It should be noted here that my little sister is alive, and pretty much back to normal operation.
Despite having her brain explode one year ago today, Amanda is walking and talking and breathing and laughing. She can even touch each finger to her nose.
Her AVM has long ago been zapped by the doctors, who, as we all may recall, made her wear a funny hat. The troublesome veins near her brain stem are slowly vaporizing over the next three years, as I understand it. She will finish school in the spring, alongside many other six-year students who, arguably, did not have their brains explode. She is living comfortably in Ashland with the 'rents and will likely never leave because her sister bought her and AMAZING dartboard for Christmas that was later exchanged for a MORE FUNCTIONAL dartboard.
To this day, Amanda Johnson does not comprehend her full value. Sources say people in heaven are working on that.
The only side effect from her surgery is a tendency to vote Republican in a highly-contested presidential primary election. Sources say people on the ground are devoted to solving that problem, too.
If you see this woman on the street, tell her she is a walking miracle.
she said: i love him!
she said: i just saw his face!
she also said: i feel like a rock concert!
My only complaint about the shindig? I wish he would have been less specific.
Although many argue that Obama is vague and general (some would say 'glittering') I was most impressed when he STOPPED talking about his policy proposals (snoozefest!) and started talking about hope and why we should have it and why he's running for president now instead of later when he's old and broken and when he talked about the power of mobilizing the american people -- and grassroots!
Granted, we're not abolishing slavery or fighting to allow women to vote or pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps out of a decades-old depression -- but we're in a pretty terrible war and some people have started saying we're in a recession for sure, so.
that our generation has felt helpless from the beginning ... and that's the problem ... war, global warming, genocide, it's all around us and people would rather just surf the net to see what they're friends are doing. we have to convince people that they have the power to make a difference.
...
dude just about to get laid: Do you remember when you stopped being afraid of the dark?former lesbian chick?: nodude: I was 7. I was still afraid, but I decided I wasn't going to let it control me anymore.chick: I'm still afraid of the dark.
Reason (or part!) No. 21 to never watch quarterlife.
Ugh. I just wasted a huge part of my life.
Funny though, I was watching this show and thinking "try all you want, 'Eric' or 'Jed,' but you're never going to be Jordan Catalano." A little research reveals that the people who made My So-Called Life are also responsible for this cringe-worthy mess. In fact, Brian Krakow wrote episodes 4 and 5. Ha! If this is what it's like to be 25, I don't want any part of it. I mean, it just seems, like, you have to agree to have a certain personality or something. For no reason. Just to make things easier for everyone. But when you think about it, I mean, how do you know it's even you?
Redeeming line from quarterlife:
chick: I'm a writer.
other chick: You're not a writer. You're an associate editor.
There is one more way that Arrested Development ties into life in America today.
Is anybody else secretly afraid that the whole nation will chant "Yes We Can" all the way to the White House, and then we won't be sure what to do when we get there? think of how awkward it will be when we realize we've been standing there chanting for hours and nothing has been accomplished yet, and everyone is unsure of their next move.
"yes we can!" "yes we can!"
"wait. what can we do?"
"to the white house!"
"well we've done that."
"now what?"
"I dunno."
etc.
It's like that time that the Bluth family chanted "speech!" "speech!" "speech!" for no one in particular, and then the enthusiasm just sort of faded out awkwardly into the dining room.
I'm sure Barack Obama has this exact fear when he wakes up in the morning. That is, of course, assuming he's human.
Michael: I think the president of a "Don’t Buy" company can afford to take a day off.
George Micheal: We're up from "Sell?" It's happening, isn't it?
Michael: It's really happening.
Why can't I do anything but quote Arrested Development in every post? I has become part of me.
******* spoiler alert! *********
I don't know much about numbers, but if a stock barely rivals the lowest possible bid on the Price is Right -- that's not good thing, right?
I need a new financial planner.
In other news, this is the best day of my life.
I am $30-some dollars richer, by way of MARION COTILLARD, who no one believed in but me, and TILDA SWINTON, who is a bit of a looney tune.
I also AM GOING TO SEE BARACK OBAMA on WEDNESDAY. We have like 40 reporters going. We'll draw straws for the actual writing of the article. I CALL OPINION! Ooooooooooooo, burn!
