First Things Firsted
I'd like to belatedly welcome Taryn to the blogosphere. A few weeks ago I had called her to ask her for a blood donation. I had thought it was her, but I hadn't known her last name. My little computer screen was telling me that she was the same age as the Taryn I know, but she wasn't responding to any of my subtle school-name-dropping. Clever girl.
Welcome back, Brian H. By the way, one of those guys from Soaking Fused that you brought to my party still has my copy of The Art of War. I want it back, but it isn't urgent. Typically, Sun Tzu is never around when you need him.
Ben O. has posted. It was well worth the wait.
Molly and Joey, I have to thank you for referring to me as "Nobody," as you both did when you wrote that "No one reads this site." I appreciate your foresight. The name would be useful should I come across another Cyclops like ol' Polyphemus, and subsequently have to blind him. So I am content in knowing that when either of you say "No one," you mean me.
Oh, but welcome, Molly. As I mentioned before, my links are for my own ease of blog-reading.
Jake playing; semi-colons; and how to sit too close to a fire.
The other night I went to listen to Jake play at The Coffee Grounds. He rocked the house with some acoustic Snoop D-O-dubble-G, a grip of his original stuff, and even honored my request and played Climbing Up The Walls. (If someone told me that for the rest of my life I could only listen to the original song or Jake play it, I would have an incredibly hard time deciding. I'd probably keep asking to hear them both over and over until I was threatened to decide or risk bodily harm.)
And as I listened, I wrote a bit. What I wrote wasn't meant to be a post.
So here it is.
(Sitting close to the fire. Too close; I'll probably be covered in ashes by the end of the paragraph. It matters little to me at the moment; a quick scan of the patio reveals no one that my life depends on impressing. [in margin] Semi-colons are good luck; yes, they are, I'm listening to my friend Jake play. He's good. He's damn good.
I hope his audience finds him.
A drunk man at a table is competing for sound space, talking loudly on his cell phone.
[experimenting with a comedic bit] Lady Liquor, you're a relationship I can live with. Not that it's incredibly different from any other one I've had. But with real relationships there is still that niggling hope that everything will be all happily ever after.
Not so with Betty Booze. We'll have one great night; we'll be all into each other, getting wild. But she won't stay. She'll leave in the night (hopefully I'll be conscious enough to make it to the restroom.) I'll wake up the next morning/afternoon. She'll be gone, and I'll feel like shit.
Same as any other relationship.
[attempt at comedy ended; wordplay begins]
"And the smoke rapes my eyes."
"My eyes burn as the smoke rapes them."
"My eyes burn as they are raped by the smoke."
I've consumed 32 ounces of strawberry milkshake. This will not end well.
The Luis Story I Promised; Not So Much A Dirty Joke As A Risque Story; Some Rambling That Will Be Indicated By Asterisks' And Then Placed At The End
Luis and I went to go A Christmas Carol presented by South Mountain Community College.*
It wasn't bad. The set looked good, the costumes were hip, but the performances didn't hit the emotional levels in certain scenes that the play is easily capable of. Lindsay was good.
A Christmas Carol will always have a special place in my heart, as I've mentioned. I was in that play at my high school. I was the Ghost of Christmas future. (It was characteristic of the roles I was typically cast for; ones that didn't require much speaking. I am not a good actor.) I got to wear this sweet long, black, robe, and carry a giant staff.
I had just been throwing the robe over my regular clothes during rehearsals. The night of the first performance, someone dared me to go on stage wearing only my underwear under my robe. I was all "Sure, why not?"
Then someone said, "If you've got any real balls, you'll go out there bare-ass naked under that robe!"
A dare is a dare.
So, if anyone was in the audience the year we put on that show, the only thing between you and the ominous spirit that foretold Scrooge's doom was a thin layer of cotton/polyester blend.***
"God bless us, everyone!"
*I had been at Casey Moore's (a bar) and run into Lindsay Temple, a former Philosophy 101 classmate of mine, over a year ago. We were both too drunk to argue philosophy as we used to (or perhaps not drunk enough) so she had jotted something on a napkin and pressed it into my hand. I felt all smooth until I read it later and all it had on it were the dates and times of the play. Foul temptress! This was surely some malicious plot cooked up by the person in charge of publicity.**
**I could picture this publicity director now, with a down-turned, scowling, lips, and baleful eyes. She would be wearing a sweatshirt proclaiming her name/title, Publicitor, The Amasser. "Now Lindsay," she'll raps, "Go to bars, meet all the drunks that have nothing to do for days at a time, and get them to come to our show!"
"I hear and obey, O' Publicitor, The Amasser!"
***That goes for all of you that were in the cast, as well. Oh, and special thanks to Trevor for making sure that no one stole my clothing while I was onstage.
Is it just me or has my writing path been more wandering than Destiny's garden?