Most mornings, you will find me taking every opportunity to sleep in, only waking up at the last possible minute to get myself out of the door. However, some days you might see me waking up before my alarm and hastily making, of all things, a note.

I like to leave little notes for my roommate in the morning. They can be simple, like a sunny doodle accompanied by, “Have a nice day!” They might be longer, a real pick-me-up. Either way, I do my best to let her know that I appreciate her. After all, I feel very grateful to have a roommate who is also my friend– it’s a gift not everyone gets.

As of late, that has been my undertaking. I am trying to appreciate the people in my life, as well as the wonderful things I have at my disposal. Ultimately, practicing gratitude has been one of my greatest strengths in recent times, as I spend more time away from home for the sake of education. To round out this blog, which may well be my last, I’d like to list the things I have found to bring me joy when the scale of my life gets too big to handle.

Without further ado, here are some bite-sized pieces of gratitude.

1) Write a Note!
I have already mentioned this one in my own life, but this can have many applications outside of the people you are physically near. Write a letter to a friend you’ve lost contact with, or a relative, or even to yourself as you look at the task ahead of you. You don’t have to send it, but if you are moved to do so, then do. It doesn’t fix everything, and it does not move mountains– but it does the important work of empowering you to write your own narrative.

If you have a spare minute today or want to put some joy into the world, a little note can be impactful. Give it a try!

 

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2) Make Something

This sounds simple enough, but making something–especially for someone else– is a great way to channel your restlessness into something joyful. I like to make food, whether it’s box-mix muffins or something from scratch, and share that with the people I love. Next year, when I have a Nittany Apartment and a kitchenette of my own, I’m going to bake my neighbors cookies like a little old grandma.

The future is often up in the air, and more uncertain by the minute. I’m not even sure what the apartment will look like next year, as Housing just told me to find a fourth roommate in a week or scram! In the desperation to control the future, I try to hold onto little things, like the idea of making muffins for my neighbors (apartment neighbors? Flatmates?), to get me through.

Try making something concrete. It really can empower you to make the intangible changes you want to see, as well.

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3) Hugs!

This one is hard to work around, especially separated by distance. Sometimes, the best you can do is to hug the people you’ve got while you’ve got them, even if it is only for a short time. Be in the moment; experience the love that is there; leave little room for regrets.

Those things are the best I’ve got, so give gratitude a try if you’re looking to laugh in the dark. Of course, it’s not as simple as all that, but that’s all I know so far.

See you around, Penn State.

Anyone who knows me is familiar with my rule– it applies walking, sitting, or lying down on the HUB lawn. It applies when I am doing my homework by the window. And yes, it applies when you are with me in public — no need to get exasperated, just come over here and join me.

I’m speaking, of course, about petting every dog I see. There are certainly exceptions for working dogs, and I never pet a dog who isn’t happy to see me– but outside of those narrow parameters (I mean, who wouldn’t be happy to see me!?) I strive to be faithful to the code. I’m going for 100% accuracy, and I am always on the prowl.

This began in my middle school years, when I was just starting out at PICL, the PA Interscholastic Cycling League. Our weekend racing events were always packed with outdoorsy people, and– whether the venue allowed it or not– there was always an abundance of wagging tails and golden smiles. Mountain bikers love their dogs, and they love to meet people. Thus began the tradition of meeting every dog owner in the tri state area.

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My home is not too densely populated, so if I saw a dog being walked out in the woods, I usually knew the owner. There was a pair of vishlas that I occasionally took care of, and they were the best, wiggliest little guys anybody can ask for.

When I got to State College, it became much more of an active effort to greet each fluffy canine who came my way. However, I still make the effort to do it– for two reasons.

For one, I am missing my own dog at home. Her name is Zelda, and she is a yellow lab– and the biggest thing I am looking forward to seeing over my visiting weekends! There is a certain, invaluable quality of a home with a dog that goes unappreciated: a free hug whenever you need one. At college, that is big. We can all use a hug every now and again.

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This is my Zelda!

The second reason I like to meet all these dogs is the human element– an easy chat with their owners. I always find that people are willing to talk about their dogs, something they love dearly, even to a complete stranger like myself. I’m trying to seek out more little moments of humanity like those, to get to know my big, wide community at Penn State, one dog at a time.

