I have been informed in no uncertain terms that I must impart to you, o listening throng, the intelligence that two people who you probably don’t know have become romantically involved. ‘Ah,’ I hear you say at this intelligence, ‘most edifying. But, apart from the general joy and celebration at the coming together of two hearts, what import has this fact that you impart to me, the average reader?’ I shall tell you.
I have been friends with Party A, herein called Spunkmeyer to protect the innocent, for over five and a half years now. A bubbling, sensitive sort of person, full of whimsy and optimism, passion and melancholy. An Egypt enthusiast and embryo librarian. The sort of person who has Lilly’s Purple Plastic Purse on her bookshelf alongside The Feminine Mystique and the world’s only copy of the mysterious Book of Cheese.
Party B, the imperious EMeta, on the other hand, has been in the fortunate circle of my acquaintance for the paltry span of five years. He is an engineer and a poet, a crafter of horrible puns, an agile-minded, emotionally aware, and generally puckish sort of rogue. The kind of person who carefully leads you along a trail of conversational bread crumbs until you fall into the joke he has gleefully prepared for you. The sort of person, but I have this only on hearsay, who appears in gold lamé BVDs in the university Rocky Horror.
It was, they estimate, and are in much more of a position to do so, four and half years ago that Spunkmeyer visited me on my university campus, beguiling my less interesting class periods by chalking quotes in her tall flowery handwriting all over the paths. It was then that EMeta, greeting his friend and sometime Mage storyteller, was introduced to the winsome Spunkmeyer. My fancy was caught. One of my many failings, long and carefully suppressed, the tendency to matchmake, siezed on their fanciful imaginations, their literary tastes, their whimsical natures, their idealistic romanticism, and said, “AHA!” No sooner had EMeta and Spunkmeyer smiled at each other than I was the evil scheming spider at the center of a web of fantasies. They were still exchanging pleasantries while I was pondering the probable hair color of their children.
With joy and smugness, then, I watched their friendship grow throughout the Spunky Sojourn. With barely-concealed glee did I give EMeta her address and swear to her excellence as a correspondent. However, absence makes the smug diminish, and in time, as the two settled quite comfortably into penpal status, my anticipation faded, and I filed EMeta and Spunkmeyer’s inevitable romantic destiny under ‘Good Idea Unrealized’, with several other matches, a novel idea or two, and a slightly wacky scheme for world domination.
Imagine then my excitement to discover this week that Spunkmeyer, in accordance with the Punctuated Equilibrium Theory of Life-Changes, has moved, started grad school, gotten several new jobs, joined a vegetarian co-op, and, as you may have gathered, at long last implemented Spunkmeyer and EMeta’s Inevitable Romantic Destiny. That’s one match down, a dozen or so to go… this can’t be good for my resolve not to meddle or matchmake…
MWA HA HA HA HA HA! Or, rather, congratulations, you crazy kids.
Comments
merci beaucoup
What’s so bad about mushiness? I happen to like it quite a lot.
-The one whose puns are a-maize-ingly corny
Re: merci beaucoup
Ugh, ugh, ugh, I wish I could reach through the ether and swat you with a hairbrush for that pun!
And I also do like mushiness, but my mushiness quotient tends to operate as the inverse of my caffeine/sugar intake wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Re: merci beaucoup
You want sentimentality? I cried yesterday when I realized I actually had to Get On a Plane and Leave Maui. And I was eating coconut macadamia nut fudge ice cream in a waffle cone at the time.
In other news, we wasted no time upon our return from paradise in implementing a wireless router. It’s still hardwired for the PC but now with my laptop wirelessly equipped, I don’t have to interfere with Mike’s computer time and I no longer need to leave my couch. Ever. Why did I take such a long time to warm up to this idea?!
PS If perchance you want any details on the by-now mundane wireless internet whatsahoozy aforementioned, please consult Pinky; I have no knowledge. No knowledge. Plausible deniability.
Movie recommendation: “American Splendor.”
Movie antirecommendations:
“American Wedding”
“Starsky & Hutch”
(there’s a common thread in the antirecommendations: they both feature a “dance battle” scene. If you are ever watching a movie and there’s a dance battle scene, I urge you to cease viewing immediately, unless, of course, the movie is Saturday Night Fever. Of course, if it’s Saturday Night Fever, you were just watching the hair and the pants anyway. There may be other exceptions to this rule. Sorry for the long post. Guess I should rant on me own named blog.
Re: merci beaucoup
damned blog, that is. #
(*$( jet lag *sputterRe: merci beaucoup
Hear ye, hear ye! Bring on the mushiness AND the bad puns! Go EMeta!!
(Which brings me to another movie recommendation: “50 First Dates”—I laughed AND I cried buckets.)
Signed,
The Copious, Overstimulated, Distracted Poster
Re: merci beaucoup
I think there was a dance battle in Strictly Ballroom. That movie was excellent.
Re: merci beaucoup
A) Hmm, ‘named’ as expletive. Implies it is the essence of the item, that which identifies and makes it unique/existent, which is abhorrent. Very deep.
B) Have you blogged in the last year and a half? If so, your blog provider’s “e-mail me when updated” is UNWORKY.
C) Welcome back, o sister mine. Your wedDING is profiled further down, bien sur.
Re: merci beaucoup
P’raps the secret is that if the movie is about dancing, the dance battle is okay.
Of course, one could characterize the mambo at the dance in West Side Story as a dance battle if so inclined, and that is, of course, a classic.
On the other hand, Grease has a dance battle, and Grease is the BLACKSPOT ON THE ROSEBUSH OF LIFE!
Re: merci beaucoup
An odd juxtaposition of what I was about to say (“if the movie is about dancing, the dance battle is okay”) and something which could not be further from my opinion (that Grease is the blackspot on the rosebush of life.) Why don’t you like it? Because you did a number in it? I think it’s fabu.
Re: merci beaucoup
“Was it love at first sight?”
“Did she put up a fight?”
The entire thing is full of dreadful portrayals of gender relations and sexual politics, and the Big Solution and Happy Ending is that the girl subverts her own personality and, it is implied, gives up her moral objections to premarital sex, in order to get the guy. What a great moral! What a great moment! Let’s get up and sing!