I'm writing this from the birdmonster mobile command center, which, no matter what you're imagining, is really just zach's sidekick in the
crampy backseat of a borrowed 4-runner. My god. The keys on this thing are tiny. I predict popeye-esque thumb muscles in two weeks. Call the circus.
So: the car. I haven't yet divulged the entire story, and, since I'll be in this backseat for quite some time, trying not to piss all over my lap---mental note: less coffee before endless drives---I figured I could yammer at you for a moment.
Plan A was to buy an incredibly fancy super-mobile. Turns out incredibly fancy super-mobiles are incredibly expensive. So we moved to plan B: purchase a replacement birdvan. But when the best option you find has no back window and needs a spray of ether on it's engine to start, you move to plan C. I don't want my van addicted to 19th century painkillers. Plan C, though: it was an atrocious plan. Plan C: take two cars. Sheer misery. Plus we'd be missing out on the innevitable insanity that will
set in in about twelve days time.
And then there was plan D: the car trade. An old friend with a 4-runner offered to take Dave's grandpa sedan in exchange for a car with actual chutzpah. So Kelby, we salute you. I'd write you a sonnet if I could remember the rhyme scheme and if my thumbs weren't already burning.
Tonight: Los Angeles. We missed you. We've got one song left to mix and I get to shake Brad's hand for the phenomenal job thus far. And we're playing with division day tonight, who are some of our favorite people in the world. In fact: Einstein, Ghandi, then Division Day. I think we can all agree on that.
Now, a scratch-off awaits me. I hope it's one of those bingo scratch-offs. I like the implied drama of long, drawn out lotto tickets. They almost convince you that you didn't just flush three bucks down the toilet.
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3 comments:
you had me at:
"I don't want my van addicted to 19th century painkillers."
stop the madness!
are sonnets pretty much ababababab
with maybe a few extra a's in the last four lines or so. in fact now that I'm blathering, i seem to remember that all sonnets dont have the same rhyme scheme. there are Elizibethan sonnets and something else. hold up, i think it's wikipedia time... Okay. we're taking Italian and English sonnets. So I was right about there being two types and for the sake of me being correct ALL the time, we are going to assume English = Elizibethan for all further inquiry. Italian sonnets started out something like a-b-a-b, a-b-a-b, c-d-e-c-d-e, but later got remixed to also include a-b-b-a, a-b-b-a for the first half and c-d-c-c-d-c for the second. Sound like the English enjoy about as much variety in their poesy as in there food, so they stick to a-b-a-b, c-d-c-d, e-f-e-f, g-g. I'm noticing a lot of ab'ing above which translates to alot of me being correct. To complete the journey I'll mention the meter (or metre, which i did not have to look up by the way): iambic pentameter. Thats five iambs per line. Or five sets of an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed one, depending on the century and/or level of pedantry your are living in. And, now that I have sufficiently put to rest Tenuto's only excuse for not writing a sonnet as well as wasted part of my morning, I am INSISTING that Justin wave his wormy dick in Shakespeare's face, write a sonnet, and put it in this blog. And while I'm at the demands, I would like for Dave to come up with a few puns including iamb and its complimentary metric foot, the trochee.
Brett, Brett, Brett. How can I say no to that? Wormy-dick-waving awaits.
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