Sorry for the scattered shouting. I'm just so excited. The floor is 3/4 of the way installed, I have a date with Barack tomorrow, lunch money in my pocket today, and then there is THIS! (someone is pasting Baby's First Recall Petition in the scrapbook this morning!) ... life. is. well, you get the idea. I'll contact you later.
So, once, Joe gave me this stuffed dinosaur as a prize because it was first time i had written a column without mentioning my age. (Shut up - I'm self-conscious!) (and 25!)
Then a few months later, Maybel came with me into the office on a Sunday and chewed the eyes off said dinosaur.
For a while, I had the mangled dinosaur sitting on top of a pile of papers on my desk. It attracted a lot of passers-by. Then one day a loosed dollar bill was sitting near it. Noticing that, I mixed up my words during a conversation and started calling it a "Dollarsaur."
(Stay with me. It gets better!)
Then I shoved a $1 bill into the Dollarsaur's empty eye socket, and I put a sign on him that read, "Acknowledging the DOLLARSAUR will cost you $1."
People complied. For a few hours, I said it was for charity and then I told Garth that it was a fundraiser for Barack Obama. Even the deaf guy put in some coin.
Yesterday there was enough money in the dinosaur that its head would no longer stand upright. I'm guessing maybe $5 and some change.
I was starting to wonder what I was going to do with all the stolen money. I knew things had gone awry when I became upset because Bret Liebendorfer acknowledged the DOLLARSAUR and refused to pay. But it looks like someone has caught on, because there is only about 35 cents and a paper clip in there right now, and I think someone even took the mint out of one of the eyesockets.
Still, for a few hours, I experienced the same high that I felt as a fake sorority present.
Scamming people is FUN.
or 'how i learned to hate the american people'
you can probably hear my heart breaking from Pittsburgh.
here's the thing: i don't want to be the one to ruin this for readers, but last night I learned that Obama might just be a political candidate running for office. he's not bono. or even jesus christ! and his followers can turn out to be just as uninspiring.
i went to an organizational meeting for barack obama's 18th OH congressional district campaign last night in my hometown of Mount Vernon.
i almost turned around and went home when i pulled up to the Dem headquarters. i think this is because i go to meetings for a living, and i couldn't imagine myself as a participant. it seemed unnatural. i'm not the type to give up a warm, snuggly evening of American Idol to attend a political function. but i thought it would be a good chance to meet like-minded folks in my new neighborhood, and my husband (a McCain supporter) seemed oddly proud of me, so i went for it.
there were many motivational aspects, including the fact that the room comprised (and i think this is from one of his speeches) black and white, old and young, dems and republicans, past and future. and the elated faces of the organizers (and the condition of the headquarters!) suggests that Knox County Democrats haven't seen this much love since -- at least the late 70s but maybe never.
Everything was going well -- we went around the room to tell our strange hero-worship stories detailing why we "heart" Barack, we signed up to canvass and phone bank, and then one of the bad cappuccino glasses started discussing what Chris Matthews said on MSNBC. Here is my conclusion:
Barack Obama = inspiring
Barack Obama supporters = less inspiring
Listening to strangers talk about foreign and national politics = the worst thing you can imagine, maybe
We were talking about the most successful way to canvass, and there was a Moment of Saved Grace when a 22-year-old fella and his wife -- (both iraq war vets with their 5-month baby in tow) stopped the heated conversation about whether Barack's foreign policy strategy had been rightly criticized by some senator in Texas or something to say something along the lines of :
"guys - the problem is not the people who know things and want to disagree with you. The problem is all the people who don't know anything about the race."
Apparently this fella had been talking Obamatics with those who work alongside him in the factory, and he stirred up some serious issues of racism in his workplace. Of course, everyone immediately turned to the two black females in the room, (who actually were aware of racial tensions in the county long before this meeting) But then the black woman led the room full of white people through a moment of healing, strangely, and explained how best to deal with those sorts of comments. God Bless those two women, seriously.
Actually, separating that story out for a minute makes me love America even more.
Oh, no.
It's back again.
What is this feeling?
It's not envy, or even hungry. It's like my heart is getting hard.
Special My Heart's Not In It Anymore edition:
steter: Are you covering the big law suit?
l-jo: huh?
steter: yeah, some developer sued the entire village of Big Walbury. there was a big article in the Dispatch about it today.
l-jo: hm.
steter:
steter: I was expecting a more dramatic response than that.
l-jo: oh, sorry. were you lying?
steter: yes.
l-jo: well i guess that settles that, then.
