—I agree with Chris that, if it is a joke, the joke’s on them, because this is exactly their reputation. No one will know they’re only kidding, if they are, which they totally aren’t.
–Since the weepies continue, today I cried over this article about Bram Stoker and Walt Whitman that Bridgett sent me. It’s very sweet. Though it must suck to have someone go “I totally didn’t get your poems until I read the unedited versions. So, why can’t I just edit your poems so that decent people won’t be scandalized by them?” to you, no matter how well-meaning.
This is U2’s version of a Doors’ song. I do think “Jacob wrestled the angel and the angel was overcome” is my favorite U2 lyric, though. But seriously, when Bono starts talking, you could totally just substitute the whole talking part of “The End.” Outside it’s America. Outside it’s America. And he walked on down the hall!!!
In slightly related news, having already typed “youtube” I am having great trouble typing U2.
Lord almighty, some months you’re just like “Oh, hey, uterus. Nice to hear from you. Hope you’re doing well.” And other months you’re like “Oh, boo hoo hoo, that’s the saddest song I’ve ever heard, that’s the cutest puppy–cry, cry, cry–I’ve ever seen (even though it looks weirdly like my old neighbor, which even the Butcher agreed with me about),” “waaaaaa, that is the sweetest Christmas story I have ever heard!” “Oh, look, the Butcher got milk. Sob, sob, sob.”
Which reminds me, my dad told me that he thinks his grandmother, his Grandma Phillips, was a professional mourner. She went to people’s funerals and got paid to be sad they were dead.
I have to tell you that I find this to be–true or not–something that makes me feel weirdly close to Ina Mae. After all, what is a ghost story but a chance to mourn?
And also, holy shit, if this weepiness is inheritable, I bet she was, 1/4 of the time, pretty amazing at it. A natural talent.
I’m just saying, people, I could cry over the death of Montgomery Bell at this point. That’s how ridiculous it is.