But I thought she said maple leaves

I know there aren't many other people out there who dread fall like I do so it's extra-nice to know that Jens is on my side:

This time of year is the saddest time of year. It is the end of the summer, the time when your boyfriend or girlfriend is moving to Berlin or New York or London and says "I just don't want the responsibility that comes with a relationship, I really need to be free right now".

And you hate the future, you want to throw rocks and empty beercans at it. You hate the changes it brings. You're late for uni, your first class of the semester, and you wish you hadn't cut your own hair two days before you started. And you think of the days getting darker and on your way home you kick the gold out of the leaves on the ground. You ride the buses and trams and trains in circles. You put chewing gums on elevator buttons.

At night you can't sleep so you go out and it's a starlit night so you sit and watch the constellations up there, and then a meteor divides the sky in two and you think of one thing to wish for but there are so many things.

I am reading your emails and I may not have time to reply to all of them, but I just wan't you to know that I've been there too. I'm there with you right now.

Maybe I just need a nice sweater.

I've got love for you if you were watching TV in the 90s

Anyone else want to feel like they're nine years old again?



I mean.... shit.  There is so much nostalgia packed into those three minutes and forty one seconds that I had to re-assess my surroundings after I watched it because I thought I might actually be sitting on my purple beanbag in my old living room on a Saturday morning.  I would kill to be wearing Melissa Joan Hart's polka-dot headband and eating Cookie Crisp right now.

Also: how is it that I always forget to bring the trash outside on trash day but I can still sing the entire Animaniacs theme song?  I weep for my generation.

BALLLLLLLLLLLLLLIN!!!

OK: let's acknowledge the fact that I've been so lazy about this blog that I've let a good two months breeze by without a peep about my (not at all exciting) life - to the extent that I even forgot my blogiversary AGAIN.  I don't even have cupcakes laying around that I can pretend I baked in celebration (but daaaamn I wish I did.)  Well, OK, here's a photo of some cupcakes I baked four months ago because I was being a fatty and really wanted peanut butter cake with chocolate icing:

Yay fatty blog!  But what is there to say about six years anyway?  I mean, I was a pretty rad six-year-old (braid-ponytails-on-the-side and sparkly sweaters, whatwhat!), but in the grand scheme of life it's like, meh... six.  Maybe I'm just feeling cynical.  And still lazy.

(Oh, an aside about the word "lazy": I'm determined to reclaim it as a cool thing.  Remember when phones weren't smartphones and were just "cell phones?"  I know, those were crazy times, right?  And some people still have them!  Anyway: one of the best precursors to auto-correct was the T9 word function, where you would just furiously type away on the number pad and the phone would "know" which letters you meant to type.  My old phone was the best at this because every time I tried to type the word "lazy" it would default to "jazz" - resulting in sentences like "I'm too jazz to get off the couch" and "stop being such a jazz ass."  So much cooler, right?  So don't be lazy, be JAZZ.)

But let's get back to my life.  Yesterday was a crazy day: I had to work at 7am, there was a minor earthquake that got all of NYC's panties in a twist, AND - thanks to Kottke - I discovered this amazing website.   It's a collection of stories by Questlove, sorted by name, in which he recalls encounters with different celebrities, as requested by other readers.  What makes them so amazing is not just the way they are written (which is as if he typed directly from a dictation of himself), but the kind of crazy celebrity shenanigans he gets into.  And I'm not talking like, action movie buddy cop craziness, but over-the-top displays of money that must just seem totally normal once you hit a certain level on the star meter.  The story about Will Smith's leather-floored mansion tops everything, but rollerskating Prince (part of the Eddie Murphy story) is a close runner up.  I mean.... GOD. DAMN.

Questlove: please come to a Moth StorySlam.  It would be the best six minutes of everyone's life.

PS: As a bonus, I discovered this site linked to the Questlove one: The 90s Rap Name Generator!  Mine's "Big M Da' Slim Pimp" - but you probably already knew that.