BONUS he said/she said:
Special "$10 to anyone who can guess what he's referring to!" edition:
steter: it's like making toast with a screwdriver -- everyone just ends up confused. i mean, why would you do that? and then we all feel like we have to clap because you're gay and you're 12.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ky4rfA_tebY&rel=1]
let me get this out there so that if it happens, people will be able to discuss the difference between irony and coincidence at my funeral.
so my worst nightmare might be navigating a right-hand curve in the dark on a rainy/icy road. my wheels loose traction and i drift left of center into the path of an oncoming semi/farm truck/snow plow.
i've told a couple people this, and they usually say something along the lines of, "oh, yeah, I know (insert name of person(s) who have died that way)."
crap.
If you've ever fishtailed, you've experienced that drop in the tummy when the tons of metal encasing you no longer responds as you would like it to. Except that these days, I feel this 'drop' every single second that I'm white-knuckled behind the wheel. I don't think I've driven more than 40 mph in weeks.
and even though we're approaching the 8-year mark since my real car accident, the sensations are surprisingly fresh, (more fishtail!) mostly because of the deers and the ditches this year -- and the ice keeps coming! Every morning! I spilled out onto a (thankfully) deserted Johnstown Road just 13 hours ago! How many 'freebies' is a girl allowed to have?
ok. ok. ok.
so here I am, driving 35 mph on the highway, a mile of traffic behind me, singing that Carrie Underwood song to myself, or simply saying 'jesus, jesus, jesus," in pure, gripping fear -- prayer's truest form.
because there's nothing you can do.
either a deer will run in front of your car or it won't. either you will skid into a Big Rig or you won't. on ice and in life, we are completely helpless! might as well not spend the last fleeting moments on earth treating my commute-related ulcers, right? Right?!
ugh.
at least my fear of clowns is mostly avoidable most days. although if they start giving commercial driver's licenses to CLOWNS .... or if they start letting them working for ODOT >!... (shudder)
ugh!
in lieu of flowers, please make your donations to MORPC. we really need a light commuter rail up in this bizznazz.
As captured by the pencil blog, we see Jen Noblit's impression of Seth Teter's impression of print journalists:
As the legend goes, in the year 2006, a group of journalists were gathered at a quaint home in Clintonville chatting fondly of work, life and love when Teth Seter, a non-journalist, proceeded to take a long drag off an imaginary cigarette, barking "F#*%!ing ...City Council..." Stunned, the group decided that he looked absolutely nothing like us.
We're a notoriously underpaid and endearing bunch, aren't we?
Now, we're being asked to do more. Newspapers, I've been told, have been plagued with staff cutbacks. The Dispatch once could pay people to sit in a room all day to comb through documents, or so a similar legend goes, but nowadays, we're expected to be accurate by instinct, not by, say, taking the time to double-check the facts.
Inspiring facts from E&P:
Media employment in December fell to a 15-year low at 886,900, "slammed by the slumping newspaper industry," AdAge.com reports. "Since media employment peaked in dot-com-infused 2000, media companies have eliminated one in six jobs (167,600)."
"The big problem is newspapers," which account for half (82,800) of media jobs lost since 2000. One in four newspaper jobs have disappeared since newspaper employment peaked in 1990.
So two items have emerged this week that have made me smile:
Do I have act like an asshole to convince my newsroom that a human interest story about first-time marathoners is at least as important as the f*@%ing beagle story that is a week old!!!
and
Angry Journalist #294:
I should have gone to refrigeration school.
Hilarious.
The second is from the Farrago, who shares an article outlining indicators that you work at a lousy job. This one doesn't actually apply to me, but it's a fun game for everyone else out there with lousy jobs:
Here are six true-life signs that you shouldn't stick around at your new job.
1. You ask your new boss for supplies and she hands you a No. 2 pencil and legal pad -- and nothing else. Not every company has the budget to give you an expense account, a BlackBerry and a cutting-edge laptop, but you should be equipped with the tools necessary to perform your job. A company experiencing financial troubles might be so stingy with supplies that you spend more time worrying about the company books than working.
2. You were shown to a cubicle your first day of work, given a company manual and haven't spoken to anyone since. Any good employer trains new hires during their first few days on the job. Although you might have years of experience, each company has its own procedures and expectations that you won't magically know without some instruction. From the first day, your new employer should make it clear that you have a network of support ready to help you and answer any questions.
