Still sick today. Entertaining myself with leftovers. My latest discovery: before frying French Toast, grease the pan with crisped-up bacon fat. OM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM HEART ATTACK DELICIOUS.

I'm not really loving Movable Type very much these days.

Watched the movie version of Rent a few nights ago. Not good.

But what's funny is that the entire show -- which I haven't even thought about in at least 10 years -- provokes a totally different response from me now than it did in high school. Back then, I thought it was about brave freedom-loving artists, speaking truth to power and defending the integrity of their expression against ruthless commercial greed.

Now I think it's about a bunch of careless, self-absorbed douchebags whose only accomplishment is making everyone around them miserable.

Still, it was nice to see Mohandra from Wonderfalls.

According to Internets, all of my traffic comes from search engines. Which means, because none of my content is of any possible use to anyone, that my sole contribution to the Internet is disappointment.

Via This Isn't Happiness, via Drawn and Quarterly.

This is an entry from my Lunch Lines project, which coincidentally is also part of my Frigid Bitch project.

It was the last Thursday in June, and they were at last riding the train home from school and into another great big ripening summer.

When someone kind of important at work friendsters you on LinkedIn, and you're like, "OMG, you know who I am? Or did you just send invites to EVERYONE from work? Can I say hi to you in the hall now?"