2009-02-21 - 4:37 p.m.

�����Hi.

�����You're looking well.

�����Things are going well here.

�����Well, at least *I* think so.

�����I'm happy. I really am. It's taken a long time to say that and actually mean it, but it's true. So everything? I'm happy about everything? Oh, strike turkey no! There's always house drama (not to be confused with the tv drama, House), and I need to make more money, and I still don't have a solid gold rocket car, and Helen Hunt still breathes, you know - all that.

�����But? I'm happy. I have a good job in a bad economy. I have wonderful friends who are all satellites to my mind and extended family that I can tolerate in shifts. I talk to Brad pretty regularly and Bryan & Natalie live right down the street and are over most Wednesdays for Lost Party. Frederick is on Facebook so I feel I can be in better touch with he & Ellen now. Facebook, for those who still look down upon it, is a fantastic tool for keeping in touch with people and reconnecting with people you never thought you'd hear from again. And it helps maintain relationships with people you are still friends with but don't want to lose touch with (cough, Coty, cough). But yeah, I love it. Seriously. Monique and I are bowled over with happiness with the "I love Lakeport" group on Facebook. It's like everyone's 80's memories of the neighborhood I grew up in has been freshly squeezed into this group. I mean, it's not from concentrate, people.

�����Speaking of Monique, she makes me happiest of all. Sure, sometimes we want to light each other's hair on fire. Hell, sometimes we do light each other's hair on fire. But we've also finally come to the understanding that lots of couples light each other's hair on fire. Sure, it smells bad for a while. I mean, it's HUMAN HAIR. But when the smell fades, and you're helping each other comb out loose follicles and applying cooling salve to your respective scalps, that's when you realize what it's all about. The sushi and the tubing comes with the burning hair and the sour milk cereal bowls. The hikes and the psychs. The Dr. Freckle and the Mr. Jeckyl. I know she doesn't necessarily (or maybe it's vehemently hates, I can't remember) like me writing about her/us but: all my happy memories of the last 6 months, year, 2 years, 3 years, etc. almost always involve her. [And if they don't? I wish she was there.] Montreal, NYC, seeing DB in Boston on Halloween, swimming, tubing, balancing her as she walks home on icy streets in high heels on Valentine's Day. All with pure ridiculous spark that she provides. But I wish she could have been at Six Flags with Kate, Nick & Dom and me (even though she hates amusement parks) and I wish she could have been spelunking with me in South America (even though she hates words with "lunk" in the middle) and I wish she was there all those nights we go out in Portsmouth, or for a drink after work, or just to sit on the couch and watch Top Chef - not talk about it later on the phone - but BE THERE, experiencing things at the same time. Together. We both value our friends and our creativity and our personal happiness so much and it's taken a long (I'm talking a fucking looooong) time for us to get on the same page, let alone be in the same library. I want to get married to this girl and I want to do it tomorrow. But - it's supposed to snow tomorrow, so maybe we'll wait a little bit longer. Transporting all those canolis during inclement weather is just asking for trouble.

�����Jehosaphat! I wasn't planning on going off on such a goopy jalopy back there. Or up there. Wherever. You know how I get when my frozen donkey wheel goes off its axis. I can't tell my up from my down or my left from my Helena, Montana. Rick is doing this cavalcade of stars and stripes, or stars and bars, or last of the red hot civil war widows or some such variety show this spring and he's just been beside himself trying to secure my worldly talents for such a hula + baloo. I can't blame him. My talents are pretty talented. I'd like to write something for myself to perform. And/or something for he and Monique to do. Or perform an adapted something or other from something I've written here on Stuff & Things. Why not? I'm not scared of crowds. I'm not scared of public speaking. I'm certainly not scared of making fun of myself for a laugh. I'm not scared of remakes of 1930's screwball comedies. Not that I think they'll be involved. I just figured, if we were making a list . . . I should . . . I don't know. Screw you.

�����But yeah - I'm really looking forward to it and it's been making me focus more on writing some more of my own stuff. Not necessarily for the Cavalcade, but just in general. Writers need to write. And not just on Facebook walls and status updates. Not just on Lost episode mailings and on abandoned warehouse walls. But I need to write. Even if it's not always about rosey rosewater. Even if it's not funny. Though, if I'm tall I gotta use it. And if I can turn a phrase I'm gonna turn it. And if I can make you laugh, I'm going to go for the jugular. The comedy jugular. So it's not all bloody and life ending. The comedy jugular is full of circus peanuts and nacho cheese flavored combos. But if you get the circus peanuts wet, they can expand slightly, in a jax-like way, and slowly cut off your air and kill you. So don't, you know, get the circus peanuts wet.

�����It's been real,

��������The Original ZQF

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