Public Service Announcement

Yesterday, Apple debuted it's MacBook Air, touted as the world's thinnest laptop.I was more interested in some of its environmental distinctions.

10:32 a.m. Jobs talks about progress on environmental issue. Says Air has an all-aluminum case (recyclable), first mercury-free display, arsenic-free glass.

Arsenic-free glass? The hell?I had no idea a monitor could be so deadly.

So that is why I am making this Public Service Announcement post.
I know a monitor may look tasty, but you should not eat it.
But why? You may ask.
Well, it turns out monitors are poisonous. Upon licking a monitor, you may detect the faint taste of almonds, but that does not mean you should eat it.Here is a handy rhyme to help you remember:

I gave my sweetheart a sack of almonds.
She loved them and ate the whole bag.
I gave my sweetheart a conventional computer monitor.
She ate it and died; now I’m sad.

Or you can also remember it by thinking, "The amygdala is an almond-shaped region of the brain that controls emotion. I would be sad if someone I loved ate a computer monitor and died."

Although I think the ending to Madame Bovary would have been greatly improved if she ate a computer monitor at the end. I want to do a film adaptation in which that happens.

Nor Do I Want a Birdbath.

Several lifetimes ago, Danielle chose Christmas Ornaments.

I have many Christmas ornaments at my apartment but no tree. This always makes my family very sad to think of my apartment not decorated, but… really, where would I fit a tree?
Last year, after Christmas, my mom bought two new trees: one for me and one for Ethan.
I tried to tell her that they wouldn’t keep to even next year – never mind keeping to whenever I would actually want one. But she insisted and had Dad lug them up to the attic.
Trees imply such permanence. I mean, there they are. Stuck in the ground. They aren’t gallivanting out with who knows what. You can always count on a tree.
Likewise, I think owning a tree implies that you won’t be moving anytime soon, and while I love my one-bedroom apartment and hate packing all my worldly goods in boxes, I know one day I will have to move.

My goal is to coast on my good looks.

V chose housekeeping.
Um… I clean house about as frequently as I do any real cooking (see Danielle’s topic). I can’t cook; I can’t clean. All I’ve got going for me is my winning smile.

Racy Story -- If you read it; you can't not UN-read it!

Katie chose flirting, and there's only one story I can tell.
Oh and I stole the title from a Futurama episode.

So... I did something that was slightly out of character for me and then hilarious disaster followed, which is totally in keeping with my adventures.
Allison, an old friend from high school who is now a roller-derby girl, came over to my apartment for drinks before we went out, and while she was there, she talked about her raucous weekend at Dragon Con where she acted out of character the whole time.
“I swear I don’t normally do that. That’s not like me. I blame that blue drink I had.”
I think maybe I had a blue drink by proxy.

After I finished nursing my drink, I drove us to the Brewhouse where we met up with Allison’s friends.
One of them kept trying to joke with me.
“Johnny, finish your drink!” She knew that wasn’t my name and was making a joke. Is that from something?
And she made exaggerated gasps or would pretend to bite her nails whenever she said something to me. I guess trying to be overly-dramatic and gay. And certainly, I was dressed outlandishly, but… I kept thinking, “I don’t know you. You don’t get to poke fun like that.”
Told a few stories.
Allison bemoaned that I was without piercings or tattoos.
Allison’s other friend Cathy asked me questions about what kind of guys I like.
“I’m always trying to set up people with my roommate. He’s a great guy. He’s so sweet and funny. He’s got this dry sense of humor. And he’s so caring.”
Allison started to giggle.
“What? What?”
“IS HE HOT?”
“Oh. Yeah. Yeah. He’s hot.”
“Say everything else but what’s important.”
We eventually left Brewhouse and, after a quick stop at the ATM, went to the StarBar. Allison paid my way in. It was like pulling teeth to get them to let me pay for anything. I refused a drink when we first arrived, making Allison roll her eyes at me.

The two of us went downstairs where it was quieter to talk and people watch. I had seen her make a face when she took her first sip of the drink.
“Is this Long Island not as good as the one at Brewhouse?”
“No. No, it is not.”
She passed it to me and gave me this pouty look. I laughed and took a sip and handed it back. We kept doing that until I asked if it was so horrible that she wanted me to finish that.
“You can. I just want you to drink. Do you need money?”
I laughed. “I'm ok. I’ll go get a drink.”

