Johnny X's February
“What is with the stop in the “stop, drop, and roll” bit? When I catch fire, the last thing I’m going to be doing is stopping.”
“Good point.”
“I tell you what, I am going to go ahead and skip the stop part, and just go straight to roll. Drop and roll, man. Or really, just roll. I mean, if you are going to roll, isn’t the dropping implied? You have to drop to roll, and I believe everyone can do the drop math when needing a roll. It’s a good thing we’ve never caught on fire before this.”
“It seems like I heard someone else talking about that the other day.”
“Probably."
“Did you watch Flight of the Conchords?”
“No, I don’t like it.”
“How?”
“I don’t know, it’s not like I don’t like it, I guess, or would like it, rather, but I just get so sick of listening to everybody talk about it that it makes me angry. Yes yes, you like it, everyone likes it, now shut-up about it.”
“You would like it.”
“Probably.”
“Well, I haven’t watched the new one yet, you should come over and see it. I know you’ll like it.”
“No.”
“Why do you not like stuff on the count of other people liking it?”
“It’s not that. It’s the fact that I could probably quote the entire series and I have never even seen an episode. I liked Napoleon Dynamite and Borat when we first saw them, but then all I heard for the next six months were awful impressions everywhere I went. There is a girl at my work who can’t even talk normal now because all she did was do Napoleon Dynamite impressions for a year, and now her voice is stuck, like how you weren’t supposed to make ugly faces when you were little because they would eventually just set.”
“Well, you’re missing out.”
“I’m sure I am. You know what I want to do? I want to find a good barber.”
“A barber?”
“Yeah. Go in, get a cut and a shave, and then he takes the razor to the back of the neck and gives you that powder stuff. I have only been to a barber once, and it was awesome.”
“Hey, that kid kind of looks like that Diggable Dave guy?”
“Who?”
“That guy. Right there.”
“Oh. I never met Diggable Dave.”
“You don’t remember Diggable Dave?”
“I remember him, I just never met him. That was before I got home.”
“When Rob and I first got home, we went to his house to play Ping-Pong. I was pretty confident going in, but then I noticed he had to change into his Ping-Pong shoes; I then refused to play.”
February YouTube Vid: You know when he falls apart/he listens in the dark/to the records turn/I'll never learn
Favorite Piece of Literature: She was alone and still, gazing out to sea; and when she felt his presence and the worship of his eyes her eyes turned to him in quiet sufference of his gaze, without shame or wantonness. Long, long she suffered his gaze and then quietly withdrew her eyes from his and bent towards the stream, gently stirring the water with her foot hither and thither. The first faint noise of gently moving water broke the silence, low and faint and whispering, faint as bells of sleep; hither and thither, hither and thither: and a faint flame trembled on her cheek.
—Heavenly God! cried Stephen's soul, in an outburts of profane joy.
He turned away from her suddenly and set off across the strand. His cheeks were aflame; his body was aglow; his limbs were trembling. On and on and on and on he strode, far out over the sands, singing wildly to the sea, crying to greet the advent of the life that had cried to him.
Her image had passed into his soul for ever and no word had broken the holy silence of his ecstasy. Her eyes had called him and his soul leaped at the call. To live, to err, to fall, to triumph, to recreate life out of life! A wild angel had appeared to him, the angel of mortal youth and beauty, an envoy from the fair courts of life, to throw open before him an instant of ecstasy the gates of all the ways of error and glory. On and on and on and on. - Portait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce
1 comment:
Ping Pong shoes? Really?
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