Why You Looking So Down?

The latest vid+cookie was so spoilery that I deemed it important to make sure you didn’t skim it accidentally. So if you are okay with that, click here.

The Mint Chicks! They headed overseas, and are now based in Portland, which is a Big Deal in NZ music. Like, I am pretty sure American musicians are all, “Oh, I’m number one in Finland? That’s cool, I guess.” But NZ musicians playing original material generally need international sales and tours to be financially solvent. I think the pressure is good for the music, but probably bad for the musicians.

Anyway, this is “Crazy? Yes! Dumb? No!”, which has the most punctuation of any song title I’ve ever heard. I am very sad I can’t show you the music video, because it is awesome – a sort of suburban Red Riding Hood runs through the dark streets with a big German Shepherd, looking for love! Love is a dude in a paddock singing this song. But you can at least hear the song itself.

This titles Chapter Seven, which is so full of spoilers that the cookie below is pretty much the only non-spoiler laden bit in the whole thing.


When I arrived at Classics for third period, having spent all twenty minutes of morning break* struggling with the computer lab printers, a note taped to the door informed us that Professor Gribaldi was on leave; we were to have a study period instead.

I’d passed most of my classmates in the corridor, but one of them — Hannah something — was scowling at the notice, her own essay crumpling slightly in her hand. “I was up until four on this,” she said. It wasn’t exactly to me, I thought, just a necessary burst of frustration into the corridor. The skin under her eyes was dark and tight.

“I turned down coffee with a hot guy,” I offered.

“Oh, that sucks! And after all her crap about dedication and sacrifice. I bet students in Virginia never take sick days.”

“Are you kidding? Students in Virginia attend classes when they have the plague.”

She grinned. “I heard that one senior in Virginia died in the first term, and his decomposing corpse still attended all the classes.”

“And got top grades,” I said, nodding.

“And got into Yale, Harvard, and NYU.”

“Unlike slack Mansfielders, who have no Advanced Placement and no Ivy Leagues to aim for and no work ethic whatsoever.”

She laughed and shook her essay. “Four a.m.! I’m going to hand this in at the office. Want me to take yours?”

* Robyn informed me that American teenagers didn’t usually get a morning break – just lunch. “But when did you EAT?” I asked, horrified. I was hungry throughout the entirety of high school. I cannot imagine going without my precious precious break, during which I routinely ate a giant afghan biscuit and drank a can of Coke.

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  • This American teenager just always had contraband food in her backback and ate during the passing periods between classes, or, rarely, in the few classes that had teachers who allowed us to snack in class.
    I didn’t get an ass like this by NOT eating 😛