There were some old-time coin-operated … strength tester things downstairs. You know, you put a quarter in and squeeze.
“Give me a quarter,” Allison said. She wanted to try the one with “naughty and nice” title since her roller derby name is Illumi Naughty.
“I don’t have any.”
“Dammit Will.”
There was another one beside it that somehow incorporated the plastic bullhorns that came out from it.
“I want to try this one, too. Being in the roller derby has really made me strong. I could probably break this thing.”
“Oh wow.”
“If I could figure out a way to wrap my thighs around it.”
Gracious.

One of the elaborate costumed revelers came downstairs. He looked like he was on stilts or elevated somehow. He had a black coat with a capelet – I guess that’s what you’d call it – ringing the top, and he had a black top hat. I’m not sure what he was supposed to be. He looked a bit like an Edward Gorey character or a Lovecraft character. Anyway. He would open up the coat to reveal this latex conglomeration of tentacles and eyeballs.

There were other nifty costumes. A Wonder Woman with a lit-up lasso. A guy dressed as... maybe the Emcee from Cabaret? Anyway. He had a top hat, fishnets, enormous boots. There were a lot of women in clunky boots who contorted themselves as they danced.
“I keep waiting for them to fall over,” I told Allison when we came back upstairs.
“Yeah. They’re moving almost like they’re in the Matrix.” She leaned back as far as she could go to demonstrate.
“I was about to say that.”
I talked with one of her friends. (Broad? That’s what it sounded like when they would call her name, but that’s not a nice thing to call a lady. Oh well.)
“Weebles wobble, but they don’t fall down,” she said.
“I love that. That tickled me.”

They played two David Bowie songs, one Gary Glitter, the theme song from Jem and Holograms, and even “20th Century Boy.”

Lost track of Allison for a bit. Her friend … um… let’s call him Tom reported that she was in the bathroom.
“We should go help her,” he said.
“I thought you were about to say, ‘Allison's dead; we should think of an alibi,’” I said.
He laughed.
“I’ve been with you since eight o’clock,” I said.
“Exactly.”
Allison turned out fine, so we can save our alibi.

Ran into Tom later downstairs. I wanted to call him Tim.
“Did I introduce you already?” Allison said.
“Yeah. I know Tiiii – “ but I stopped before I completely got out “Tim.”
“Tom. His name’s Tom, Will. His name’s on his shirt.”
So as a joke, I kept saying Tiiiiii whenever I wanted to call him over, and sometimes he would make the same noise. But yeah.

A crowd like that sort of mixes up my sense of who’s gay and who isn’t. I saw a guy looked like a more pierced and tattooed version of DJ Qualls. Do you know who I’m talking about? He’s one of those actors who aren’t … well… who aren’t good looking enough to be leads but are very good actors and who look very distinct. So he plays a lot of background characters. Like the lead’s friend or Suspect One in a Law and Order episode. Um… the most well-known thing he’s been in was the movie Road Trip. He looks what would happen if a mouse from a cartoon were somehow turned into a person – small, kind of elongated out head and big ears. He was a model for Prada and Calvin Klein.
Anyway. This guy looked just like him. Really, it might have been him for all I know. Just with more piercings and tattoos.
There was also a guy with medium length, wavy hair and a goatee with the barest bits of gray who’s much easier to describe – clearly.
So I flirted with both of them. (Don’t hate the playa; hate the game. There may be hating, but it will be reserved solely for the game. There will be no scorn heaped upon my person.)
Or did my version of flirting, which is to give a winning smile.

So I was milling around in the Star Bar with a grin ever-so-often flashing across my face like I’m in a toothpaste commercial or something.
“Are you having a good time?” Allison kept asking.
“Yes.” Oh there’s the goatee guy. Smile.
“You’d tell me if you weren’t?”
“Yes.” He’s talking to Broad. Smile.
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“I’m having a fine time. I promise.”
“’A fine time’?”
“A great time. I’m having a great time.”
“Liar!”

Somehow, I was left alone with my drink, dancing in place, when I turned around and the goatee guy was there.
“My name’s Daniel. So what do you do?”
I gave my standard answer: administrative assistant, write on the side.
He chuckled. “No, I said, ‘What do you do in Atlanta?’ I’m new in town.”
I rattled off a few things.
“Where are you from?”
He said he just finished grad school at Brown and was now at GA Tech.
I told a story.
After a bit, he shook my hand. “It was nice to meet you,” and he went to the dance floor.

