Happy finals, have an *NSYNC Christmas album.
it doesn’t matter what class I’m ostensibly writing for, it’s always a good bet I’m actually trying to deal with my poorly-buried Calvinist roots.
One of these days — and that day is closer than you might think — everyone and everything that you’ve ever called “my spirit animal” is going to show up at your doorstep and make you go on a vision quest, and it’s going to be awful. It will last for months. You’ll be alone in the wilderness, covered in dirt, and you’ll be cold, and you’ll be hungry. You will hallucinate. Not fun Burning Man hallucinations either. Messed-up primal hallucinations, like the kind Buffy had when she dreamed about the First Slayer.
“Sorry,” the GIF of a Rupaul’s Drag Race contestant and 1960s-era Joan Didion will say in pitiless chorus as you stretch out your arms and beg for water. “You invoked us as your spirit animals. Fasting and sensory deprivation prepare the mind for enlightenment. This is how it works.”
Benedict Cumberbatch reads the lyrics to R Kelly’s “Genius.”
mastered the art of emailing professors in 20 words or less