3. You get the same reaction every time you tell someone about your new job and employer: Raised eyebrows and "Really? ... Good luck with that." You know better than to believe gossip, but sometimes a company's reputation speaks too loudly to ignore. If friends, colleagues and people in the industry consistently give negative feedback about the company, there's probably a legitimate reason. At the start of your job search, research which companies have the best reputations and which have the worst.
4. After two weeks on the job, you are already halfway to becoming the employee with the most seniority. One of the reasons the country's top companies have employees who have been around for years is that people will stay where they're appreciated and treated well, and they'll leave when they're not. "I joined a firm in St. Louis and learned that the company had seven other employees come and go in the past year," says Sarah, a public relations executive. "What's worse is that it was only a five-person operation. That should have been the first sign that the company was not a great place to work."
5. You answer the phone while the company's secretary is away from her desk and find that the voice at the other end is a collection agency calling for the third time that week. While this sounds unbelievable, this actually happened to one worker, who said other employees at the company were eventually instructed to not answer the phones. "It became a joke with all of us," she says. "We used to run out and cash our checks as soon as we got paid and were always afraid that they were going to bounce!" If you see any signs that your company is in real financial or legal trouble, don't wait for layoffs; get your résumé back out on the market.
6. You notice that every day for the last week, at least one person has run crying from your boss's office. Not every boss is the kind of person you want to be best friends with, but you should show each other respect. If you can't have a conversation with your boss without being yelled at, don't feel obligated to stick around. A good company uses open communication, not fear and intimidation, to get results.
It may take a few days, weeks or even months to realize the new job isn't right for you. The key is to recognize the signs and leave when you can. If you have a bad gut feeling the first morning you report for work, listen to it. Better to move on than to find yourself still waiting for conditions to improve five years from now.
Seven days ago yesterday I brought Maybel into the office on a Sunday to catch up on some work.
On the way back to Bangs, we grabbed some dinner at (gulp) the McDonald's drive-through because I was starving and tired and lazy.
Knowing it would be impossible to peacefully eat my greasy sandwich with The Pig in the car, I ordered her a six-piece of chicken nuggets to keep her occupied while I finished my meal.
Upon check-out, the cashier asked me what type of sauce I would like for my chicken nuggets.
For some reason, it seemed mortifying to me at the time to admit that I was ordering food for my dog. I thought about directing the question toward the back seat, but declined. If I ordered a sauce, I reasoned, the lady would be more likely to believe that the nuggets were for me, so I asked for some barbeque and Maybel and I went on our way.
Six days later, and the barbeque sauce sits in the front passenger seat unopened.
Seven days later and I get out of the passenger seat to find the forgotten sauce had squirted open all over the front seat and all over my pants.
Nothing on the seating area, strangely, but down the back of my leg. It is about 8:30 a.m. and I have sopped most of it up.
Curse you, pride!
I threw $25 in the toilet. I mean, I donated some money to Barack Obama's campaign. And I think I signed up to volunteer for something in Knox County. It should not be too big of a commitment, however, as I am one of nine Democrats in the county.
Anyway, I've never even really thought of doing something like this before, let alone found the motivation to go through with it. Have you? What is happening to this great cynical, apathetic country? Have online donations made it too easy for us? We punch in our VISA card numbers before we think it through?
I'm still the stereotypical young person seen above, motivated by Obama into thinking that government can make the world a better place, if its constituents are united under one banner of hope or something. We can stop genocide. We can mandate health care for everyone under the age of 18. We can boost the nation's education spending, offering higher pay for teachers across the board. Seriously, I'm buying into all of it. 100 percent. Or 79 percent, according to Glassbooth.
Also, I have a huge crush on Barack Obama. My romantic feelings toward him are squelching all sensors in me that are supposed to detect valid criticisms.
Like this video, which I normally would label something along the lines of "creepy." But now, I'm willing to hum along with it. But that could be related to my huge crush on Scarlett Johansson.
I am going to be so crushed when he does not win the nomination. But then again, J-Do said it would happen, so I can still Believe.
Seth says I'm not allowed to give him $25 more dollars, although I think that qualifies as limiting my free speech, which is frowned upon in marriage.
I'm sorry for it. but that doesn't mean it's going to stop.
HEY! click on this and then check out my story. do not be lurred away by Sherrod's Browns, pagans or dangling mice.
FYI - web traffic spikes = huge pay raises for me and all my friends.