So, there you have it. If we are out on a walk, or sitting at a park bench, or even if I am holding hot coffee and see a dog rounding the corner– there I go! It can’t be helped, and I won’t be stopped. Not until I have scratched every canine ear and bopped every nose in State College. Try as you might, I won’t be dissuaded. My dear future companion, I’m afraid that the best you can do is follow along after me.

…and other last-minute extra-curriculars.

This Tuesday, I signed up for a Schreyer event that was pushed out to me via email– it was a last-minute call, as I am wont to make, and I would have to say that I am thoroughly happy with my choice. Not only was the evening a success, but the spontaneity helped me to shake things up!

The event was called Painting with Pat, and it is one of those smaller-scale things that bring together a motley crew of available people from around the dorm. Although I live in Atherton and consider myself somewhat outgoing– if not by nature, then at least by wishful thinking– I do not know most people here. I decided to test the waters. Walking in, I saw entirely new faces.

I will admit, that familiar discomfort from the school lunchroom snuck its way into the paint room as I decided where to sit. However, I soon learned more about the people around me through their paintings– one koi pond, one landscape, and one funky abstraction. These people all had stories to tell, and chatting was somehow easier with a brush in hand, absorbed in a picture of my own.

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I painted the young clownfish from the HUB aquarium, whom I have lovingly dubbed “Booger.” He loves his anemone like only a clownfish can, and he snuggles in it every night. I see him flipping and swishing, happily rolling over his round belly and lazily rotating right side-up again. I am sure there is some biological or otherwise Darwinist mechanism that explains his delighted wiggling in and out of his home, but I prefer to think of it fancifully, because Booger does not know the difference. You see, he is not very smart. It therefore falls upon me to be delighted by him!– as a painter, this means that I am basically obligated to use him as my muse.

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While all of this profound affection for Booger the clownfish came out in the painting, I also learned about the stories behind the works of others, as well. The abstract artist loved to express ideas that were better suited for the visual medium. Some folks loved to make something that they were proud of; others liked to be silly. For me, I got into painting through my Great Grandma Toini Haryu, who was a Finnish painter. In a way, she helped me to learn about my fellow folks at Atherton, because I know that she influenced me to pick up a brush in the first place. I ended up being very happy to revisit my roots and learn something about others at the same time– and all of this came from a last-minute decision!

Ultimately, I am glad that I set aside time to Paint with Pat. Not only did I have a delightful hour of conversation and relaxing brushstrokes, but I became more familiar with people in my community through an art form I love. As I find my place at college, I resolve to make more time for the little, spontaneous things, like meeting a few potential friends and sharing a canvas.

As a young child, one of my favorite places to be was the library. I loved the tall, arching aisles of books with their inviting green carpet, and I loved the scratchy feeling of that carpet against my skin when I plopped down with a book of my choice. Being so small, and so utterly dwarfed by the volume of books available to me, is like the close comfort of a low roof in a cottage. The authors themselves were fantastic, patient, and welcoming– we were fast friends.

The library has always been a key feature of my hometown, even though my visits have become less frequent. Coming to Penn State, the library and literary resources have certainly shaped my experience of the community, and I have to say that it has been for the better.

First up to bat is the Downtown Student Bookstore, where an employee opened the door to me before the store hours started. Maybe he saw the desperation in my eyes, caught completely off guard by the required textbook for my 9am class– I wasn’t exactly put-together at that point. There was something distinctly evocative of a librarian in the way he showed me to my textbook, something about ushering me toward a “good read” that I found very welcoming. He had the trademarked librarian sense of conspiracy, like when they let you renew a book you love for the 3rd time. All of the folks at that store were wonderful, and they were the literature sort of people. It comforted me.

 

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The main campus Student Bookstore is not like that, and forgive me, but I have a hard time articulating why. They do have a book section, yes– but it feels more like a mini rack compared to the great presence of a larger merchandise store. They have textbook rentals and delivery– but the books come in plastic sheeting like a warehouse. The marriage of the upper Starbucks deck and the Student Bookstore is somewhat of a flop, and few people go there, despite the ancient goodwill between coffee and book reading.

Conversely, the Pattee and Paterno Library dovetails these two with marvelous efficiency. Yes, sometimes the latte line stretches past the security-gated entrance– but it moves quickly and, in my opinion, unobtrusively. There is a rich aroma when walking into the library, and it feels so natural that I love to sit down and bask in it. There is a quieter section that sits next to the cafe, shielded from the noise but party to the general soft sound of human beings. Joining the two sections, you find a nicely curated rack of intriguing reads, which welcomes the coffee enjoyers to engage in a little perusal. I think that is a very important aspect of a library– the success with which you can walk in and spark a connection with the material.

