Open Love Letter to NPR

I believe in you, National Public Radio; when you say an album is great (The Decemberists The King is Dead, the Unthanks' Here's the Tender Comin') I purchase. I read your booklists, I devour your news and musings on culture. I savor the 52 minutes of Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me that makes Monday mornings in the cubicle worth living. I grew up to Terry Gross's voice on WHYY Philadelphia and my life's ambition is to have Carl Kassel's voice on my answering device. I love Ira Glass and the Moth and all your affiliate stations. Without you, NPR, I would be lost.

Love forever,

Magdelena

I do not have the skinny ankles that seem to provide zeitgeist. Nor do I have trendy glasses or arm tattoos. I hate these things while secretly adoring them.

I *secretly* adore that particular genre of popular fiction that evokes a certain youthful listlessness and always makes you feel on the inside like it's raining outside (recently, The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake, Olive Kitteridge & the Lonely Pilgrim.

Incapable of Consistent Blogging

I just can't. I'm a terrible blogger and because I'm not connected enough to technology to muse to my blog, I will never...I repeat never be cool. I pretended in college and tricked a lot of people but I'm not.

I'm in library school.

I drive a hybrid...a kick-ass sports car hybrid, but a hybrid nonetheless.

My blog will, instead of whatever I originally pontificated and planned on, be a series of mostly haiku-lengthed musings.