Two hours waiting in a ditch plus three hours staring at a blue screen of death on my computer interrupted only by three meetings i really didn't need to be at in the first place.
From the scene of a car accidnet(s).
About an hour ago, seth and I took an exciting and crunchy slide into a ditch. I am typing this with a broken arm. Kidding.
I only wish that the tow truck companies were as quick to respond as some 13,000 Knox County residents, four ambulences and the sheriff who have come to check on us.
Now we see two ambulence drivers slidding down the hill. They are assisting the black car about 800 yards behind us ... Well in front of us ? Who are in a similar predicament.
This is exciting, but also really boring. Stay tuned to your browsers.
Well, today hasn't quite turned out to be as dreadful as it could have been.
Neither Mitt Romney nor Hillary Clinton emerged as the front-runner last night. And it seems that Meredith Somers has volunteered to cover the regular meeting of the Northwest Civic Association.
The only failure falls in the category of marriage. I asked Seth moments ago what our Wednesday night plans were, and he told me to make sure I bring my W-2s home. Poop. (Does that count as a swear?) Looks like Demetri Martin and his adorable little pie charts will have to wait another year. Or I could murder Katie Dodson's roommate in the next three hours.
I wouldn't put it past me.
This is sort of sad.
I hope that it is still Dennis who comes here everyday to view my "please help me. i hate ben marrison" post.
A Google search for Marrison brings more traffic for theteet than 'Megan Pringle hot' these days.
Update: Sadly, when you google 'lyndsey teter,' you will find no blog by ben marrison discussing his hatred for me. sigh.
So, I said "goddamnit," "bullshit," and regular "shit" in front of my grandmother on Sunday.
Here's the problem: I have acquired Giant Toilet Mouth.
As with most degenerating things in my life, I blame it all on work, were several human beings regularly string together profanities with grace and eloquence. You haven't lived until you've heard Tim yell at a reporter who isn't in the office at the time, or until Garth gets off the phone with Rosemary, who for whatever reason hasn't turned in any stories again this week. These are good times. (The situation is further complicated when one of our frequent Boy Scout tours are simultaneously shuffled through the office.)
So this year for Lent, I will be giving up swear words. (Thanks to Katie Dodson for the inspiration.)
This is going to be really hard, because cussing has become necessary and, at times, very funny. Generally, when people meet me, they don't expect vile words to come out of my mouth. The contrast between my young, innocent appearance and the poisonous venom that spews forth is hilarious. But I don't think anyone else is laughing.
I may try a more general attempt at Taming my Tongue, but beginning tomorrow, the swear words are out. And so are their fill-ins. 'Eff' and 'effing' will probably be harder to give up than if I'd decided I wouldn't drive a car for 40 days.
Giving up Jesus last year for Lent did not work out as well as I'd planned, so we'll try this one.
Shit. Hell. Piss. Damn. Bullpiss. Goddamit. Mothereffer.
Ok. I'm cool.
Bring it on!
Name: Seth
Alias: Teth Seter or Steter.
In Brief: The Steter in his natural habitat. Married to theteet.blogspot.com since August 2004. Often the victim of serious hyperbole. Handy.
Hates: Noise, Dominion Homes, above-the-nipple touching, when people get 'handsy.'
Loves: pies (of any kind), dirt, smoking a pipe after eating pie. also, cows.
Name: Maybel
Alias: The Pig or Boobles.
In Brief: Kentucky-born English Bulldog since February 2006.
Hates: Watermelon. All other kinds of melon. The sound of a new trash bag being opened and sitting in the back seat.
Loves: Treats, walks, Charlie, 'humping it out' and barfing.
Name: Amanda
Alias: The Sister.
In Brief: theteet's younger (but larger) sister. Survived a brain bleed in February 2007.
Hates: minor inconveniences that make her blurt out uncontrollably, brain bleeds.
Loves: UFC, cornhole, texting, fast food and her dog Charlie.
Name: mom and dad.
Alias: the 'rents.
In Brief: Ashland natives and frequent visitors. They taught me how to swear.
Hates: hospitals.
Loves: squirrels and lattes.
Name: Mae
Alias: Klingler or Maddog.
In Brief: Cincinnati resident and former college/Old Towne East roommate. Once wrote a song that made theteet cry.
Hates: Hate.
Loves: Jesus, family, puns, guitars and gardening.
Name: Colleen
Alias: Crankin and Rankin.
