I was raised by both public and commercial radio. I was obsessed with the song “Kokomo”–I’d request the DJs play it all the time and would always try to be the fifteenth, or whatever, caller in a contest. I only really remember winning a pumpkin patch ride…Maybe, like, I might have won a tub of sherbert once?

But it’s not like my parents were in radio. It was just the only liberal outlet they could find in a small town in Ohio. We were just far enough from Columbus for it to feel like a red state. They had to do something to get Schooner Fare in their child’s life.

I went to school for documentary—well, I minored in film studies. But I liked documentary and I loved the stories people told, whether they thought they were telling you a story or not. I’m not necessarily an outgoing person, unless I’m drunk. Now, yes, I talk to strangers for a living, and I’m comfortable with that. But before, I’d talk to strangers when I was nervous, or drunk at a bar most of the time. (Real responsible, I know.) Also sober—let me defend myself—also sober, if I was like, alone, and like, at a diner or a bus stop, but it was easier when I was drunk. I guess it was like, I loved how much more interesting they were than me. Or, at least how I saw myself. Every stranger I talked to was so much more interesting than me.

I didn’t have a rough childhood. I had a normal upbringing, I love my family. And it’s not a bad thing, my parents were nothing but supportive—almost to a fault. But it’s weird in a way, they raised me to be so responsible that I—I feel I maybe gave up what I liked, or at least put it on the backburner, to take a desk job with security. Because I also happen to understand how a spreadsheet works and I don’t question authority enough to be a liability in a corporation, blah blah blah.

Sometimes I bore myself. Sometimes I also justify everything. But if we’re talking about why I’m here? It’s because my story isn’t interesting—self-judgment, I know—my story is fine. But I have the outlet to tell my story. Other people don’t. And their story is the one that drives me. And that’s why I left my desk job.

–Nora, segment producer for NPR

Library sciences welcomed the Internet into our halls and a whole new world wide web granted our children more knowledge. And pornography, but those sites are blocked.

Today, I’m here to discuss the recent episode of the popular HBO and book series, “Game of Thrones.”

Now I’m not going to spoil anything for you, as I know it takes a long time to READ “A Storm of Swords,” a BOOK that is 1,216 pages and was published THIRTEEN years ago. But judging by the Facebooks, and the public outcry to the “Rains of Castamere” episode—whose chapter in the BOOK—is titled “The Red Wedding”—judging by this reaction, it is apparent that none of you read it.

And you all lost your shit. Reading could have prevented this.

An article online states, “As the Smithsonian explains, drawing on the academic work of Howard Sklar, “the emotional bonds we forge with fictional characters can be just as strong as the connection we feel with some people in the real world. So when bad things happen, the emotional responses we have can be powerful.”

No shit.

I am not denying that. But last Sunday, I wanted to hit America on the collective nose with a newspaper. My heart was broken over all those broken hearts. I’m not scolding you. I’m here for you. I am the card catalog conduit. Place your head on my metaphorical literary bosom. I shall nurse you as Rose of Sharon nursed a near-starving man after giving birth to a stillborn child. Spoiler Alert – Grapes of Wrath, written in 1939.

I mean, c’mon people. The book came out in the year 2000. If you don’t read, you miss a lot of stuff. We have a black president and Twitter. A lot happens.

One YouTube commenter said,  ’Now you know why your nerdy friends were really depressed 13 years ago.” Touche internet, touché.

But the internet exploded last Sunday with woe. To quote the Twitter:

Terron @TeeVanity 6 Jun – Finally watched Game Of Thrones last episode What the fuck in all fuckuality I am beyond upset and sad! Fuming!!!

MARKO, Y0L0! @SwackerJackD 4 Jun – The red wedding scene from Game Of Thrones was seriously fucked up! shown my mom and she was like “WTF did you just show me that??!” Lol

House Party Protocol @spicedrum 3 Jun  @maggiesox OMG HBO HOW DARE YOU! I AM GOING TO CANCEL MY SUBSCRIPTION AND BOYCOTT YOU!!!!!!

kyndra michelle @kyndramichelle 2 Jun – HOLY SHIT GAME OF THRONES HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT

Spoiler alert, did you know that four characters’ lives were spared in the book and not in your precious television episode?

Spoiler alert, I’m pissed. So here are some spoilers of things you should already know if you picked up a book once in your life. Did you know checking out book from the library is free?