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I have wandered through the stacks many a time. I love finding new little books in smaller spaces, and every single spine is dripping with the story that I have not yet seen. That’s how I found “Beyond Uhura” by Nichelle Nichols, AKA Star Trek’s Lieutenant Uhura, which documents her trailblazing experience as the first black woman in a continuing role on a major TV series. I picked up the book as a connection to my father, who loves watching those old black-and-white shows with me at 3am– when I was still awake, and he was waking up. I loved those summers with him, and so I picked up the autobiography with a little thought to my own life, as well. There is so much depth to a library, and so many stories in just one book. Isn’t that something?

 

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Part of my college adjustment is learning how to balance different things in my life, now that I am fully in control of it. I think I could use to spend a little more time at my roots, in the library.

In figuring out what works for my life’s routine, I find that exercise is inextricably at its center. The campus facilities have allowed me to explore the best ways for me to work out, the best digs, and my favorite locations across campus.

Without further ado, here is my take on the fitness scene at Penn State:

White Building

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My beloved! If you live in South, this gym is literally thirty seconds from your door. Although it is the oldest of the three gyms– or certainly seems the least renovated– it is robust in equipment and variety. Its greatest weakness is rush hour, about 3pm-7pm; there are times when no squat rack, nor bench press, nor 15lbs dumbbell is free to use. I would recommend being attentive by having a flexible workout plan that can be modified to fit the equipment available.

A trustworthy, flexible way to get into the gym when it is crowded is to start with a squat of any kind. This is usually fool-proof, as there is generally a dumbbell within the 30-40lbs range at your disposal. Goblet squats, split squats (bench or surface required), or lunges will all work during busy times.

The other way to get around the equipment shortage is to put off the rush by heading to the cardio room first– that’s right, warming up! A good 5min light jog or pedal is a good way to get blood flowing to your muscles prior to heavy lifting, meaning that you are more likely to lift effectively to the best of your ability. It also reduces injury chance– give it a shot!

IM Building

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In the IM Building, there is a greater variety of equipment at your disposal. This includes the running track for warmup, as well as a million strange and sundry lifting machines that I do not understand the purpose of. The open space above the main dumbbell section is very useful for quick pull-up reps and light lifts– the max weights up there are around 30lbs. My greatest recommendation with working out here, like everywhere, is that you bring a friend who knows slightly more than you, or that you find someone who fits the bill.

Personally, one of the most rewarding parts of lifting has been learning about the process itself. Meeting other people who are interested in getting stronger or bettering themselves is a seriously uplifting experience, so don’t be afraid to ask others about their routines and tips! There are always new corners to discover, different group workouts to sign up for, and options to explore. Get out there!

West Building (?)

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I will be honest, my fellows. I have only been to this gym twice, and it is so, so far from everything– unless you are a grad student or a frat brother who woke up late but still needs to get his (dehydrated) lift in, I would not go here.

One of the main attractions of lifting at Penn State is the tasty treat at the end, in the form of a nice shake from ShakeSmart. If you have never been to one, it is like the gym rat’s Starbucks– there is an entire culture and identity built around it. However, there is a distinct and cruel lack of a ShakeSmart at West. For this reason, it is less crowded, but you must bring your own Cliff Bars. Personally, I will not take this affront to my dignity. I want my Power of Ten with chia seeds, not because it is the shake that I need, but it is the shake that I deserve.

In short, have fun with it! It’s no secret that the key to a good lift is not to take it too seriously. Pick a routine that is consistent and workable for you– and of course, go with friends to share in the fun.

Happy lifting!

I would like to introduce you folks to someone special. Although we have never met (and never will), despite the great ideological divides that separate us, Duke Cannon and his signature “Big Ass Brick of Soap” has captured my heart and attention for the past few weeks.

The Duke came into my life during the roadtrip back to state college, at a time when I dreaded the coming of the semester. We made a pit stop at the Bass Pro Shop that would fatefully expose us to the rugged, frontiersman soap line meant for woodsmen and outlaws. Purportedly, the fictional Duke Cannon doesn’t “wear skinny jeans or listen to Europop”– instead, he greets each day with a trademark gruff attitude that is so overtly masculine, it is hard to imagine the human being whose brain he came out of. He even has a soap bar dubbed “Illegally Cut Pine.” Needless to say, he is my new favorite fictional felon.

