junk whale

18) Ugh it is so boring, but I am really, stupidly afraid of spiders. I hate them. They totally disgust me. I also get super grossed out by anything kind of slimy, like dirty, cold dishwater or the floors of pool locker rooms.
7) Man…I don’t even know. Probably too many things. This question makes me feel like a jerk. Oh well!
People who are uncritical and/or lack self awareness. Poor/incompatible taste in books/music/art (enjoyment of Boondock Saints is a thoroughly established dealbreaker). Passive aggression. Cutesy coyness in ladies and posturing condescension in dudes. People who don’t know what they like or what they want, or I guess, people who don’t know who they are.

1) Toward the end of the “Cetology” chapter of Moby-Dick, Ishmael lists a bunch of different kinds of whales, including the Junk Whale and the Puddingheaded Whale, which was the funniest thing I had ever read in my life when I first came across it. I just love the sound of Junk Whale so much that I hang on to it however I can.
16) I am terrible about movies; I have seen far too few of them and always feel under informed. That said, The 400 Blows and In the Mood for Love have really stuck with me since I first saw them a year or two ago. I am also ALWAYS down for a Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant flick, especially Bringing up Baby, Holiday, and Philadelphia Story.

15) In one. It’s dope.
17) I refuse to shave my legs or my armpits, but I am obsessed with nice eyebrows, and consequently just had mine waxed. Bigger picture answer: even though I have been presenting even more femme-y than usual lately, I feel like I’m also playing with my gender/sexual presentation more than ever. I like it.
20) THERE ARE SO MANY. I have had plans for the last three years to get the leaded glass window from Whitby Hall (the one in the shape of a book) on my bicep/shoulder, and I want this little guy

just above the crook of my elbow on the inside of my right arm (the emblem for Shakespeare and Co. that Sylvia Beach used on such items as her pre-order forms for Ulysses). And a big sperm-whale-and-ship on my left arm, and matryoshka dolls on my wrists, and the same cheesy but wonderful peace-sign-woman-symbol tattoo that my mom has on her ankle. And a pidgeon, somewhere, in honor of the really intense attachment to Michelle Tea’s “Pigeon Manifesto” I developed when I was sixteen.

Anyway. I keep spending my money on stupid stuff like traveling and study abroad, rather than on tattoos, and am losing Punk Rock Points by the day as a result.