Huzzah! The Prodigal Fiancee has returned; prepare the finest nextdoor llama for slaughter and feast. Mmmmmm Llama. Mmmmmmeeeeeee llama... Nyet. Do you ever get the feeling that LL Bean was a company strategically named for animal proximity in dictionaries and encyclopedias? Or did you find Bugs Bunny att... oh... okay. Me neither.
Grafton and Beck are once again overlapping Venn diagrams in the universe of location. Or something. She's back. Ahhhhh... that's good. On the other hand, the Iron Fist is back in session, which means no more egalitarian land-sharing democratic forms of government as we've had the past week; no more S & W & N triumvirate. Everything was going great, except that I kept losing on all votes 2 to 1. And guess who conveniently got elected "Town Dog Walker and Up-picker of Poop?" I think Bart Simpson defines a paradox as choosing between an S&W-led government and the Iron Fist. Oh, well. Sometimes you get the Beck, and sometimes, well, the Beck gets you. La la la la la la la la la la la etc., the man in me will do nearly any task...
So what crazy events have taken place this weekend? I learned several more White Album tunes Saturday morning, chugging up to "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" as the next beast to slay. And seeing as I neither have Slow Hands nor am I God, this one may take some practice. But at least I have some structure, so that's good. For the record - Wild Honey Pie may be my new favorite guitar song. No, not really.
So I started cleaning the apartment and watching the Sox game when I got a call from Ben & Ali who en route en foote to Scoot and Skirts, so I hopped on the bike and met them for some afternoon frozen yogurt. They rescued me from house-cleaning to go out for Thai food and back to their casa for crepes with their friends Ben - another Ben - and Rachel, who was never actually a cast member of the Wonder Years, despite the fact that Ali knows her. Seriously serious, Ali is ridiculous - she knows Becky Slater. Becky Slater! Unbelievable. NEhoo, great times, great crepes.
Sunday was an all-day festival of Nut gathering and Nut departing. Camp departures are such sweet sorrow, but they're kinda just loud annoying over-the-top sorrow when it's all drama kids involved. Ha ha! I'm not actually this heartless - I'm just - wait for it - ACTING! But not acting like a histrionic ridiculoid like your average adolescent would-be Willy Shakes. No offense to blood relatives. Anyways, spent the entire day at Squirrel Heaven hanging out and listening to Chamber Music. Beck arrived at Providence late and missed her train, so she rented a car and headed to Natick. We hit up a small Chinese restaurant before my last airport run of the day, and then headed back to South-G where we sit this evening. I took her to school this morning, returned the car, picked up another Air-Nut and then gymmed it up this afternoon, nearly dying in the exercising process. It's in the 90's today, supposed to get to 100 later in the week, and the gym is not air-conditioned. Dubious - but I got a reasonable workout in, came home and showered, then headed back to Tufts to take beck to the grocery store... and yeah, that more or less catches you up. Stare deep into the meaningless details; they're allegorical.
In more allegorical news, I've decided to run away from home and join a rock band. Yes, this is a realistic fear you should hold. In less allegorical news, Mel Gibson is a drunken moron.
Ultimate tomorrow? Maybe.
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