It must be the idea of illegally cutting the pine, the thought of a life so subversive and satisfying, that sells the soap. The $10 price tag tells me that the consumers of this brand are laying down their credit cards for more than the physical product. They have bought into the idea of the woods at dawn– the thought of your axe cleaving pine– the imaginary bundling and hauling of the ill-gotten payload. They paid for the escapism of it all.

And, well, haven’t I done the same?

I bought this soap while returning to college, and I believed it to be an act of pure satire; I was committed to the bit of this silly soap man. It was obvious to me that Duke Cannon was the manifestation of the reticent, old-fashioned mindset that longed for an idealized version of simpler times. But upon seeing it, I thought: that has a place in my apartment next year. That has a place in my someday-home; that’s how funny it is. And as I was driving back, heavy with the weight of the semester ahead of me, having that light thing to imagine in my future was a little bit nice.

And, yes, it might be true that I tested the soap on my skin to see if it would work for me– entirely ironically. It’s a joke, totally a joke, and such a joke in fact that I plan on keeping it, using it, and buying it again if I run out. It has become a part of my mental picture of what the coming year will look like, much like college was for me just last year– living with my friends, cooking for myself, joking about this silly man and his large soaps.

I laughed and laughed at his obviously ridiculous idealism– but I bought his soap, so who’s winning?

Certainly, I am not subscribed to the Duke Cannon Lifestyle (TM); I don’t own any of his Offensively Massive Lip Balms or his Mall Santa Christmas soap collection. I do not even keep my woodcutting axe at school– what kind of an arboreal vandal am I? Even so, we are joined by this unerring optimism that slips itself into the mundane. I cannot help but think of my life with a little romance and idealism, even as I call it silly– even as I laugh.

I should get to laugh at it more, rather than treating the end of break as the pause of a richly textured life. I want to entertain the woodsman’s zeal for all things silly and small, even at college.

Is this a silly way to rediscover the sparkle in everyday life? Perhaps. Did I need a fictitious woodsman to inspire me to enjoy the mundane? Well, it certainly doesn’t hurt. Treating college like a task has obviously been wearing me thin; what if I instead treated it like an adventure, with all the romanticism that my good friend the Duke seems to enjoy? Perhaps it is time to take a page out of his book.

I might hold off on the illegal woodcutting, though. I’m not sure if the folks at the Arboretum would understand.

I want to talk to you folks about the coffee on campus– it is a bittersweet entry for me to make, as my final one, but I hope you will come to understand the place it holds in my heart.

My favorite little downtown place is called WC Clarke’s Cheese Shoppe (and yes, they also sell cheese). When I first walked in here, I climbed down the stairs to the subterranian strip, virtually following my nose. They were roasting coffee grounds freshly in this large, old-school conch grinder that made little puffed noises at me as I went. The floor-to-ceiling shelves are loaded with different varieties, and not just coffee strains– there are loose-leaf teas, little tubs of shiny candies, and chocolate covered espresso beans, all in these little glass containers. The combined effect is somewhat between a coffee shop and Olivander’s. There are things on their menu that I cannot pronounce, like the rube that I am, and I like it that way.

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Most importantly, my friend with delicate taste in acidic coffee (more milk than coffee kind of gal) actually enjoys their lattes very much, which surprises me. The fact that we can both get what we like out of coffee from the same drink is, frankly, a statistical wonder. My favorite part is sitting outside, in a space that is neither indoors nor outdoors, watching the foot traffic roll by with a friend.

I have always enjoyed the feeling of being underground, and so sharing a coffee with a friend underground is somehow very relaxing to me. It is a natural pairing, like the smell of paper in a bookstore– although not all bookstores are created equal, the partnership between corporate chains of coffee and bookstores always made sense to me. I love the Starbucks installation in the library because you can sit anywhere in that quiet reading section and feel it around you, like the perfect reading partner.

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I have always woken up to coffee in the morning regardless of the stage of my life– as a kid, I turned up my nose, but it has grown on me in the strange way that those acquired tastes do. It’s just how you find yourself to be able to tolerate vegetables one day, or the cigarette smoke– the things that we all culturally agree are rough to get through, but become somehow endearing over the course of our lives.

