blame it on Twilight.

this story got sent to me earlier. it's breaking news. it's actually the most e-mailed on boston.com right now. are you ready?


WAIT. before I link to anything, I'm just going to show you the lede real quick:

A school administrator wants to set the record straight: There are no vampires at Boston Latin.

yup! that's right! vampires.

ok, quick. all of those jokes you're composing in your head? get them out of your system. in fact, if you scroll to the bottom you will see someone - a lot of someones - have already gotten there.


now, we must point fingers. who is to blame for this?

it's not the economy this time. or media seizing on non-news stories and blowing them out of proportion to fill the gap caused by slashed budgets and/or journalistic laziness. no, we won't even go so far as to blame this on, say, teenage girls acting like the cruel, shallow, hateful sacks of hormones that they are.







nope! it's that damn Robert Pattinson's fault! with those bright eyes and those cheekbones and that smile and that...tousled...hair...

and...


...what was I saying?

right. to sum: kids are cruel, adults are gullible and panicky, local journalism is using its last dying breaths to choke out a load of swill, and teenage boys are way hot.


goodnight!

and the follow-up!

superb journalism there, Globe writers.

Steps for Preventing Shaken Baby Syndrome:

1. DON'T SHAKE YOUR FUCKING BABY.

shaken, not stirred.

this story is pretty fucked. according to the Boston Globe, the number of "shaken baby syndrome" cases has increased over the past few months. the culprit? wait for it...

...you got it, it's the economy!

okay. seriously? what exactly are these parents doing? holding the kid up and going 'DAMMIT, YOU LITTLE BASTARD! WHY CAN'T YOU BE A SACK OF TWENTIES??!!'


yes. OKAY. we get it. we're in a recession. but how much ridiculous, unacceptable human behavior is going to be blamed on this fact in the meantime?

BREAKING NEWS! earlier this morning, a garage full of human skulls was been found at the home of this local business owner! upon investigation, our news team discovered that this man had, in fact, been luring employees to his home with the promise of liquor, barbeque, and charades! instead, he had set up a makeshift gas chamber in his two-car garage, and was stashing their bodies in a crawlspace! it is understood that it was his intent to build a new workforce out of their skeletons! a statement from the man's lawyer quotes him as saying "my new staff could work for free! I just can't afford to pay my employees anymore! WE'RE IN A RECESSION!!!"

wisdom from kiddos, vol. 1

a couple months ago, I began volunteering at the Boston chapter of 826 National, a non-profit writing center for kids that runs various activities and workshops, including an after-school tutoring program, which is the one I'm involved with.

after about two sessions, one afternoon I found myself paired with a 5th grade girl, who was working on a short story about a family dog - based on her chihuahua at home - who gets kidnapped by a miserly old neighbor.

we were brainstorming reasons why the neighbor might commit such a heinous crime. her first idea was that the dog “did her buisiness” on the neighbor’s lawn, but I suggested, as foul as this was, it wasn’t quite reason enough for a treacherous dog-napping. as she scratched her head with her pencil and stared at her story outline, she asked me what I did for a job. I told her I work at a cafe, making coffee and sandwiches and such.

“Oh! So you must be really good at making sandwiches!” she said with a big smile.

I mentally indexed my professional resume - publicist, event coordinator, editor, student facilitator, assistant manager - and smiled back at her. “Yeah, you’re right, I guess I am really good at making sandwiches.”

we went back to our brainstorming session, and to help get some ideas flowing, I asked her to tell me what the story was like so far. she began giving me the rundown, and then her eyes lit up.

“It’s like making a sandwich!” she said. “First, you have the bread, and that’s the family and their dog. And then you have…” she looked to me for guidance.

“Lettuce and tomato,” I said, matter-of-factly.

“Right, the lettuce and tomato, which is the dog getting lost! And then you have the MEAT, and that’s what we’re working on right now! And then the mustard, or ketchup, and then the top of the bread, which is the end. And then…”

I grinned at her. “You’re right. Writing a story is just like making a sandwich!”

she got excited then, and started going off on a tangent about her dog, and her best friend, and her mom goes to school, and her little cousin and...

“Ohhkaayy,” I interrupted her, grabbed a pencil from the table, and pulled her homework binder closer to the both of us. “How about for now, let’s work on the meat.”

I swear, these smart, creative little bastards are going to save me from the wretched monotony that my life has become.

observation.

I decided the other night that there’s little I loathe more in this world than yogurt commercials. you know, the one where it’s a bunch of women on their cordless phones with one another, in various business-casual ensembles - or post-workout clothing, a much worse offense - talking about how NAUGHTY they were last night, the simply DECADENT treats they oh-so-sinfully snacked on…then cut to the Yoplait display! LOLZ! it’s fucking YOGURT YOU FOOLS! I CAN EAT AS MUCH OF THIS SHIT AS I WANT AND ALL IT’S GOING TO DO IS MAKE ME POOP!

actually, I learned back in AP English that the word “decadent” actually means “in a state of decay.” how that translates to dessert I’ll never know...

sympathy for emma, 3.8

who will take seriously the series of words you string up; inspired by the most wistful of chords and quiet of walls, egged on by the gnawing inside this carefully constructed fence of ribs and deliberate standoffishness? little by little, construct and destroy until there's nothing but a pile of splinters and your hands soaked in blood unfamiliar but all that runs through the streets of your veins.

can you backspace, delete the ellipsis that always followed his name? can you move to fill the stagnant air hanging at the end of your love; pause so pregnant its water burst forth and flooded the empty cavern between your arms?

alas, the most beautiful and delicate must wither and perish; all that is certain is bound only by its uncertainty. and this, your greatest tragedy, pulses within the marrow of us all. it is on the lips of every poet and carries on the tune of the sweet strumming that led you to pick up this pen in the first place, tonight.

today...

attempting to be productive. also, wrestling with this sudden sense of impending doom. although this could be attributed mainly to the entire pot of coffee I drank this morning and the soul-wrenching anxiety that always accompanies too much caffeine...