Player One: Staff Member #716

I don’t often read anything written after 1959. It always seems like I’ll have time for it later. I’ve got too much else to read; I’ve got to catch up. This said, I just devoured Garrison Keillor’s latest work entitled Love Me.
With this novel, Keillor maintains his position as one of the greatest humorists of our time. Note to would-be hacks: humor is dynamic. Laughter is the step to melancholy’s melody, a dance of time, life, and wisdom.

DAY FIVE - 10:20AM

The first book in this series for children is about a monkey named Curious George; a peaceful creature living out its life in the African jungle, swinging on vines, eating bananas, and loving life.
I doubt the monkey actually gave himself a name. In fact, I think this is just another case of Western anthropomorphism, which allows lazy WHITE people to pigeonhole things they don't understand. But I digress.

Helen Justice,

It was during the witching hour one summer in the late Eighties, when my cousin was overcome by the brilliant idea to break-and-enter into his own house by means of a butter knife. Why was he locked out? His parents called it "tough love".
"Do you believe this shit?" he asked me with a grin as the door yawned open.

In my seemingly endless struggle to get by, I found myself wandering the overcrowded aisles of a Giant Eagle that one of my white friends so ignorantly deemed “ghetto”. For him, “ghetto” means “there’s a lot of fuckin’ black people here.” It’s that subtle sort of racism that keeps America looking as if it actually is a melting pot. Which it is not.

No one is ever around when I get home from work. So, rather than sit in an empty house, I walk. It has become a ritual for me. Nothing follows me when I walk. It is all left behind. I pass houses of families; the smell of their dinners creep out the screen doors-- almost tauntingly-- as if to rub in the fact that the only highlight of my evening meal will be swirling the yellow mustard with my blue ketchup, as I wait for hot dogs to thaw in the microwave.
I hear young voices as I approach a small playground.

Q: How many emo kids does it take to change a light bulb?
A: Emo kids don't change shit.
Right off the bat, Wayne said this was crap but that I might like it. Initially, I kind of did. But then I was distractedly listening to it, and at one moment I thought to myself, "Why am I listening to bad Neutral Milk Hotel?" Then, maybe a song later, I thought, "Oh man. Another band trying to sound like Sunny Day Real Estate."