessed in that I have the capacity to be moved to tears by films and music. Even now, I can’t fully express my feelings toward this film. All I can do is shake my head in quiet appreciation.

Not many things leave me speechless. Well-played, JJ.

Did I mention it was in IMAX 3D? Jesus.


So a week ago, I ordered some lockets from a friend of mine at work – she is selling Living Lockets through Origami Owl (ie: best gifts ever). I started looking at one for myself and ended up buying about eight others for friends and family. They’re incredibly cool.

Living Locket

Music, film, travel, writing, coffee/tea, faith, and some accent stones.

This morning, I got to pick them up – I’m so excited to dole them out. I just thought that since I’ll be leaving for three months and I’ll be missing birthdays…

Then I get to work and the VP/my boss comes into my office all cheerfully and says, “Happy Employee Appreciation Day!” and hands me this envelope. I say thanks and he walks away. In the envelope is a little note about how even the small things we do get noticed and help us work as a cohesive unit, etc. It also includes a crisp $50 bill. I got up and followed him to the next office and said thank you through what were threatening to be tears, he gave me a hug.

My days are numbered here. They could have easily given me less or nothing and I never would have thought twice about it. They didn’t need to do that, at all.

As much as I look forward to having three months off work, and boy, do I ever, things keep happening here that make me realize how much I’ll miss this place while I’m gone. I’m getting these great business deals and meeting such wonderful people, having such a great time bullshitting with everyone and feeling amazing when I know I did a really good job on something; then getting little things like this that just aren’t little at all.

A month. That’s all I’ve got left.

Twenty-nine days until my last day of work: twenty-two days of work in that time.


One Does Not Simply…

Like Things Anymore.

I swear to God that it’s impossible for me to get into anything without a friend calling me “obsessed.”

Because I watch all five seasons of Flashpoint, I’m obsessed. Because I buy a couple books by Richard Hammond after watching Top Gear, I’m obsessed. Because I watch an episode of Sherlock that I’ve seen quite a few times, I need to “take a breather.”

Should I have stopped watching a show after really liking the first couple episodes? When you open a bag of chips, do you eat a couple crisps and then put the bag away so you don’t look hungry?

I don’t fuckin’ get it.

I shouldn’t get defensive or offended, but seriously, what the hell?

Why is it weird or wrong or obsessive to experience something, find that you really enjoy it, and then continue to experience it so that the enjoyment also continues?

How do you ever discover new things?

So glad early explorers weren’t concerned with being perceived as “obsessive” when they decided to further check out some land, even though the land on which they were standing was perfectly fine.

Why do producers even produce more than a few episodes of shows? I mean, obsessed much? Why do authors write more than one book with the same main character? Hello, get a life. And don’t even get me started on bands who write more than one album. What are you trying to do?!

Oh, the best one I’ve gotten so far is “London Looney” after posting a photo on Instagram.

Welp. I’ll see you guys when I come back from treatment of my London addiction. Luckily for me, the best treatment is exposure therapy.

One day, I’ll have the strength to overcome my passion for film, television, music, and other media, but until I die, happily consider me a weak sonovabitch.


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