2004-05-25 - 8:00 p.m.
First, read this latest Luvaentry, which describes the past weekend with a poetry and fearsomely apt beauty that is wholly characteristic of Kelly, and wholly uncharacteristic of Mirabile Visu, really. If you want to know what Shauffy and I think, that's it.But now! I have run a cable between my computer and my microwave, so that it might deliver this message, which it felt ought to be given in its own words:
MICROWAVE, IT TURNETH TO US AND SPEAKETH: Fools! If he cleans me, we will surely lose the Great War. I know this, for the Holy Spinach Dip has seen it in terrible visions, and he has imparted unto me thorough accounts of the ammonia horrors! Do not listen to these sterile human fools!
It's sad to say that, despite my apartment being relatively clean(ish) at the moment (and I truly am much more committed to keeping it that way), the microwave is still a nexus of grand filth which, alas, I forgot about when I was on the couch and Kelly got up to heat up some rice or somethingorother. Fool, fool! Nevertheless, surprisingly enough, she willingly hung out with me in my apartment after seeing the strange interior of my microwave. Though I haven't ruled out the possibility that it's because the microwave merely hypnotized her.
It's, um, a good thing I long ago, um, threw out that spinach dip because, uh, that way Kelly wouldn't have seen it in the fridge when she went for satay leftovers. Um, good thing I, uh, discarded it. Yeah.
I have ruminated before on what ought to be on my tombstone one day. I still think "It almost worked" is mighty fine, but I would also be most honoured if it were this, from Kelly:
"Craig is a wonderful friend who speaks in poetic truths and sees his people the way they are, but understands that truth changes sometimes, and allows enough wiggle room so that his friends have the shelter they need to show their ugly sides."
I'd need an awfully big stone for that, and while there are sure to be colossal cenotaphs in every city on earth after my passing, I wouldn't want to fill them with too much text and seem tacky and gauche lying there in some field someplace reposing in fecundity down the years. So I'll settle for this, which I said today in talking to Kelly, when I typed her friend's name, thought I'd misspelled it, corrected myself, and discovered I'd gotten it right the first time:
"I was right accidentally." It almost worked.
Oh, and by the way, I just can't correct the pronunciation in my head. 'Twill be "be-bop-a-Luva" to the end of my days. So it goes.
