let everything that hath breath praise joss whedon! yes, fun. yes, amazing. yes, brilliant. xander and anya's sexy cole porter pajamas number was enough to earn my undying love and affection. camp is king! but no matter how hard I try, I've yet to convert the lovely liana, infidel that she is. so it was again over to david's, joined by millie, and later seth. regretfully, I had to peace my bad self out of there after smallville, on account of my long cold ride home, and schküll in the morning.
I've been sick as the proverbial dog lately, douglas. don't know what. don't know much- but I know I love you. now recovering, stuffed to the gills with pain relief pills.
item: I want to marry thera-flu. and whatever it was that they injected into my bottom on friday that made it all go away, if only for a little while.
item: after reading enough back issues of the onion, all news starts to sound like fake news.
I should preface this next item with some history, as it would otherwise fall upon oblivious ears as something of an inside joke, as it sort of is. one day as we were talking outside of the portable classrooms during our junior year of high school, fista and I became the unwitting targets of a harmless ninja flying kick strike, courtesy of one Michael E. Scott. Michael Scott in reality knew nothing of actual martial arts, but had perfected the move by mimicking kung-fu videos. Michael Scott was a d.i.y. kinda guy, before we were aware of the acronym. he invited us over to his house to play a role-playing game of his own invention. I think it had a christian theme. everything had a christian theme in the scott household. Michael Scott was home-schooled until 9th grade, which resulted in his being socially retarded to the severe extent that he would, for example, dance wildly at school pep rallies, unable to distinguish taunting laughs from cheers of adulation. he was totally that kid. he had big translucent plastic rimmed glasses- I think he used croakies to keep them on. bad hair, acne, muppet voice. the whole bit. he used to feed me installments of his science fiction work-in-progress. the last version I saw consisted of: main body:5 pages, glossary:15 pages. genius. genius, genius, genius. I knew the kid for 3 years, and he never called me by name, never addressed me, but rather sidled up to me everyday and talked as if resuming the previous day's conversation uninterrupted. all this is to say that I saw him. Michael Scott. at North Point Mall. he hadn't changed in the slightest, physically, and as I watched from a bench (I wasn't sure how to approach him- like a wild animal he was), he bounced over to one of those mall cart displays- this one had some sort of magnetic mat over which randomly raced all sorts of mechanized cars and trucks. something that would fascinate, no doubt, a toddler, or a kitten. the cars never fell off the cart because of the magnetism. Michael Scott was enthralled for a minute- he tilted his head k-pax style as if he didn't quite get the principle. then he began catching vehicles that looked to be speeding toward the precipice, and turning them around. he did this frantically for the better part of five minutes, never looking up, eyes darting around. I stared. he seemed to lose interest after a while, and turned toward the nature company store. I know I should've gone up to him- I know that's what you're supposed to do with old highschool friends, but I felt like I was watching a nature show, as I waited for him to exit the store. but he didn't. or he did, but out of another exit. and he was lost again, back to the region of "I wonder what that Michael Scott's doing? How in the world does a person like that function in a world like this?" I dropped the ball, guys. I could've found out. maybe it would've given me a clue to how a person like me functions in a world like this. we may never know.
I've been sick as the proverbial dog lately, douglas. don't know what. don't know much- but I know I love you. now recovering, stuffed to the gills with pain relief pills.
item: I want to marry thera-flu. and whatever it was that they injected into my bottom on friday that made it all go away, if only for a little while.
item: after reading enough back issues of the onion, all news starts to sound like fake news.
I should preface this next item with some history, as it would otherwise fall upon oblivious ears as something of an inside joke, as it sort of is. one day as we were talking outside of the portable classrooms during our junior year of high school, fista and I became the unwitting targets of a harmless ninja flying kick strike, courtesy of one Michael E. Scott. Michael Scott in reality knew nothing of actual martial arts, but had perfected the move by mimicking kung-fu videos. Michael Scott was a d.i.y. kinda guy, before we were aware of the acronym. he invited us over to his house to play a role-playing game of his own invention. I think it had a christian theme. everything had a christian theme in the scott household. Michael Scott was home-schooled until 9th grade, which resulted in his being socially retarded to the severe extent that he would, for example, dance wildly at school pep rallies, unable to distinguish taunting laughs from cheers of adulation. he was totally that kid. he had big translucent plastic rimmed glasses- I think he used croakies to keep them on. bad hair, acne, muppet voice. the whole bit. he used to feed me installments of his science fiction work-in-progress. the last version I saw consisted of: main body:5 pages, glossary:15 pages. genius. genius, genius, genius. I knew the kid for 3 years, and he never called me by name, never addressed me, but rather sidled up to me everyday and talked as if resuming the previous day's conversation uninterrupted. all this is to say that I saw him. Michael Scott. at North Point Mall. he hadn't changed in the slightest, physically, and as I watched from a bench (I wasn't sure how to approach him- like a wild animal he was), he bounced over to one of those mall cart displays- this one had some sort of magnetic mat over which randomly raced all sorts of mechanized cars and trucks. something that would fascinate, no doubt, a toddler, or a kitten. the cars never fell off the cart because of the magnetism. Michael Scott was enthralled for a minute- he tilted his head k-pax style as if he didn't quite get the principle. then he began catching vehicles that looked to be speeding toward the precipice, and turning them around. he did this frantically for the better part of five minutes, never looking up, eyes darting around. I stared. he seemed to lose interest after a while, and turned toward the nature company store. I know I should've gone up to him- I know that's what you're supposed to do with old highschool friends, but I felt like I was watching a nature show, as I waited for him to exit the store. but he didn't. or he did, but out of another exit. and he was lost again, back to the region of "I wonder what that Michael Scott's doing? How in the world does a person like that function in a world like this?" I dropped the ball, guys. I could've found out. maybe it would've given me a clue to how a person like me functions in a world like this. we may never know.
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