Andy Warhol would have loved Studio 154.

This is on my mind right now:
I wanted to start this entry by singing a little song about adults being hateful to kids when those adults have no idea what’s happening in those kids’ hearts and homes, but when I started writing the song, the only line I could come up with was: If you’re going to shake up a kid’s existence, do it in a beautiful way. Don’t be a shitty role model. Don’t be a shitty anything.

This is one of the best things that has ever happened to me:
I pick Meredith up from the high school every afternoon, and from there we drive to the middle school to wait thirty minutes for Harper to come out. When we arrived to the middle school pick-up line yesterday, the car in front of us was sitting with a perpetual right blinker. (I immediately started counting the flashes because that’s what my brain tells me to do.)

Me: That is going to annoy me. I’m not going to be able to do anything but look at it.

Meredith: I’m just wondering how fast it’s going. It’s more than 60 beats per minute.

At this point, Meredith pulled out her phone and turned on the metronome.

Meredith: It’s a little faster than 75. Slower than 80. Okay, wait. Listen. It’s 77 bpm.

So then we both started finding songs that clock in at 154 bpm, and the next half hour fell into my top five favorite half hours. Magic.

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