Cathy was concerned about my lack of drink. It was a serious topic all night long. “Tell ya what: get me a PBR and whatever else you want.”
So I had another jack and coke.
I think that’s when they played “20th Century Boy” because I remember it was a song I was so tickled to hear and that I danced to it from my spot by the bar. This other girl I didn’t know gave me a shove.
“Go out there,” she pointed to the dance floor.
I grinned but still danced where I was. Smiled at the DJ Qualls look-alike.
DJ came over to speak with Tom and to introduce himself.
“Who do you know here?” he said.
“Allison.”
”Who?”
“Naughty,” Tom explained.
“Oh yeah. She’s the one who always calls me Craig. My name is one of the most common ones in the English language, and she couldn’t remember it.”
We talked a bit more.
Then, he grinned at me, reached out, and pinched my nipple. Danielle mentioned that my meek flirting and his bolder pinching sort of balance each other out.
I leaned back and grinned at him but a little askance like, “You can’t possibly have meant to do that.” Maybe there was someone beside me, and DJ Qualls has poor depth perception?
He put his arm around me and jerked his head like he wanted to whisper something to me. I leaned closer.
“What?” I said. I heard him, but it didn’t seem possible.
“I said, ‘Meet me in the bathroom.’”
“… ok.” Because when does this happen to me? Never. And I did think he was kind of cute. And… I kind of liked the idea (thrill?) of saying something happened in the Star Bar bathroom. But then I wondered: was I supposed to go right now to the bathroom? Or was I supposed to wait for him and go together? That doesn’t sound like we’re “meeting” in the bathroom. “Meeting” implies we go separate times.
So I went to the bathroom.
DJ was close behind me, and we went to the only stall and started to kiss. He had on a light green t-shirt with some black design on it with black jeans and these big lace-up black boots. A half-circle of blue-green had been painted at the base of all his nails. His ears were pierced, and he had a lip piercing, but it was very high up on his lip and just a tiny stud. It almost looked like a beauty mark. Susie told me that's what they're going for with that. It's called a Monroe and is supposed to resemble Marilyn Monroe's beauty mark.
I guess he noticed me staring at it at one point.
“I also have my nipples pierced,” he lifted up his shirt. He was completely bare. I touched him and then leaned down to kiss his nipples and… nibble them. I do that. That is how I roll.
He said something that I couldn’t hear.
“I said, ‘Gently.’” He said – a little louder, but still whispering.
“Sorry,” I whispered back.
“It’s ok.”
We made-out for a bit and then undid each other’s pants. They were at varying latitudes for the rest of our time in there, always somewhere between our waists and ankles depending on if we heard someone come into the bathroom.
And fine. I guess I was staring. I didn’t mean to look critically. I don’t think I did. I certainly wasn't thinking anything critical. I was thinking he took awhile to get warmed up and that it was no big deal. Guys are so sensitive. ("He's a grower not a shower," Ursula said when I told her the story. God, I tell this story a lot.), and confidentially, it just makes me look all the better, but I guess he felt self-conscious.
“I’m sorry. It gets that way when I’m coked up.”
Oh great.

“Do you live alone?” he asked me.
“Yeah.”
“Can I come over?”
“….”
“I won’t steal anything. I’m not a thief.”
“…”
“I’m disease free.”
“hahaha well great.”

And then his phone rang.
And he answered it.
“Nothing much. I’m at Star Bar.”
The phone ringing must have covered or distracted us from the sound of someone coming into the bathroom because then I heard a voice from the other side of the stall said, “Oh ok. Me too.”
I hadn’t realized someone had come in, so I quickly pull up my pants.
“Where are you?”
Voice – “I’m right next to you.”
DJ must have seen that I was panicking. He shook his head, whispered, “It’s just Tom,” and slowly pulled his pants back up too. DJ finished the call just as Tom joined us in the stall.
Um….. whoa.
Tom pulled out a cigarette case but inside were two plastic straws. The top half at the very end was missing, leaving the straw like a spoon like they have at ice-cream places. Then, DJ pulled out the tinniest plastic bag I have ever seen – about the size of my pinkie nail. It didn’t look like there was anything in the bag, like it was cloudy. Maybe there was the barest bit of dust in there. I don’t know.
“Oh… do you do this?” DJ asked me.
“No.”
“I thought that’s what you guys were doing. What were you doing in the bathroom?”
No Tom. This bathroom is for making out and BJs. We do drugs in the bathroom downstairs. It's like Mr. Walsh's house in Goonies. We keep the drugs separated.

