My little sister gave me a bear

Apparently the best thing for writer’s block is a little brown plastic bear with big eyes. This is according to my baby sister, anyway. I asked her what I should write and she exclaimed “this!” as she thrust the toy in front of me. And I thought, why not? After all, most of her philosophies hold water.

For example, she theorises that since her job isn’t math, she won’t do math. Makes sense. She also seems to think sideways shuffling is a more effective mode of transportation than the traditional “evolved bipedal forward motion,” and currently is exhibiting the benefits of inverse standing over the more common “standing on your feet.”

I think society as a whole needs to adopt an attitude like this. Draw things that don’t exist. Sing as you skip down the street. Make up words (and dance routines). Make room in your life for a little reckless abandon. Maybe if we all lighten up a bit and stop taking things (like math) so seriously,  we can all be as happy as this little pixie.

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Baby Sister

Though she sometimes does such amazing things as donating over a foot of hair to charity, my baby sister (almost 10 years old!) still has enough of our family’s ridonkeykong genes to completely astound you with her wtf-ness.

Case in point: as I’m sitting here in my parents’ house, my sister waltzes in with a shirt full of Lego bits and proclaims “I’m Patrick Star!”

So I ask, naturally, whether she can use her belly button lint to build things. She replies “No, but I can turn my stomach into a bed!”

What?

Goals of an amateur songwriter

It’s a new goal of mine to write one of those songs where like, five months after it’s released, everybody goes “THAT’S what it’s about?!?” But not in a “Pumped-Up Kicks is about gang violence?!” way, more like a “Gwen Stefani wrote a song about getting her wisdom teeth out?!” way. Silliness, in other words. No idea what I’m going to write yet, though. Maybe a thoughtful ballad about going to the laundromat because I don’t want to give my landlord another $3 just to do a load of laundry. Or an up-tempo, feel-good groove about how my rats constantly fight over food and keep me awake at night.

You know, something random.