Jesus

He realized, then, that it was, unmistakably, the squirrel talking to him. The squirrel was talking to him.  

Although Lauv may have been headlining The Greek Theatre on Sept. 15, Hayley Kiyoko’s day ones lined the barricade.

After almost two decades of trying and failing to have boys in vinyl record and vintage bookshops notice me, I convinced myself that the boys simply didn’t like me because I was too much for them to handle.

Perhaps the curse of every play about morality is that the lesson learned at the end of the play seems too simple to really be impactful.

At the end of the day, “The Shack” is perfectly average fare. It’s definitely not trying to be a stand-alone masterpiece, but as a book-to-movie adaptation, it doesn’t translate well onto the big screen.

Thanks to an abundance of crucifixion statues, we accustom ourselves to death early on, though our tiny bodies can’t yet comprehend the apex of human agony.

But as I failed to make sense of my own yellow-peeled stupidity, I realized that I don’t even know me; I’ve merely met me. The horrible truth is that I’m not sure exactly why I smuggled bananas.

Instead of excavating through the reserves of childhood photos and late-90s Polaroids (I think it was 1999 when Congress passed the Polaroids Are Cool Again Act) on my computer for a suitable Throwback Thursday Instagram, I thought I would go one step further. I went to see a movie. In IMAX.