memo to blood: don't bother clotting, no one likes you anyway

in a triumph of journalistic aspiration over vegetable inertia, i applied for a fabulously rewarding internship at Reason magazine, rewarding being the key word to the tune of $5000. all these craigslist slave-labor "internships" can go fuck themselves with V-2 rockets, because [That Old Refrain Again] I Didn't Go To College For This. seriously, class credit for classless people is so old hat it's prehistoric. as in dinosaurs didn't wear hats. or if they did they were made of cloth, rotted with age & the bones left over show no marks of sartorial excellence. dinosaurs were probably quite well-dressed. goddamn comets set fashion back millions of years.

more importantly this internship would put me in DC for ten weeks, ie. Another City which is exactly what i need. it's not fresh country air, which is great--i'm allergic to nature--& i have people to stay with, thus avoiding the irritation of roommates/attempting to hold dual apartments/residential messes/tweaker zoos. remind me to never elaborate on any of this, ever.

aside from that unexpected glimmer of possibility there has been one [1] interview with a few Young Hip Creative Types at a bookstore in DUMBO, which marks my second failed interview with Young Hip Creative Types in that neighborhood. would actually be a nice place to work which makes my predictable failures even more irritating; the disinterested farewell of "we'll be in touch" without even a timeframe to give me an iota of false hope was a bit much, even if the guy was reasonably attractive & didn't seem to be a tool despite the YHCT designation. drowned my sorrows in overpriced earl grey gelato & a few hours of reading-without-buying in a local used bookstore, ended by my irritating tendency to nod off while standing up & almost fall down, several times. tilting over like a chopped down tree in a mysteriously vacant rainforest. common sense finally poked through & i sat down to keep reading, only occasionally twitching myself awake to the alarm / amusement of whoever happened to be innocently browsing. like oh no sir i swat the air with my arm for no apparent reason all the time. yeah i can control my braincells. just watch--*smack* oh i'm so sorry sir i didn't mean to bitchslap your son

browsing as implied innocence : people are always "just" looking, even when they haven't been accused of anything at all. can i help you is only suggestive of criminal wrongdoing when it comes from the mouth of a menacing security guard who's caught you with your proverbial pants down climbing over a fence, dangling from a drainpipe, etc. not an underpaid retail clerk who somehow manages to delude herself into smily optimism every morning over a croissant eaten in surreptitious pieces out of a bag on the train. remember, when there are surveillance cameras everywhere "JUST LOOKING" can be interpreted as a manifestation of subconscious guilt, & your exit from the store where you were doing so will be marked by a special patrol of flying pigs assigned to find the source of this guilt & beat it out of you. or just beat it out of you, because this guilt is baseless & imaginary. childhood leftovers. if they can't find a crime you'll be assigned one from the lost & found. don't try to protest you're only making it harder for yourself.

paranoid fantasies aside. if they can ever truly be placed aside. i want this goddamn internship & i want to have my ticket out of the city for ten weeks. especially if Rasp can't fly over from London & the much-longed-for Ryder Pales east coast tour dissolves before even being constructed. otherwise i mean spending fall here, doing nothing, i can see where this is going & it's going to be messy