I recently rediscovered the joy of watching Rush Hour 1 & 2. Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker are an unbeatable team--if you haven't seen it, which apparently a lot of people haven't--then you need to watch it right now. The whole reason I even revisited these movies is because I discovered my friend and former professor Jack Pendarvis had never seen them. He's seen both Under Siege movies, but not Rush Hour, can you believe it? (Do not worry, he watched them and loved them!)

Unfortunately, the movies are not available on any streaming service at this moment in time, which is the equivalent of it "not existing" since no one is willing to purchase DVDs anymore. I actually didn't realize that was "a thing" until someone made a casual joke about it once and then I had to pretend I was in on the joke, when really I had no idea buying physical copies of movies was passé. Viewing technicalities aside, you will not regret the time you invest in this film franchise. I hope you're not reading the tone of this blog post with any hint of irony. If you doubt the historic relevancy of these films, I'd like to remind you that Jackie Chan just got an honorary Oscar.



The weekend arrived and brought with it blessed junk food.

In Athens, Ohio, my vigilantes and I met at our secret and public meeting spot, Whit's Frozen Custard. We discussed politics, the female body, race in America. I got a hot dog. So did Jess. Christine got a banana split, because she's a classy broad who likes classic things. Susanna got six scoops of custard. So did Greg, except the cashier didn't warn him it might be too much custard because, well, gender. 

After our custard meeting, we then ordered pizza. Vaguely, niggling at the back of my cerebellum, I recognize that the pizza and custard I put into my body will probably have repercussions. But not now, and even then, I will have to do a cost-benefit analysis of taste to health when the moment of truth arrives.

I am wearing black tennis shoes. This is because my friend told me Gigi Hadid wears black Nikes and that she bought some as a result, and after that I could no longer exist without owning black Nikes just like Gigi. That may sound ridiculous, but I am also the target demographic for most E! network shows, so when you begin to contextualize my life in that way, it makes perfect sense that I would make decisions on whim based on a celebrity's instagram presence. 




In honor of my first blog post on my new website, please enjoy this picture which I feel encapsulates much about my life. This is a neon beer sign, of the kind you often see glowing in gas station windows, hanging in my father's shower on top of a Claude Monet "Water Lillies" poster still wrapped with plastic against brown cardboard to keep it stiff. If you can imagine, it emits a low buzzing sound that seems even louder in the confined shower space, a sound that, in my mind, increases its possible danger even though I realize its possible danger level (very high) remains the same regardless of the amount of noise it makes.

While this is dangerous, it is also the most dangerous my life as a writer and quasi-academic will probably ever get. So share this moment of danger with me.