• Charlotte’s Web – Charlotte dies. Sorry to break it to you.
• Old Yeller dies.
• Beezus’s hair grows out and looks normal again.
• Anna Karenina commits suicide and Tyler Durden is also the Narrator in Fight Club.
• Encyclopedia Brown solves the case.
• The Runaway Bunny comes back.
• The Great Gatsby – Gatsby dies. Sorry, movie fans.
• Troubled by “The Red Wedding” episode? Don’t read Hamlet.
• The very hungry caterpillar turned into a butterfly.
• To the Lighthouse – Surprise, they go to the lighthouse.
• The Pearl by Steinbeck – It’s essentially just The Lord of the Rings
• Harry Potter – Dumbledore Dies – I want to apologize to all the fourth graders in the room who are still on the 5^th book.
• Thelma and Louise drive off a cliff – Some of you didn’t even know that was a book.
• Jesus comes back to life.
• The monster at the end of the book is just Grover.

BUT YOU WOULDN’T KNOW THAT, WOULD YOU?

But everybody knows that Bruce Willis was dead the whole time.

Do you know what the second R stands for in the author George R.R. Martin’s name?

George R. “Read a Damn Book” Martin.

Happy reading, America.

My computer – It has items from past and present. It is a time capsule, distraction, as well as a creative tool. Paper and pencil can capture my words, but not the countless harmonies I’ve written.

My bike – My bike gets me where I need to go. It keeps this body that hates exercise more in shape than I would be without pedaling it to my destination. The idea of living in a city where I can’t escape on two wheels is unnerving and I use my commute as meditation on knowing I’m not weak, it’s just a head wind.

The director was Justin. Justin was creative, but not driven, a lanky butterface with an explosive head of curly hair, that now, the summer after our first year of college, was shaved into a poofy mohawk.

My scene partner was Jef. Jef with one F. I mean, I have a fucked up name, but c’mon. He was a year older than us. I originally had crush on him in high school until I realized I hated him if I hung out with him for too long. He’s okay, he’s my friend, but he’s that certain kind of smart that gets under your skin. Oh, you’re learning Japanese now? Yeah, what can you do with an English degree these days, really? He’d poeticize smoking and drinking coffee in diners…Yeah, we’ve heard of Tom Waits. He made every experience into a war story.

Justin lived at home while attending school and he brought Jef and I down to the film set—his basement. The walls were lined in long rolls of tinfoil, the bed was wedged into the corner, and the black comforter was decorated in white paint splatters like a Jackson Pollack painting.

Justin helped us suit up. Our robot heads were metal cylinders with gender-appropriate expressions painted on them. The top of mine was covered with a half a basketball, spray-painted in silver. Jef’s was topped with a clamp light and resembled the Tin Man.

Our chests were then covered with silver cardboard decorated with dials and knobs. Jef’s torso had a broad chest, and mine was the more traditional boxed shape. Our arms were sheathed in white air duct tubing, the joints attached with duct tape.

The script was simple. Boy robot. Girl robot. Robot sex. Film school!

We could barely see or hear out of the metal domes on our head. Each breath was drawn from the eye-holes and all conversation became muffled. We stumbled to our marks as Justin prepped the Bolex.

“Okay, we’ll start with doggy style.”

Fine.

The mask heated up and I was physically uncomfortable. If this wasn’t done soon I was going to get claustrophobia of the face.

“Thea, get on your back. Jef, get between her.”

It was as close as robots could get to missionary.

Jef put his hands on my thighs and Justin started filming. The Bolex steadily clicked as Jef attempted to thrust his pelvis. We were limited in motion to due to our care-packaged limbs. Then I noticed Jef’s hand was moving up my thighs a little closer to coochtown than I would like. Really?

ARE YOU TRYING FLIRT? Turn me on? What we are doing is in no way arousing, SIR. We are duct-taped past the point of mobility, just because your dongle is close to my nanner, I don’t want to bone. WE ARE WEARING CARDBOARD ROBOT COSTUMES. No one was going to molest me while wearing a refrigerator box.

“Jef’s getting a boner!” I yelled in self-defense.

I let my mind shut down and embraced the dizziness due to the lack of oxygen.

“It’s almost over,” I thought. “Almost over. I’m an actress and a good friend.”

TinyHorses.tumblr.com: Because the world needed to understand the importance of horses that are tiny.

For Girls:
Edith
LOLita
Tsunami
Lena
Catnyss
Tertiary
Booella
Cuticle
Sideeye
Heaetheryne
Fergonce
Jill
Stressanie
Cytherea
Wiig

For Boys:
Sturgeon
Quaef
Kilgore
Cohagen
Zuck
Garrison
CK
Holden
Jill
Hermannn
Django
Stark
Thom
Loder
Derp

HAHAHAHA ok i applied.