Okay, first things first: Have you guys been doing this whole comments thing for a while? I mean, at the bottom of each post. I had never even thought about looking to see if anyone had commented on anybody’s post, let alone my own, and it’s a bit sneaky, I do say. I have not yet come to the point in which I am cool enough to make comments, but I’ll let everybody know when that day comes. Until then, here is just another complete waste of your time.
Well, although I have already done this in “person” (I think the quotes probably should have gone around the entire phrase and not just the last word, but either way, I’m denoting that I’m not really in person, but more in person than I am here… anybody that’s smokin’ pot right now has to be trippin’ pretty bad on that thought… am I really here? I’m an idiot), I’d like to formally congratulate Lynnea, or should I say, Professor Erickson, on her news. Now we could make a commercial like those ones about not doing drugs or dropping out of school, only Lynnea and me could show the contrast of dropping out of graduate school. This is your strange friend that likes literature. This is your strange friend that likes literature on grad school. Any questions? So, as we were discussing on the phone, I have my worries about a stunning young woman like Lynnea being in front of a class full of freshman guys. I mean, we (I probably mean me more that any real plural thing here, but let’s go with it) were all shocked by Professor Sullivan compared to the other Liberal Arts faculty. Perhaps the contrast between Sullivan and Dr. Ratledge only led to the perception that I had once and for all come across a professor that wasn’t gray-haired, dry-humored, and male, and therefore was something that pushed the limits of what a professor is meant to be (i.e. attractive? Maybe I didn’t say that. Maybe I’m smoking pot right now. Ignore me). I guess Dr. G and Dr. Hustad aren’t gray-haired (though still not what I would consider attractive), and I would call Dr. Bedford salt and pepper more than gray (more attractive, but that’s really a history-slant kinda thing like how I’m attracted to my 60-something-year-old grad history professor who lives alone with a bunch of Yorkshire terriers), but that’s not the point. Wow, I’m really all over the place and probably getting myself in a bit of trouble. That’s okay. I’m losing all understand of social standards because I see no more than four people in the course of an average day. The point is, Lynnea will stand beside Sullivan and still be all the more youthful and troublesome to the 19-year-olds who don’t have enough video games to fill their days or their minds. So much for congratulations. I really am excited for you, Lynnea. Some day, when you do a missions trip to the inner city and you find me living on a street corner, give me a short smile before you shake your head and turn away in disgust, like you probably should now.
Speaking of now -24, eh? Michelle’s back! I’m just saying that any cute girl that goes from really curly hair to really straight hair is just… unbelievable. Nobody probably gets that one. Duerk, at least you’re with me on the pony tail thing.
So I saw Spanglish over the weekend (one of the few times I have left my apartment complex in the last two weeks), and I must say I was very pleased with it. Just a wonderful, thick, real (but not real like Jackass or The Apprentice, but awkward real, like how I assume Robbie sees me), moving, and funny sort of movie like I haven’t seen in a long time. It just does a wonderful job pushing you to a place where you understand the characters more by intuition than by seeing them on screen. Besides, it’s not Adam Sandler with a mop or highway wand between his legs, playing hockey or going to elementary school; I didn’t even think about the fact that it was him in this movie. There’s my recommendation for the next little while.
And we should probably just get this out in the open right now: Does anyone else want to invite me to come live with them? I mean, I don’t want anyone to think they didn’t have a chance getting me to live with them, although you’ll have a tough time if you’re not genetically related to me (but, like any good flea-market goer, I am open to interesting offers).
If anybody wants to get a glimpse into my life (I realize that on this blog you get something akin to an eye-full, if there be such a thing), check out a short story by Anton Chekhov, The House with the Mezzanine. I mean, I’m not a famous painter, and I haven’t fallen in love with an 18-year-old (and I wipe my eyebrow with a sigh of relief to this point), but the not having anything to do thing is really pretty parallel to my life.
So, I’ve gotten myself in enough trouble for the evening. I’ll get on my merry way and see what tomorrow brings. I actually got tired of my bologna, salami, and mustard sandwich today. Who knows what I’ll eat tomorrow? One last question: What happens to a cookie when it’s not eaten? Can they get moldy? Will it start to smell? I guess it won’t be sweet anymore to have a cookie that was made by a beautiful young lady that I just visited a few weeks ago if it gets all gross. Speaking of gross… Gabe, how many times have you been thrown up on today? Consider it a rhetorical question. Like, have you ever thought of your hand being someone else’s and you’re actually borrowing it for the time being? Yeah, it’s late. You thought you missed me blogging, but now you remember. Tomorrow: Ovid’s Metamorphosis. It’s that, or the Star magazine that’s no thanks to yours truly sitting on my bathroom floor. Hmmm. I just can’t keep myself out of trouble today. I really dodged a bullet then if Meagan was over here tonight and nothing happened (that’s definitely the official party line). It just keeps going. I hope you all are doing well.