So lots of things have been happening in the last few hours/days/weeks, and I've been gone near as makes no difference a month, and I'm sorry but I'm not sorry because this little sideline of intrigue in the periphery of my experience really is second to many things. Like slouching. And sleeping. And I thought we might all just have a little catchup. And I've just started lots of sentences with and, my primary school teacher would have my guts for not just garters, but as a noose for my execution as well. Anyhow. Well. Catchup. I'm gonna tell you lots of things that have happened to important me, and you're going to listen. Feel free to skim through at will, pick up the bits that seem interesting. Okay, I know what you just said and it was rude.
I want to start with a little encounter between me and my little brother Luke, which I found sweet to the point of near-as-makes-no-difference painfulnes:
"Hey, Jacob, do you wanna watch a film?"
"Yeah, sure, what film?"
"I think we should watch a scary film."
"Yeah sure, but isn't that Nanny McPhee you've got there?"
"Woooahh, no I didn't say that scary. I was just putting this away."
Don't you just want to curl up in a ball and stroke the world?
Has anyone else realised "opposite day" is a paradox? It's entirely likely that everyone else has in fact come to this conclusion, which makes it a really bad thing to put near the start (or include at all...), but listen I worked this out myself and I'm dead proud. You could argue that I'm already prouder than Simba on Prozac without this added fuel for the egotistical fires, but this is dead proud. In that people have died for my pride*, and they might just die again when I unleash this stinkbomb of a revelation unto the world**. Retreating hastily to the relatively solid ground of my point, let's consider how the possibility of an opposite day is entirely implausible. There are two situations to consider:
1) Noone declares it to be opposite day. We can fairly safely assume it to be a normal day.
2) Someone declares it to be opposite day. By the definition of opposite day, this must mean that it's a normal day.
I.e. it is opposite day if and only if it isn't opposite day.
Of course, this doesn't apply if the opposite day is planned, i.e tomorrow will be opposite day. But as most opposite day's are spontaneous, I think I may just have spared the world of a common and bewilderingly tedious topic of year seven conversation.
On the subject of year sevens, some have started following me around. They're very giggly, female, and convinced that my hair isn't real. To them I am known as "Wiggy", wherever they got that from. As per my typical helpful, friendly and conversational nature, I extended a hand of friendship towards them in order to teach them what is going so terribly wrong with their lives and generally to make fun of them at any turn. Strangely enough, they've not just taken the hand they're practically nibbling at it's wisdom. I asked for fangirls but this is just odd and I'm not prepared to go on with it.***
Next, I'm getting old, and for this I cite two pieces of evidence. Firstly, I've started making unnecessary and unwanted noises under strain. Where have you gone, oh happy days of lifting (hypothetically. Lifting is a fairly standard exercise, and I'm using it because examples of genuine effort I've made sportingly are are far too few and far between for this. "De ye even lift?" No. Never) without an involuntary accompanying grunt? I miss happy hours of silence, silence free from the embarrassment and strange glares that accompany a slight hum of strain as I ascend the fifth stair. Silence free from the rapid outward breath with the throw of a tennis ball that sounds EXACTLY like a fart. Secondly, a long story involving a glockenspiel happened to me the other week, and I've told the same person six times. Six times. Even more befuddling is that each time they forgot about it as well, until I reminded them I'd already told them. So we're all getting old together, which is entirely normal. Nothing to worry about? No I'm not going to tell you about the Glockenspiel (with a capital G).
Why do viola players stand outside houses? Because they can't find the key and don't know when to come in.
Why are violas like bombs? By the time you can hear them there's nothing to be done.
What's the difference between a viola player and a washing machine? Vibrato.
What's the difference between a viola and a coffin? With a coffin, the dead person's on the outside.
Why can't viola players play hide and seek? Because noone will look for them.
I finished my computing (programming. Not to be confused with IT. Not that I'm derisive) controlled assessment. I could rattle on about how unfathomably complicated JavaScript validation of radio forms is, or I could just tell you that I really am very very clever. And that is what I shall do.
Are we looking forward to The Hobbit? I certainly am, if nothing else it'll produce a new spurt of comments about my hair looking like Frodo's. People never seem to notice that I'm five foot eleven and fifteen sixteenths. Probably because I'm not, but I will never admit to being six foot in height (In width maybe. They sell boxes of cheese at our school now. A box, of cheese. Who's idea was that? Wherever you are, cheese man, I pray that a service is done unto you when you fall into a massive salt shaker, and, to quote the gay cruising website, "Grindr". Wherever you are, cheese man, I hope you realise that what you've done in both confusing, pathetic and oh god irresistible. I can't take my hands off them). It's an unflattering number. But yes, the Hobbit, and by association re-watching Lord of the Rings (don't have time to re-read them) often late at night in dangerously influenceable moods. It's made me realise how much I want to go on an adventure. How much I want to move into the world and do bad things and good things but what's important is that I'm doing things. I want to fight what I believe in, or at least have something in which I believe. Proper belief, belief that can inspire a person to do great things. I want something to define me for better or worse, I want to be a character in someone's story, whether it's my own or a friend's or a strangers, whether I become remembered or disappear into the uncaring centuries. It's forced me to think lots of deep thoughts, which was bizarre, and finally to bounce back, which was easy with the new cheese installations in my torso, with a fully formed philosophy "Things just happen. What the hell.", which was plagiarised. Things will happen, and I promise that I'll be here to merrily take the piss, for my year seven following, for the greater good, for Frodo, and for you.
*Notably not me. Funny how these things happen.
**I say unleash, it's fairly likely to be quite a bit tamer than that. What I'm doing is taking my revelation and gently prodding the world with it, as if to say "Uhmm, hey, I've got this." My revelation is a teenage boy's desperate attempt to show off to the girl he likes, with inevitable disastrous consequences, as he hasn't quite caught on that the girl's seeing a man with legs to break rocks upon. I'm marching in what I hope is a confident manner but is obviously internally squeming to the world, declaring that I have something absolutely hilarious to say, in the hope that this forlorn idea will somehow lead to us making love. This is me going "Hey world, I'm really clever honest. Should we make out?". Judging from experience, this is when the world slaps me.
***I made a pact to myself never to use emoticons on this blog, but if I hadn't, and let's imagine I hadn't, O.o
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