Tom left, and DJ and I were about to as well when another guy – let’s call him Nathan – came into the bathroom.
The men’s room of the Star Bar is Grand Central Station.
Nathan wanted to know where DJ bought his stuff, but Nathan seemed awfully squeamish about asking in front of me. I felt squeamish about being there while he asked. I backed away from them and pretended once again to be engrossed by the bathroom graffiti.
“No, you don’t have to go away. Come here,” DJ motioned for me to stand behind him. He put his hand on my ass, and I laid my hand on his stomach but looked all over the room and tried not to listen as they talked.
“Nathan has a great ass,” DJ said.
Nathan grinned.
“He has the best ass I’ve ever seen.”
And that was when a guy came into the room to actually use the bathroom. Not to buy/do drugs or make out with me. It was weird. What's that about?
“I have the best forty-two-year-old ass in this bar,” he said.
“Well, congratulations,” I said.

The three of us went back to the bar – DJ and I holding hands.
“Will!” Allison said. She might have asked me where I’d been, to which I replied quite honestly, “the men’s room.”
Allison draped herself over me. “This is Will. I love Will. I knew Will in high school.”
“Aww. I love you, kid.”
We milled around the bar for a few minutes. It was getting late, and it looked like they were starting to close down.
“Do you want to go outside,” DJ said.
“Sure.”
So we sat on the sidewalk outside the Star Bar.
“Are you into BSM?”
hahahahahaha
“… um… I don’t think so.”
“It seems like you’d like that from the way you kiss.”
Well damn, you nibble a guy a little bit, and folks start slinging accusations.
He gave my hand a squeeze. “You have a good soul. I can tell that about people.”

Nathan came out. He had more questions.

Then, I felt someone’s hands on my left shoulder. I turned around, expecting to find Allison, but it was an Asian woman I had never seen before. She looked deeply into my eyes like she was about to tell me she loved me, which was a recurring theme that night -- not that I'm complaining -- but she began to sing “Koombaya” instead.
I joined her at the end and carried on into another verse. That impressed her.
“You’re so much fun.”
”Oh well thanks. You are too.”
Then, the guy from the bathroom came out. “Hey, I know you.” He pointed at me. “I met him in the bathroom.”
”Really?” the woman said, probably a little worried.
“Yeah. I said I had the best forty-two-year-old ass in this bar, and they were like, ‘Whatever.’”
“No, I wasn’t,” I said. “I said, ‘congratulations.’”
He showed off his ass.
“That’s a nice ass,” the woman said.
“It is,” I said.
“Hey, it’s the best forty-two-year-old ass in this bar,” she said, and we laughed.
They left, and the lesbians I originally came with left. Cathy said it was great to meet me and that she could tell I was a great guy.
Allison came out and draped herself over me. “This is Will. I love Will.” She looked over at DJ.
“Who are you?”
“This is Craig,” I said.
“No, it’s not. That’s… DJ.”
“You’re right,” DJ said.
“He’s a fellow Aquarian. That means he’s psychotic,” Allison said. She looked down at our hands. “Nice tattoo.”
“Thanks,” DJ said. I think it was of a bat. I could make leathery wings on his left wrist.
“And what’s this,” Allison reached for his lip piercing.
“Don’t touch it. I just got it.”
“Ok. Will, don’t touch it.”
“All right.”
”Don’t touch it, Will.”
”I won’t.”
Tom came out, and now we were all loitering outside the bar kind of waiting on me to decide about DJ.
Tom was trying to see if we wanted to go to an after thing. I think Nathan was going to that too.
Eventually, I said that I would take DJ home with me.
“I can just get a ride with Tom.”
“Are you sure?” I said.
“Yeah.”
”Well, you still need your stuff out of my car,” I said.
“Oh shit. That’s right.”
”Come on, team. We have a plan now,” I said, and we started walking – Allison once more draped over me.
“I love Will!”
“Well, I love you, kid.”
“You had a fun time?”
“Yes. Definitely.”
“Good. I love you.”
”I love you.” Nathan turned around and grinned at me probably because of what I had said about having a fun time.
“And Nathan’s ok.”
He laughed. “Oh I’m just ok?”
“You’re going too slow,” Allison said.
So I let go of DJ and raced her to my car, but she called that off quickly.
( I might have demonstrated how I can frighten away predators by making myself look twice as tall as I really am. I don’t remember.)
On the sidewalk, walking to the car, she whispered, “Do you really want to go home with this boy?”
“… yeah. I think so.”
She laughed. “That sounds sure.”
“No, I do. I want to take him home.”
“Ok.”
”I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Oh God, please do!”
We said our goodbyes, and I drove DJ and me to my place.

