"What is this, um chronological?"
"No fucking way."
(and then hipsters across the world were overwrought once again with Cusack-induced orgasms of jealousy)
- I am changing the face of bookshelves. So get on that. But then today I googled, which is an inevitability of modern times. So I am not the first person to color-code their shit. Lame. Even worse, my shelves are puny compared to the libraries pictured. And I've got a shit-ton of books. Pre-0rganizing, though, I pulled out about 30 for donation. Do I really need a copy of Kierkegaard's Fear and Trembling? No, no I don't. But I cannot let go of Stinker From Space because it defines me as a person in ways only an intergalactic space warrior trapped in the body of a skunk and befriended by a dorky little girl can.
Maybe I should keep some of those books so people think I'm smart. No, because what if someone comes around and sees I read Kierkegaard and postulates ethics and the rationality of faith, and then I'm all like, "remember that part in Wayne's World when they're speaking Cantonese and Wayne's all, 'Was it Kierkegaard or Dick van Patton who said if you label me, you negate me?' That was awesome."
Because if you want me to be honest here (that's what I'm about: fucking honesty) the only reason I read Kierkegaard at all was because Wayne name-dropped the bastard in the first place. I think it's the only reason I ever watched an episode of Eight is Enough, at that. I do lots of things because of Wayne's World.