People have been up in arms over AU sophomore, Alex Knepper's column in The Eagle "Dealing with AU's anti-sex brigade."

Some wonder how The Eagle could possibly publish such an inflammatory piece, from discussions at Jezebel to The Sexist at WCP.

In an editor's note the editor explained, "By publishing this piece, we were not trying to display our tacit support of Knepper’s views. However, as journalists, we are not in the business of censorship. As an editor, I would not feel right to fire or censor a writer who has offended people, because I believe that he has raised questions that warrant discussion."

"we want you back, you are on my shortlist of people that i'd like to come back to this country." 03.29.09

I've been busy, caught up.  I haven't seen you in awhile, in years actually.  I'm going to fix that one of these days.  Catch up over beers and your manner of making ordinary days into these stories.

Miss ya kid.

via Fuckyeahmashups by Immuzikation - All My Children (MGMT vs LCD Soundsystem)

I've handed out my fair share of unfiltered 2 a.m. intoxicated declarations.  What is it about those after hours moments, that we get this need to say precisely what's on our mind, even if in the morning after, we end up running back on everything we wrote or said, and apologizing profusely.

But for what?  In our moments of candor, we say these things we mean, but would never otherwise vocalize because we live behind these stuffy filters, for fear of rejection, for fear of a reaction, for fear of making the other person uneasy, or maybe they'll think we're completely weird.

Someone once told me, when you say something, and you mean it, don't take it back just because you're utterly mortified hours later.


My filter's never been too good, and I kind of like it that way.



Anyway, these are some I've received recently, that kind of stuck.  We don't say shit like this on the daily.  On this point, I know people say, oh, well they were drunk, but you see, it's in those moments, in that insistence to say, whatever they wanted to say, that makes it real.  Even if, only for that moment.


08.22.2009 – 4:41 a.m.

"fyi you are epic."

12.22.2009 – 1:25 a.m.

"i think i miss you."

03.20.2010 – 2:14 a.m.

"i need you to know how very platonically I love you. I love you like I love italy. And that's not to be taken lightly."

The length of the pacific is wider than we'd ever thought.


In the end, it's deeply ironic, how we define, a better life.


It's never going to be enough, is it.

I went to visit you today.  I don't know you.  And all this was just for a story.  But you spoke with me.  For hours.  In that waiting room.  You were incredibly charming, and incredibly young.  And I wish we'd met under different circumstances.  You made everything sound okay, as if living these years behind stone walls wasn't so bad.  You're probably stronger than most of us will ever be.

Everything that happened today feels like a dream.  As if you're not locked up, beyond the curve of the mountain, in that town up north.

"What an idea. A crazy, mad, wonderful idea."

-Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland

8-year-old: where do u always go in the summer? i ask your mom about you. she said paris....

It's funny how things sound coming from a kid.  She said it so wistfully. 

I went back to my old high school today.  Dropped by to pick up my cousin, he's a sophomore now.  And I took the wrong turn out through the neighborhood we shortcut through.  Has it really been that long?

In those days, we were just trying to get the fuck out of this town, and we succeeded, and now I'm back here, driving down the streets I've known for far too long.


But this time, this time I'm going to stick around for awhile. Make something of myself 'round here.

I kind of miss the good old days of John Cusack standing outside Ione Skye's window blasting Peter Gabriel's, In Your Eyes, from his boombox–you know the scene. It was so romantic–can you imagine the giant batteries it took to run?

We used to have a boombox, growing up–it was so ghetto, there was a dead roach stuck in between the radio needles. We used to live in an apartment, in a less comfortable part of town.

Another reason why J. J. Abrams and Matt Reeves rock–or rather, Felicity's music director. The end of the final scene of the pilot, they play Peter Gabriel, as she's walking down the streets of New York City, having made the decision to stay.

Anyway, back in those days, a guy wasn't going to bother stalking you, unless he had a real thing for you, because hey, it took effort. These days with modern technology, and all these various mediums, all he has to do is click a few buttons. Over the course of the past few weeks I've noticed an unnamed sort of stranger follow me around the internet world–from one blog to Gchat to Linkedin to Twitter. I guess I should be expecting a Facebook friend request soon.



But who am I to talk. I stalk doods around the internet all the time. Though, I usually just stick with one or two mediums, at least, until we become real friends.

"You made me fall in love with you!"
"You know what, you're acting crazy! How could you think that you're in love with me, you don't even know me!"