Hello to all guitar-playing-ninjas, cats from outer-space, dust bunnies, forgotten pennies, and chameleon-men.
Solitary Confinement continues. And the sun rises in the east. And the Niagara Falls keep… falling. Or whatever it’s doing. Pouring thousands of tons of water and being misty and making a lot of noise and having people in barrels go flying down it.
I don’t have Cudgel with me, (see small yellow bird of previous blog entries), so I’m lonely. All I have are those real people to talk to. Yeah, I don’t think so. Anyway, tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day, as all you gushy couples know; and I will not be at school to witness what happens. In a way I’m kind of glad I’m missing the pink-and-red lovefest that makes me cringe so, but in another way I’m not– what if somebody has a flower for me? What if there’s a box of chocolates some lovely thoughtful person has bought for me?
Hm, but no. Probably not. The only people that would get me flowers and chocolates are characters of my own creation devised from a lonely wistful imagination; and I can’t eat thought-chocolates, now can I?
Anyway, that four-foot-something karate master I was talking about came over after school and we talked for a very long time about various things; but the best part was when he walked in with a little paper heart and said, ‘Here you go.’ And I said, ‘What’s it for?’ And he said, ‘All the boys got these. You’re supposed to keep them until you talk to a girl, and then give it to her. Here you go.’
Funny how this was after six hours of school. I still felt kind of pleased, anyway.
In other news, while I’ve been sitting in my cold, damp little basement hunched over the computer thinking desperately of new blog ideas and pulling out my hair when the stupid freaking ancient old man computer dies on me constantly, I’ve been playing Coldplay songs incessantly. I’m not a musician, but I do have a guitar and I can sing sort of. But I have some weird little quirks– when I sing in the high register my voice turns French and I can’t sing my own style on other people’s songs, so I end up sounding like a weird girly Win Butler. Anyway, I’ve been going through my favorite Coldplay songs, with various degrees of success– ‘Yellow’ sounds silly even to my own ears and of course my voice goes French for some reason every time I hit the high notes there.
So…uh-huh, that’s it. There’s nothing else to say, really, unless you’re interested in my pinball scores on the computer and all my opinions on daytime soap-opera actors.
Yours truly, all the most terribly bad, and kind of okay, OnceaBasementDog.