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Maybe that will be college, for me. It has been hard getting my feet under me, and then the learning curve after that is even steeper that I was expecting– but I think I will come to appreciate the Happy Valley in that same bittersweet, coffee-smell sort of way. Some folks drown it in other things that mellow out the flavor, but I think I will take my coffee black; I think I’d like to lean into the challenge a little bit more, skin my knees a little more often, and see where that lands me.

All in all, I’ve had a great time discovering this unique microcasm of a town, and I think I will keep rediscovering it for a long time yet to come.

See you around, Penn State.

I’ve had lots of folks tell me that I’ve got to get into the football scene at campus– from tailgating to cheering in the student section, from bars to apartment parties. Well, as of last weekend, I have! Sort of.

I visited the one tailgate, and it was fine– but I don’t drink, so it was mostly eating my aunt’s Empanadias (which are somehow different from Empanadas? My taste buds don’t mind the extra syllable).

Mostly, my friends and I walked around the now-vacant spots on campus in white-out gear, looking at the sky and the crisp light pollution bouncing back from the clouds. It was quite something to feel the reverberations from the stadium all the way in Sunset Park– in fact, we ended up going back to check it out, after the game had cooled off.

We found this sea of white tents in layers going out to the horizon– I’ve tried my best to capture what it looked like against the darkness, but believe you me, it was striking. These must be where the Old Boys Club meets, to spin the classic narrative among CEOs– the trappings of a tailgate in white and gold certainly seemed to fit the bill. And even more surprising than the view was the vast amount of wasted food and containers left to be swept into garbage bags, lots of it strewn about with the assumption of the work of others. To our luck, a benevolent alumni couple offered us the scoop on the best foods to pick up before they were taken away.

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“There’s a tray of cupcakes next to that table,” said the one about my Mom’s age, out of the side of her mouth all sly-like. As she slid a cookie tray into my hands, I think she was once again a kid, living sneakily in the moment with us. It was nice. In that second, it is like we are pulling it off together.

This combination of Robin-Hood-esque resource relocation and receiving the gift of free food made it into an event as exciting as Christmas morning. There is this stifled excitement in the air when we return a second time to make the big hits– rescuing food from the very fancy tents– and my nonchalant gallop down the hill tells it all. I feel like Saint Nicholas and his antsy reindeer.

[Check out our loot!]

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The excitement of making out with our haul was tempered by the grand scale of the waste we beheld there. I guess what I’m saying is– there’s this type of reality that hits you when you’re standing in the middle of an open field of grass, surrounded by more aluminum cans than you could ever count, more piles that you could ever investigate, and you know that there are so many more fields like this throughout the tailgating scene at campus. It makes me think about lots of things, but mostly it just makes me sad.

Something about the trash and the thoughtless disposal of intact food and plastic containers really hits me (especially with a food drive going on in Atherton that same night!). I don’t know what it is, other than very, very different from how I usually live day-to-day. But there’s something else in it, too, that is less heavy and more intriguing– just the simple fact of other people, and the events of their lives, that you come across without seeing them.

These nights make me think about a lot of things– there is just something special in seeing the remnants of the people who were there, and not their actual faces. I would best describe it through this picture that I took on the same night:

All of those little windows, darkened or lit up, illuminated with fairy strings that are hooked or taped or command-stripped to the wall, just how each individual person wanted them. They are turned on, set brightly to welcome the night life or coolly for the reading of a book. I can’t see those people, and I’ve never met them, and I’d never know them if I did. But I see their outline on the grass like they were lying right next to me. I think that’s really something.

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Maybe it’s just that I’m from a rural area, but folks from my home town will tell you that there’s plenty night life to be had in the traditional sense, just like everywhere else. I just like things a little different– a little more personal– a little closer to home, if that makes sense.

Maybe you’d tell me– it’s a tailgate! It’s two-dimensional! And maybe that’s the case. But I have always preferred the third dimension when I’m looking at people, if I really want to know what they’re about, and this extra layer of conceptualization can be a little bit of a bummer as well as a pickup. So– will I try it again?

I only have one answer to that.

See you for Ohio State. Leave me some milk and cookies, ho ho ho.

I hope you’ll find the joy in the everyday.

Your walk through campus does not have to be a slog— it is the first experience of your day, the moment where you step outside and enter into the flow of your surroundings. For me, I like to do so purposefully. If you are walking behind me, you will notice me hopping up onto the high curbs, taking a good turn-around, and jumping off. Sometimes I do it to break the monotony, to put a little exploration in the place where expectation resides. If I see something interesting, I want to experience it! Finding joy can be as simple as that.

