Vices.

In times of transition, I find I need a lot of crutches to prop myself up. A few of my old standbys have reared their ugly heads in the last week or so. I rely on the sublime and the ridiculous to get through the sheer mayhem of packing, drinking, overthinking, and general solitary contemplation. Hello, old friends. I've missed you.

1. Coffee. Sweet nectar of the gods. I think the thing I'm going to miss most about Kingston (besides all of y'all, of course) is Coffeeco, and their epically amazing cappuccinos.

2. Dolly Parton. I love her. I just. love. her. She makes me feel tender and kickass at the same time.



3. Calvin and Hobbes comics. Nothing beats the sweet pondering and sincere existentialism of the world's most endearing smart aleck six year old. I recommend the Tenth Anniversary Collection for fellow fanboys and girls, but if you love Bill Watterson like I do then you probably already own the first edition.

4. Wallace Stevens. So help me god, I'll be a self-righteous English major till the day I die. The Course of a Particular slays me dead.

5. Cyndi Lauper. Presented without comment.

Does anyone want a bathtub mint julep?

I'm not sure why, but I've been on a bit of a Southern kick lately. Maybe it's the fact that I haven't watched Steel Magnolias in over a year and I am overdue for some classy, brassy, down home lady charm. Lucky for me, the great serendipitous gong show that is the public library saved the day once again, and I happened to spy You Can't Drink All Day If You Don't Start In The Morning by Celia Rivenbark sitting on the audiobook shelf. I knew absolutely nothing about the book or the author, though I had a vague recollection of reading a review somewhere. Given the stellar quality of the review journals I read these days (People magazine actually is my favourite source for book reviews, I'm not even kidding) it was probably in a back issue of Good Housekeeping. But I digress. I have a thing for semi-literary essayists, as well as daylight boozing, to say the least.

Anyway, I nearly ejected the first disk within the first sentence because Rivenbark (who reads the book herself, in all its breezy, drawling glory) sets the scene at an elementary school assembly she's attending. Oh lord, I thought, I do not need a lame mommy book right now (POOPY DIAPERS, AM I RIGHT??). Thank goodness I kept listening, because sweet merciful crap, Celia Rivenbark is a motherloving genius. A genius who boos the children at her daughter's school as they receive their perfect attendance awards, claiming their commitment to constant presence only spreads disease and discontent.

I'm only halfway through the book, and so far Rivenbark has made fun of Bible action figures, blamed her generation's inexplicable love of High School Musical on a childhood spent listening to Jethro Tull, gotten herself crowned queen of the local pecan festival and then shit-talked the teenage girls in her royal court, and won two flashlights at "the bingo" at her mother's seniors home. Best of all, she has also made references to both the Lawrence Welk Show (perhaps my deepest, darkest secret shame, though I am not afraid to admit that I saw the live show ten years ago, and it was EPIC.) and Zac Efron. Friends, I think I'm in love.

This is the perfect audiobook. Full-stop. And it's keeping me off the Steel Magnolias for a few more days, which is probably a blessing in disguise--it always sends me into an emotional tailspin and I end up in the fetal position humming Dolly Parton songs under my breath for a few days post-viewing. Celia Rivenbark, you have saved my life.

But that shouldn't stop us from listening to a little Dolly to finish off the week.



Goosebumps. Every time.