Back at my place, I learned that after a long fallow period, I require a lot of direction. It’s not like riding a bicycle at all.
For instance, we were making out in the living room, and after a few minutes, DJ said, “Do you want to move to the bedroom?”
The bedroom! Of course! It’s all so simple. Why didn’t I think of that? Not that I wanted to have sex in my living room, but it wouldn’t have occurred to go on and proceed there. Maybe it was also a kind of feet-dragging strategy out of nervousness?
And then in the bedroom:
"Wait. Are you still wearing your boxers?"
I laughed. "Sorry. Force of habit."
We started up again until DJ said, “Um… so… do you have any lube?”
“Um… yes.”
I actually did have some from the UGA gay student union. They would pass them out for National Coming Out Day. Valentine’s Day. Blah blah.
Anyway. I dug around for one of their mini/single-serving thing of lube that would be about six-years-old. I found it and a condom and said, “All I have is this single-serving thing.”
“… ok. … Do you have it?”
“Oh sorry.”
I didn’t mention the condom, and I didn’t use one. I guess because he didn’t mention one? I don’t know.
I am not proud of that. But really, I have learned my lesson from the comical accident. What happened should totally be a condom commercial in fact. Not starring me. But yeah.

Everything was going well; everything was fine.

So um.... I don’t know if you knew this, but cocaine – and crystal meth, for that matter – is sometimes cut with laxative, and did you also know, that although it does not enter the body orally, the laxative might still affect it? I seem to dimly recall hearing or reading that somewhere. From now on, that little piece of trivia will not be so irretrievably buried.
So everything’s going well – no direction needed -- until we both smelled something. I had this split-second feeling of dread since we were in my apartment that the stench is somehow linked to my poor housekeeping.
I was about to apologize when DJ said something – maybe “Oh no.”
We separated. Poor DJ stumbled over all the crap strewn about the floor in my bedroom, hopped to the light switch, and turned it on.
“Oh no.”
I looked at the bed, and there was a stain on the fitted sheet.
”Um… do you have toilet paper here?”
Haha yes. Of course I do. “Yeah, it’s down the hall,” I pointed.
“Oh…,” he motioned for me to come with him. “Well let’s go.”
I have a one-bedroom apartment, and you can't really get lost in it, but whatever. So I went with him to the bathroom. We stood there for a split-second -- me, because I still hadn’t realized something and was just being a bump-on-the-log all around, and him, out of pure mortification.
I unrolled a wad of toilet paper and handed it to him.
“Oh no no. You use it. You need it too.”
That’s when I looked down and saw that I had been soiled too.
“Oh,” I said.
That’s when the torrent of apologizing began. “I’m so sorry. This is so embarrassing.”
So I wiped off what I could, squirted some soap in my hands, and washed myself.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll fix the rest of this mess,” DJ said. Or he said something like it. Maybe “clean the rest of this mess,” and by that, I guess he meant “go to the bathroom” because he did sit on the toilet right after saying that.
I stood there.
He said something about not being able to go with me there, but I was still in some dumbfounded daze. Eventually, I left and replaced the fitted sheet with another one.
He finished, but by that time, I had become dissatisfied with my own cleaning. I still smelled shit. Back in the bathroom and squatting in the tub, I lathered up and stuck myself underneath the faucet until everything was acceptable again.

