My home sweet home.

Fireworks are my favorite kind of propaganda. Chocolate comes in a close second, but I don't know of any nation that actually uses it.

Make it happen, Barack.


This evening I drank a beer and ate a hot dog on a roof top deck. It smelled like barbecue and sounded like woots. My roommate's boyfriend's mom proposed to me.

July 4, 2008 rivals July 4, 2003 when the fireworks caught Marc's couch and hair on fire. Thanks, United States of America. You are my favorite country of all the countries I've lived in. Ever.