the ocean

As Chicago wraps up its fifth straight month of winter, it's just barely possible I'm losing my mind a little bit. I find myself fantasizing about building a big old bonfire out of my sweaters, and I'm way too excited thinking about the day I can finally uncover all of the roof furniture and, you know, sit outside. Also, my mood swings precipitously based on whether the sun is out or not; one cloudy day last week I may or may not have been on the verge of tears because my email folders were acting weird. Life can be a series of horrific setbacks, you know?

I am feeling good about a few things, however. Beyoncé at Coachella was every bit as great as advertised, even I did have to enlist Trump's Russian election team to find it online. I'm also enjoying Janelle Monae's slow rollout of both her new album and her lesbianism; I do feel that the grapefruit is an underused symbol for a vagina. Oh, and Westworld comes back tomorrow night, so I have a good ten weeks of obsessing and internet sleuthing to look forward to. And, if history is any indication, a lot of gratuitous nudity.