I have brutal PMS today. I'm just sitting inside, blinds drawn, festering. But later I have to get ready to go see Henrik Schyffert. He's lucky he's one of the few men in the world I'd leave my flat for today. I am only taking 30 mg of my antidepressants instead of 60, and my head is doing an amazing character study of the waves in Pirates of the Caribbean. Which is an overstated and longwinded way of saying "uuurgh, so nausious."
So. Thanksgiving. The holiday when the approximately 6920552 Americans in my online communities compile approximately 6920552 lists of What I Am Most Thankful For, and all post them at the same time. Americans trying to be solemn and reflective when they feel that they should (Thanksgiving, whenever some 80-year-old celebrity they never cared about before passes away, etc) always makes me think about that scene in The Birdcage when Gene Hackman makes that long, boring speech about driving through the country and the changing colors of the trees and everyone tries to look respectfully interested because that's what you do in a situation like that.
But My Chemical Romance getting blogs is fabulous, if only because you realise you're seeing Gerard approach coffee the same way he must have done with alcohol during his vodka-and-xanax days. Wasn't there some celebrity some time ago who had to go to coffee-rehab for drinking, like, 16 espressos a day? (And wasn't that celebrity Robbie Williams?)
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