I think it is important to walk while awake, in that way, even in the early hours of the morning. You might drag yourself through it and ignore the splendor, but what fun would that be? The morning is a special kind of thing that only happens once a day, and you get to be awash in that moment before you go to class. Some things are meant to be cherished!

Here is a shot that I got on the walk to my 9am:

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I like to take advantage of these things when an opportunity presents itself. In this way, a walk becomes a venture, and a simple curious look becomes a trip in and of itself. This following shot was taken on a cold morning, from the top of a parking garage:

 

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In addition to these treasures on-campus, I would recommend exploring the immediate downtown! I am biased, of course, by my love of dogs, of which there are a great many in the downtown area. If there is one thing you should know about me, you should be aware that I stop for every dog, without fail.

Wandering with intent to discover is really something different. I love musing through downtown, seeing the little murals and projects built into the bricks of the space. Every so often, you discover subterranean shops or a brass memorial to a pig, and it keeps things interesting enough to ask: what next?

I believe that this anticipation of the new is extremely powerful, and perhaps the most important thing we can give to ourselves. Here is one of my favorite finds– it’s this little porthole, above chest height, that peeks into the ground floor of an elevator shaft. It is right behind a strip of cute little shops, including Duck Donuts, and it is so thoroughly out of place that I just had to climb up into it and check it all out. Honestly? A really chill hang.

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Being in a porthole is like being in a car, or being the only one with your head sticking out of the window. The people in the elevator could see you just fine, but they don’t. They choose not to by accepting the elevator as an elevator rather than, say, a secret submarine, or a vertical journey sans any stairs. When somebody waves at you– do you know the feeling?— they make the space alive by stepping into it. For everyone else looking down at their feet, they may as well be looking through the glass.

It’s things like this that make everything so much more special– you know? When you can look around you and experience your surroundings, even if there is nothing groundbreaking, you will find something noteworthy. I think that is what I wish to see more of, from Penn Staters and from people in general. Let’s get more eyes up, on the world– it really is remarkable.

This week has been personally prolific– far more midnight walks, and therefore more naps. Perhaps I am one of few, but I have always found that the day calls most to be explored when restraints appear that would prevent it. The day is so cut-and-dry in comparison to the liquid night!

I will take any excuse to take a midnight walk, which is best with a very few folks and a loose idea of where you’d all like to go. Just as water tends to flow downhill, and is shaped into the fantastic form of a curving waterslide, the best adventures rush downward to unseen places and are redirected and twisted about by their environment. I love the stars, and I love the city, so between the two there is very little that I cannot turn into an interesting night.

My favorite spot to go is the Materials Building, at night. The daytime garden is nice enough as it is, but it is its own beast in varying times of the day, and the architecture lends itself well to environmental framing, in my opinion. Take a look at this stormy evening:

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This is only one facet of the building; not to follow the bell curve, but my most favorite part is the garden and its window to the sky. There are so many little pockets along the way where, despite being a very public space, you are made to feel like a little mole in his little mole hole. I think it is something to do with the packed underbrush– it is just the perfect environment to lie down in. Since I learned that the garden is built to minimize vibrations for their experiments, I had to stop singing there (this is a lie)– but this entire place is gorgeous inside and out. For me, it is full of hard angles and an overt sense of gravity. It is meant to be seen at night.

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Things seem very close at night– an errand I might dismiss during the day can grow into a Target trip that consumes the evening whole. If you cannot be entertained smelling different candles and walking into kitschy kitchen supply stores, I do not know what to tell you. It’s just that in the night, anything can happen, and there are fewer passersby for whom you have to pretend to be blind to the mystery of a reflective sidewalk. Walk into that store– make things silly and new in your eyes! Why shouldn’t you? Why shouldn’t this candle contain something palatable and even mind-blowing, unlike its hundreds of bland brothers and sisters?

…have you even tried it?

Yeah, no, it’s still gross. Here is some generational wisdom for you: every candle sold in a store that is not a Candle Store (TM) is a sad, sad candle, and cannot be trusted. If it is flavored like candy or a unicorn, it is actually flavored like a mouthful of perfume and a kick in the teeth. This is one of the few universal truths that seeps into the hours of the day.

Whatever your nighttime experience– however it may interfere with your schedule, or inconvenience your plans– you should have a taste of it. I sincerely believe that it is these things which turn our lives upside-down that lend our paths some of their little magic.

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