DJ asked if I wanted to drink. Oh of course. We fixed two cape cods and sipped them.
“I used to be a bartender,” he said.
“Oh neat.” And that was all I said. It was another example of poor DJ trying desperately to start a conversation, but I was having none of it. I’m bad about that when I first meet someone: I tell stories, but I don’t so much talk to the person.
Soon we were making out again. We moved back to the bedroom, and we started back up. But this time, my better sense was reasserting itself.
I’m going to have sex without a condom twice?
And I really don’t want to have sex with someone I just met. That’s more of a second date thing.
Plus, having your bed shat on – to say nothing of your own person – is kind of a mood killer.
So yeah. My heart wasn’t in it so much.
“What’s wrong?” DJ said. “Do you not want to?”
“…. No.”
“Ok.”
I disengaged.
“Wait! Oh no!”
And so. For the second time that night. Both the bed and I had been soiled.
Back to the bathroom. Wiped myself off with some toilet paper. Later, squatted under the tub faucet. I was sadly beginning to be old hat at this.
While I was in the bathroom, I called Bryan, an ex and an old friend.
“Bryan, this is Will. I’m calling to tell you that I picked up a guy at the Star Bar and that he has shat. Twice. On my bed. Um… I haven’t figured out how, but I’ll be blaming you for this. So… heads up.”

When I came back to the bedroom, DJ was getting dressed.
I tugged at the fitted sheet to make him get up. He looked back. “Oh no. I’m so sorry. This is so embarrassing.”
“No no no,” I said.
After I changed the sheet again, he asked if I would mind dropping him off at that music thing Tom and Nathan were going to.
“No problem.” I kind of wanted him to just stay the night, and I’m not sure after all that, if our positions had been reversed, if I would have been so bold as to ask for a ride at almost five in the morning.
He laced up his big clunky boots. “Sorry. This is a process,” he said.
“That is ok.”
He ran to the bathroom to check out how he looked. “I went straight from work to the Star Bar. It was so busy today. I hate Dave Matthews Band.” He works at the midtown vortex.
I laughed.
“Yes. And I look like shit, just like I thought.”
Made out a bit before we headed out.
“It’s at Spring and fourth.”
He called his friends to let them know he was coming.
On the way, we saw two … groups of prostitutes. Not exaggerating. Not being mean. I mean, my hand to God, they were prostitutes straight from central casting.
“Wow. Those are a lot of prostitutes,” DJ said.
“Yeah. There are! That’s so strange.”
I don’t what the collective noun is for prostitutes. Pride? School? Gaggle? But whatever. We saw two of those. Awfully close to one another. I think maybe there was about to be a prostitute rumble.
Anyway. We found the place.
I did not think about it at the time, but there was a Checkers or something with the entrance roped off for paid parking. So it would appear there was actually a legitimate… something going on.
DJ asked if I would mind waiting for him while he checked to make sure it was still going on.
“Of course.”
I oogied into the slight bit of the Checkers entrance that was not blocked by the rope. I was feeling kind of nervous about the situation at the time. But yeah.
I remembered your story but knew he didn’t have anything because he tried to bum some off of Tom before we left Star Bar.
DJ came back. “It’s still going on.”
”Ok.”
”So… can I give you my number?”
“Um…. I don’t have my phone with me.” I really didn’t. “Can I give you mine?”
”Sure.”
”And you’re going to be ok?”
He smiled. “Yeah.”
”All right.”

And that was it. Because I was whispering on the message, Bryan didn’t quite hear what I said. I told him the story.
“I’m crying. This is so hilarious, I’m crying. Oh my God.”
"I felt like I was channelling you. That's why I'm blaming you."
Bryan went through a racy phase where he would pick up random men from the Heretic, a gay bar with a strict dress code: you can't get in if you're wearing a shirt. He'd black out, wake up, and have to kick a guy he didn't remember out of the apartment.
He'd try to play it off like it was a normal relationship and would tell me about seeing various ones around town, but I couldn't keep track.
"Those people don't get to be characters. I'm calling them all Chad."
Now Bryan's dating a guy he met under far less sketchy circumstances, and Chad was all upset that I was calling him Chad.
"No. You weren't channelling me. I would have kicked the guy out way earlier than you did."
“And is that normal? That’s kind of why I called you. I’m like, ‘Bryan has way more sex than I do. Maybe that’s normal.’ And if it is, I want to say you are disgusting, and you are possibly going to hell. And as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord, and we will do so with good, wholesome, God-fearing oral sex.”
“No no no. That’s not normal. That’s not supposed to happen.”
And later, he said that the most me part of that story was when I still gave him my number.
“Well, really it was a pretty good date except when he defecated on me. He made one little mistake. Maybe I’m being too picky.”

