you sure think about brains an awful lot…

At long last, we have reached the final post from the original blog on tumblr.  I promise to post the ultra-special super-entry within the week, to officially inaugurate this lovely new site (thank you WordPress, your elegance and ease-of-use is almost confusing in its non-confoundingness).  Before I leave you to re-read something old, let me just say that the letter below is one of my favorite posts on this site.  As an added bonus, I will be adding a few fun hyperlinks for you to enjoy.  So, enjoy!

So anyways, I haven’t posted in over two weeks, and that is a major faux-pas to a budding bloglodyte.  In my defense, I was working on a superawesometastic Valentine’s Day post, but it was just simply too involved to be put together in a slapdash manner.  You guys are going to have to wait a little longer for that post.  It will hopefully be worth it.  I’m sure you will all think so.  That post is now going to be saved for a VERY SPECIAL OCCASION that is coming soon to an interweb near you (except for you, young Timothy Foo).

I have purchased the domain and will soon be migrating content over to that domain on a new site.  I really like tumblr, and will continue to post entries here in parallel, but I don’t understand why most tumblr people just repost other people’s photos and things and think that it’s a waste of time and bandwidth to repost photos of pretty girls…So I am moving to a more mature and wordcentric blog platform. So now that I have built up that blog-post to the point where it can’t help but be disappointing to you when it does get published on in the very near future.  As for now, you’ll just have to muddle through another short but sweet post…

Now, I view these letters as ovum, waiting to be fertilized by a reply.  If it doesn’t get a reply, the letter is flushed down the toilet like period soup, but with commas and colons involved.  I would like to reiterate that all of these letters are honest-to-goodness attempts to make a legitimate connection with a stranger on the internet.  I guess that just makes me strange.  To me, these are snapshots of my soul, dangling on a virtual string for you to judge.

What we have here is one of my best subject line/opening sentence combinations.  I have no idea what kind of imagined case of Herpes Simplex 2 prevented this young lady from even acknowledging the wit contained herein.  I mean, just two hours ago, a lovely lass had the decency to quickly reply in reference to my subject line, although she was on her way to bed and didn’t have time to fully absorb the majesty contained within said message.  Of course, those are now words that I can’t post here.  See, I have a filter!  Regardless, it is time to foist this upon you:

you sure think about brains an awful lot…

Sent to kit_kit
Jan. 8, 2009 – 4:03am
9% Enemy 82% Friend 88% Match

are you a zombie? A zombie who can pass for cute and then when I fall asleep you eat my brains? very cunning, indeed!

For reals, though, your description of a Sunday sounds awesome, though to tell you the truth, “morning” for me on a Sunday seems to be more like noon (on an early day). I’m glad you were able to bring some Vonnegut books with you, as life without them just seems wrong. Your paragraph about music really got to me. In my solo acoustic sets, I used to cover “Pretty Eyes” (The Natural Bridge is still my favorite Joos record, despite everyone who touts American Water as the be all, end all).

Welcome to NY.

*(Oh and as always, the Icebreaker function had plenty to say on our matchitude.  Observe:  “I think you both like cooking, cardigans, johnny cash, the beatles, and the kinks.” – as expected, context has no bearing on this algorithm.  I totally like Cardigans, the band, but not cardigans, the type of sweater.  The woman in the profile clearly wears the sweaters.)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s