What happened? Burn out? Burn all out, did ya?
- Wil Calhoun, "The One with Phoebe's Ex-Partner"

"Burn, Baby Burn! Daredevil Inferno!"
It used to be that being a Daredevil English Major meant staying up late to start a paper twelve hours before it's due. This morning it being a Daredevil English Major meant waking up early to start a paper six hours before it's due and taking an hour to study for a poli sci test you'll blow through in thirty minutes so you can come back and finish that paper in time to cajole your crotchedy old computer -- which is still running Windows 95 and can't connect to the internet for reasons only God and Brent Jones might understand -- to save said paper to a disk in its worn out A: drive and rushing off to a computer lab where you got to trick one of the computers there into thinking that your disk ain't busted...

No. No. Let me start over:

"Burn, Baby Burn! Daredevil Inferno!"
Last night, I was too upset by the mind-boggling events of Average Joe Hawaii to write my English paper. First off, Hotty McHothot picks pretty boy blondie instead of the guy with a heart, which was disappointing enough as it was. Then, on their wet and wild Mexican vacation, Hotty McHothot tells Blondie O'Bastard she used to date Fabio, and he can't handle it!

What the fuck is wrong with America?

Of course, I wouldn't have subjected myself to the vagaries of fate and unscripted television if Everwood had been on and I hadn't been visiting with Jeffries. We never see that crazy shit at The Barrio. I really should stop leaving...

No. That's all wrong. Let's try it one more time:

"Burn, Baby Burn! Daredevil Inferno!"
I spent most of my morning writing about shit. There's this scene in Colm Toibin's The Heather Blazing in which our protagonist, an emotionally crippled elderly Irish judge bathes his stroke-stricken wife after she soils herself. I wrote four pages analyzing this scene's perfect encaptulation of the novel's theme. I entitled the paper "Drama and Derring-doo-doo: An Examination of Excrement and Emotional Complexity in The Heather Blazing," and upon seeing the title, my professor read it out loud for the whole class to hear. That coupled with an odd grammar-related outburst has me fairly convinced the class thinks I'm nuts and the professor still hates me.

Oh, and I wrote the worst column ever. And I'm doomed.

I'm pretty burned and hollowed out right now. I got nothing left. I'm just waiting for Gilmore Girls to carry me away from all this. That Sam Phillips vocalizing gets me everytime.

Love those la-la-la's...