So racy you'll swoon like Aunt Pittypat.

I am coming to Tallahassee Thursday and bringing a superlatively racy story in which I do something out of character and then comedic disaster befalls me, which is totally consistent with my character.

I have to dust my stove.

Danielle chose cooking

I look at cooking the way at look at hunting/farming: I guess I could do it, but why bother when there are perfectly good restaurants or grocery stores waiting to sell me things so I don’t have to cook. ... ok maybe that was a bad comparison, but you get the idea.
(Once, I was watching Fishing with Andre with some friends, and Matt asked what celebrity we would like to fish with.
I said, of course, Parker Posey.
"Between you and Parker Posey," Linzy said. "Who exactly is catching fish?"
"I am. I've been known to catch fish. It has happened before."
The group did not believe me.
"I will have you know my heroic epithet is Will Young, Son of Eddie, the Fish-Catcher.")
Someone once asked Katie if I were a good cook. “He boils water with the best of them,” she said.
And really, that’s about all I do. If you’re mixing ingredients and baking, it seems like so much work just to eat it. You do all that work; you eat it; and what are you left with? More work: dirty dishes, and you have to do it all over again tomorrow.
I mean, I can do that. It has been known to happen.
In the past three years, I have cooked:
Miss Leigh’s Chinese casserole
Cheese cake
7-layer dip.At this rate, I should have a full, decent meal in my repertoire by 2010.

The Ecthroi have x-ed.

This will possibly be a schmaltzy post. Feel free to skip.

Madeleine L’Engle passed away on the 6th, and I called/posted a great deal about it when I found out about that Friday. I hadn’t thought about her in ages -- not since the dreadful TV movie version of A Wrinkle In Time with that boy from the Ring as Charles Wallace, and I confessed to Bryan that if you had asked me on the 5th if she were alive, I would not have had an answer for you.

Hearing that she had died, though, affected me more than I thought it would. I started to tear up, and I tried to remember what her books meant to me that her passing should affect me so.

Someone gave me A Wrinkle In Time because I’d already read it before middle school where I had to reread it twice for classes. I remember decorating my 4th grade reading folder with characters from various books and the seraphim from A Wind in the Door was one of them.

I was always so anxious for the characters because L’Engle’s sequels never occur directly after one another. A few years separate the first two, and then Meg’s married by the third. I remember being shocked by that when I first read it – not the marriage -- that time could pass so swiftly and things could actually change for the characters. I would have this mixture of dread while wanting to know what had happened to them.

Anyway.

Her characters also had flaws and not flaws that only served as plot points that once resolved were never displayed again (I’m looking at you, Edmund and Eustace. Damn, I don’t know when this blog became my forum for C. S. Lewis bashing. I like his books, too. I swear.): Meg has her insecurities about not being as smart as the rest of her family, and while part of the first book does revolve around her overcoming that insecurity to defeat IT, it’s not something that just disappears. She struggles with it in the other books.

The tributes on NPR and CNN make a lot out of L’Engle’s use of a heroine in a science-fiction story. What impressed me the most, though, was how L’Engle conveys her faith in a science-fiction story. Christ is mentioned in the first one; the Ecthroi are said to be fallen angels; Many Waters happens during around the Flood story. Among these elements, she mixes science-fiction and fantasy, and she doesn’t treat science as antagonistic to faith. It doesn't stop characters from entering a fantastic world or a highly moral one; it propels them ever forward into those places. I don’t remember encountering that perspective before: that science wasn't an enemy of religion.

Similarly, and just as revolutionary for me, is the scene where Mrs Whatsit, Mrs Who, Mrs Which, Meg, Calvin, and Charles Wallace are looking at the stars, and … I think Mrs Whatsit compares or says the stars are people who brought light into the world and fought, knowingly or not, against the Darkness. Meg, Calvin, and Charles Wallace begin listing people – first Jesus and then artists, scientists, Buddha, Mohammed.

I remember being struck by that thought as well: that regardless of religious differences or even of belief, we can all take part in bringing light into the world. (That might sound disingenuous, but what do you want? I was in the fourth grade.)Sadly, it is that same sentiment that others object to and that gets A Wrinkle in Time banned. But the servants of IT cannot blot out L’Engle’s light. She fought against the Darkness, and her light continues to shine for others.