In Brief: Akron resident and former college roomie. Arguably more handy than Seth. Nice bosom for hugging.
Hates: all drivers.
Loves: beer, coffee, cigarettes and boys we all find strange.
Name: Talya
Alias: Strader and Sweet T.
In Brief: Chicago resident and former college roomie. served brief stint at theteet's 'accountability partner.' collects monthly fee for keeping quiet.
Hates: people who do not comment on her blog.
Loves: social justice, eggs, her boyfriend monsterbeard and the occupation of barista.
Name: Chris
Alias: Christopher, Monsterbeard and Nadine.
In Brief: Chicago resident and college buddy. Maker of 'We once waited up in the dark with a gun,' and other misadventures.
Hates: people who are looking the other way.
Loves: history, film, his girlfriend Strader and acronyms.
Name: pdawg.
Alias: none needed.
In Brief: Former co-worker who is willing to eat waffles with theteet at 4 in the morning regardless of level of snow emergency.
Hates: anyone under the age of 35.
Loves: Hostess pies, old man rants and golf.
Name: Linsly.
Alias: MERLIN, lin or newbie.
In Brief: Former co-worker who lived with us for a week. I can tell this kid anything. He's like a brother.
Hates: sexual predators.
Loves: zombies, guns, porch chats and movie quotes.
Name: jaydubs.
Alias: jwray and 10bagspacking.
In Brief: Co-worker who taught me everything I know about the world.
Hates: mean jokes, mushrooms, clipping fingernails in the office.
Loves: crafts, her gay-together but also betrothed person Kyle, Columbus Bride Magazine, veggie-friendliness and basil.
Name: jessica.
Alias: jessm.
In Brief: College buddy with the amazing handshake. I believe she might be back from Alaska and living in Hudson now.
Hates: poverty.
Loves: Jesus, jazz, geography and hilarious t-shirts.
Name: brittiny.
Alias: Brit-Brat, experimental dater or The Dunlap.
In Brief: Former co-worker (notice a theme here?) who started with me at SNP on the same day. Former Sorority president taught me the ropes of being a lady. her wisdom did not take.
Hates: visible pany line.
Loves: cocktails, shoes, 'the blue box' and her boyfriend the Lizard.
Name: garth and jen.
Alias: not safe around house plants and the real spider-man and/or HSnothingswronghere.
In Brief: Co-worker couple who proved themselves fun at work and on the farm. Periodically forced to kiss in gas station parking lots.
Hates: local broadcast news reporters.
Loves: zombies, movie quotes, Indianapolis and lin rice.
Name: Angie.
Alias: captain cool.
In Brief: Former co-worker who stole my heart. She is the only thing I've ever lost to the Youngstown Vindicator.
Hates: joe and misogynists.
Loves: celebrity gossip, hilarious captions, biking/hiking, her boyfriend Jef, her mom and Columbus.
Name: Melville.
Alias: welcome to earf or bad town.
In Brief: Former co-worker who let me inherit his seat at SNP. For a while, he was the only one who would talk Reynoldsburg politics with me.
Hates: fleas, eminent domain and people who flip the bird.
Loves: his evil cat, running, opinions, beer and Tom Waits.
Name: The Gerish.
Alias: The Gerish.
In Brief: Co-worker and rare, elusive creature. If you're lucky, you'll see a tousle of black hair breeze by over the cubicle wall.
Hates: Things that aren't crackers.
Loves: crackers.
Name: Dennis.
Alias: secret reading.
In Brief: Co-worker and rare, elusive creature. If you're lucky, he'll walk over and talk to you. But he probably won't. Once took my sister-in-law to Homecoming.
Hates: The damn kids who walk in his yard.
Loves: Corgis, Cedar Point and Rachael. But not the one you're thinking of.
Funny though, I was watching this show and thinking "try all you want, 'Eric' or 'Jed,' but you're never going to be Jordan Catalano." A little research reveals that the people who made My So-Called Life are also responsible for this cringe-worthy mess. In fact, Brian Krakow wrote episodes 4 and 5. Ha! If this is what it's like to be 25, I don't want any part of it. I mean, it just seems, like, you have to agree to have a certain personality or something. For no reason. Just to make things easier for everyone. But when you think about it, I mean, how do you know it's even you?
Redeeming line from quarterlife:
chick: I'm a writer.
other chick: You're not a writer. You're an associate editor.
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