90% True

Posted By Caulimovirus on December 27, 2005

.: My brother received a Sony DSC-S60 digital camera for Christmas, and I’ve been in love with it ever since. The camera was supposed to be delivered before Christmas Eve, which is when our family celebrates Christmas, but it never arrived. We checked UPS’s tracking service and discovered the error: the number in the address was incorrectly listed as 243 instead of 203. So, in a display of Reverse Santa, my brother, my granddad, and I drove down the street and reclaimed what was rightfully ours.

This is the first picture I took with my new gig stick — not to be confused with my giggle stick, which is a highly amusing allusion to my penis. Enlarge Image

.: The reason my brother asked for a camera was that he wants to chronicle our trip to Europe this summer. Until then, however, I suspect he has little use for it, so I will be the one who gets to play with it.

.: And play with it I did! Today, on the 785^th Boxing Day, my dear friend Amy and I went to Best Buy together to buy more memory for our digital cameras. We both purchased 1 gig memory stick pros, because we’re both professionals.

.: Since we bought so much memory, we decided it would be best to take as many pictures as possible. The actual number of pictures we took ended up being somewhere around forty five, including the necessary multiple takes that resulted from what can only be called Stupid Fingers.

This is the second picture I took with my new gig stick. Needless to say, I’m not letting Amy anywhere near it, which is another in a series of increasingly amusing allusions to my penis. Enlarge Image

.: I, using the superior strength as is befitting of my gender, managed to tear open the tightly sealed package in a matter of minutes. Amy, on the other hand, was reduced to animalistic gnawing, which turned out to be both fruitless and painful. When she couldn’t go any further she handed the plastic casing over to me, which I began to thoroughly chew. Being the supportive gentleman I am, I promptly gave up all hopes of ever opening another plastic container and gave it back to Amy, who eventually succeeded.

.: Afterwards, we tried to head home while simultaneously avoiding as much traffic as we could. Amy later told me that this was indeed a possibility, but at the time we ran into not one but two dead ends. Realizing the situation was hopeless, we turned around and drove into the dreaded FM 1960 traffic.

.: Amy, meanwhile, needed to go home, so I dropped her off and took the opportunity to visit Larkin a few blocks away. Right about now in the story the title of this post nearly breaks down, but I’m such a genius I already included a parenthetical clause that keeps it bound together like glue does to fingertips.

.: I pulled up to Larkin’s house at the same time as both her parents were leaving, which I guess is an important enough detail to share with you, even though it has little-to-no impact on the story, which progressed thusly: Larkin’s brother answered the door and yelled for her to come downstairs. When she didn’t arrive, he went up to her room and discovered that she was unavailable, and possibly dying.

The voyeur in me was proud of this shot.

.: The backstory to all this is that yesterday — when my brother’s digital camera only had the built-in 32 megs of memory — we ran into Larkin at the local Walgreens. It took her a while to notice us, so I snapped a few pictures of her in the meantime. While Dallas, Ben, and I looked for Chanukah candles, Larkin told us all about her plans for that evening:

“I’m going to a bitchin’ party with a suicide girl who calls herself Vivisect!” (Site not safe for work.)

.: I suspect her illness today can be directly related in some way to the previous statement.

.: So the visit to her house didn’t last very long. Not wanting to drive forty five minutes back to my grandparents house just quite yet, I ventured unannounced to the home of my dear friend Alexa (Site not safe for sanity), who I hadn’t seen once during the break. As so often happens when I arrive somewhere unannounced, I had to leave shortly afterward.

Christina does not capture well on film.

“No worries,” I thought to myself, “I could always go bug the shit out of Christina.”

.: Of course, all I have to do to annoy her is be in the same room as her, but in keeping with the theme of this post, I decided the best way to bug Christina would be to take her picture without her consent. This was not easy.

.: After I had snapped the first few attempts, she snatched away my brother’s camera and for a while I was positioned uncomfortably on the stairs. Then, we discussed a variety of important and contemporary issues, such as Joss Whedon’s directorial debut, synonyms for “abscond”, the inherent vagueness and impracticality of endogenous growth theory, and whether or not I could eat their food.

.: Having seen Christina in a dose large enough to kill seven fully grown men, I fled her home and drove to the nearby HEB, which is the proud home of this brand new display. And yet, for some reason, a bag of Jelly Beans just wasn’t enough for me. I was craving something chocolate, something made with raspberries. I strolled down the candy isle until I found just what I was looking for: liquid raspberry filled milk chocolate. It was perfect! It had a pretty picture, a European name, and a golden wrapper.

Lies!

.: And yet it was all for naught. For all my excitement in the store, I was hit even harder when I learned the ugly, ugly truth. On first inspection, it looked simply promising. And then I turned the bar over. What?! How could they do this to me? How could they promise such a delectable chocolate raspberry confection and then deliver such a nasty powdered-sugar-filled chunk of crap?

.: Heartbroken and dismayed, I swore off chocolate for the rest of the evening — something I’ve never been able to do. I had to drink two bottles of my $6 root beer case just to wash the flavor out of my mouth.

.: And yet, I didn’t go home immediately after that. Although Larkin was passed out, Alexa wasn’t available, and Christina was, well, undesirable, I still didn’t want to leave Spring. This was the place where I grew up. Nearly all of my life has taken place on just five roads: Louetta, Kuykendahl, Stuebner Airline, Champions Forest, and FM 1960 — surely there was a place among all of them where I could go and just be by myself? Indeed there was.

.: At Half-Price Books, I browsed for a good solid hour before finally settling on two cassette tapes of Ravel’s Bolero and some George Gershwin classics. I also bought an audio book of a novel I’ve been meaning to read, but will now have somebody read for me: Oscar Wilde’s Picture of Dorian Gray. Once I get a tape player set up properly, I will share with you the most annoying British voice I think I have ever heard and at the same time explain to you why I have reverted to reading my books instead of listening to them.

.: Today was a day unlike any other for me. I had no particular place to go, and no real desire to do anything, and yet the entire time there was one thought that did not escape me: how am I going to blog this?

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