Leave my love of Jersey Shore alone

You know you love it.  We all know the cast of Jersey Shore is moronic, likely 'roided out, and devoid of employable skills, yet we keep watching.  Personally, I think we should be grateful.  We live in a society that has climbed so high up Maslow's hierarchy that we can afford to put a bumpit-rockin' troll behind the wheel of an Escalade.  Is there any better commentary on discretionary income  and time than that?  Everyone with a cable box helped support this, and let me tell you, the truly down and out do not have cable.  By international standards, "poor people" don't have TVs or electricity for that matter.  Until we go back to be a society dependent on rabbit ears for our entertainment, the end is not near.  So fist pump/bump with your bro/significant other, and raise your big gulp to Jersey Shore.  As uplifting as "Yes, we can" was, I think "Because we can" is much more American.

Triumph of a Generation (You're welcome, Noel)

    You all know me.  You know what happened.  For those of you who may have missed some of the salient details, here it is in a nutshell.  Let me start at the beginning:  I killed a bunny.  At the tender age of 4, I was playing with a baby bunny, attempted to show it something a little too forcefully and broke its neck.  I believe much of the following to be a direct result of this action.  I was born and spent my childhood in Alaska.  Following some employment issues (the issue mainly being the absence thereof), my family moved to Michigan.  I cried a lot and pondered escape via 3-wheeler and was ultimately flown out of Kenai (and robbed of my dignity) in a dance costume.  You can’t make this stuff up, folks.  Just you wait; it gets better.  Subsequently, my moving van burned down somewhere in the Dakotas.  As a forewarning of the bipolar luck which was to haunt my coming years, my family received a great deal of insurance money and I got all new stuff.  I went to high school.  I was good at it.  My dad crashed his plane.  He was good at it; everyone lived.  I became a National Merit Scholar and was whored out the University of Florida.  I cried a lot and pondered escape via Buick Century to the University of Michigan.  Escape failure number 2.  I moved to Florida.  I met some amazing people.  If I could create a National Merit Burning Man, I would.  I would also allow selective additional admissions (which makes it sound less like Burning Man than the end of “I am Legend”).  I awoke one morning and decided to never return to said university.  I met and moved in with a boy.  I went to massage school.  I smelled of patchouli and ate tempeh.  We moved to Tallahassee.  The boy did many many drugs and I waited on many many tables and wished I did drugs.  I moved back to Michigan and in with a good friend from high school who was is and always will be one of my favorite people.  Now I live alone over a general store, work a series of nonsensical jobs, and have no idea what to do next.  I read a lot.  I don’t sleep much.  I continue to live my life guided by a vacuum of common sense and a mutual magnetism to the ludicrous.