"it's like someone spilled a beer all over the atmosphere"

Alright I lied. Too many good links today, and links are easy. It's kinda like that time a week and a half ago when I got suspended from work and all day I thought I would either get a simple warning or be fired. I've learned that the only certainty in my life is that anything I anticipate happening will most definitely not be happening. Anyway.

*FAB sent me this gem on Gawker about my former apartment building. Now that I don't live there anymore, I can reveal that for almost three years, I lived at 220 West 71st Street, home of the Upper Breast Side, Manhattan's First Breastfeeding Boutique. As if living on the Upper West Side couldn't get any more cliche. I don't deal well with screaming children or elaborate bra contraptions, so I never once set foot inside. I did, however, very much appreciate the construction paper signs that appeared on the building entrance every Jewish holiday that provided a phone number should anyone have a "breast pump emergency."

*The Local Paper is confused. I think this letter is about how smoking is bad. But it's not really so clear. Actually I'm pretty confused too. I think the letter writer might be a mild schizophrenic. The Local Paper and I might, for once, be on the same page.

*Have I mentioned how much I love Salon's Cary Tennis? Oh yeah, I have. Other people's problems plus good writing equals Gina unexpectedly spends three hours in front of the computer. Anyway, more brilliant advice for lost twentysomethings:

That brings to mind another danger of believing the whole "You've got so much potential" thing: Actual accomplishments are much harder than they look. Not only does the world itself seem to resist our efforts to accomplish even the smallest objectives, but you will resist yourself; right now, theoretically, you could do a million things. But in reality you can't even quit your job. That's what I mean. Even easy things are hard to do.

And good luck! Adulthood is not all that much fun. But the alternative, of course, is to be pitiful, or dead.

*And last but not at all least, a call to arms from Dan Savage.
The GOP's message to straight Americans: If you have sex, we want it to fuck up your lives as much as possible. No birth control, no emergency contraception, no abortion services, no life-saving vaccines. If you get pregnant, tough shit. You're having those babies, ladies, and you're making those child-support payments, gentlemen. If you get HPV and it leads to cervical cancer, well, that's too bad. Have a nice funeral, slut.
He almost makes me want to stop being an apathetic waste of space...

*And actually last, Jens Lekman's compilation album Oh You're So Silent Jens is awesome. He's like the nerdy straight Swedish version of Stephen Merritt. I really can't think of any person, regardless of musical taste, who wouldn't like this. He uses "the funky chicken" as a lyric in a ballad for chrissakes.