"I been away so long . . ."

(The title of this post comes from the song "The Missionary," by Jimmy Buffett.)

Good day to you, Ladies and Gents. I am deeply sorry for my week-long hiatus from posting. What a week it has been! I have a great deal to say, as you could readily imagine, but even more so than usual. I will begin, as is the custom in these instances, at the beginning. Of my hiatus, that is. Let me think back . . . .

As I recall, I last posted nigh on seven days ago, on June 2nd. The entry is not a happy one. Indeed, times were dark for our hero. It was Class Night, and he would not be attending, for he had missed the rehearsal. I spent the day wallowing in shame, went to the school that night, but could not pluck up the courage to enter the gymnasium and face my peers and teachers. I was still sore at ingratitude, still worried about work and summer school. It was a sad day.
The next day was Thursday the 3rd, Graduation. Or, as the authorities feel the need to call it, “Conferring of Diplomas,” because that sounds so much cooler and is what everybody calls it, anyway. (That was sarcasm. More on the subject of sarcasm to follow.) This day was much better than the past week had been. I attended that ceremony and was mostly proud to see my class graduate. I was also proud to have my name on the list of graduates. Either this was some benevolent deed from the powers that be, or it was due to the fact that said being powers ordered the booklets too early to make corrections. The ceremony was conducted with dignity and honor, and I praise my class, my school, and grudgingly Sr. Marlene for that. Four speeches were made that day, as we were lucky enough to have two saluditorians, Evelyn Powell and Marissa Lapointe. Marissa’s speech was light-hearted and simple, while still showing her intellect, and Evelyn’s was impressive and required a good deal of focus and a large vocabulary to appreciate, but it’s meaning was dear to my heart. Peter Slepchuk, our valedictorian (big surprise there, I know) gave another speech, which was clear and good, despite being fanatically censored by Sr. Marlene. The best speech of the day was courtesy of our new bishop, His Excellency Timothy McDonnell. One could doubt the sincerity with which he gave it, or the originality of the theme, but one could not easily disparage the power of the words. The Alumni Choir, as led by Mr. Paul Goddu, was in top form, as was organist Jeffrey Chirgwin. Caitlin Szewcyk, my friend and, in the words of one deluded individual, “sexual object” suffered the indignation of not having her name called. Fortunately, Mr. Matte and Mrs. Kitchell stepped in and made things right. Caitlin got her well-deserved mention. (And Shannon de la Bruere received two mentions.) The best thing about the day was how nice everybody was. This was after I had gotten over the emotional ruination and shed my tears, but before I began to sense condescension and not pity in people’s words. I was able to see the ceremony from front row seats, thanks to Mr and Mrs Celi. They made sure I was in the front, despite my original intent to skulk in the back. Mrs Celi said she was proud of me and gave me words of encouragement and love. Mr Celi was his usual gruff and likeably cool self, but expressed his sympathy and good feelings, nonetheless. I had the privilege of sharing the pew with Mr. Slepchuk, who said two things that made me very happy, that he thought I was funny, and most important, that he hated Sr’s Connie and Marlene. The LeTellier’s were very compassionate as well, and invited my brother and me to Friendly’s after the ceremony, as I had no party of my own to go to. The evening was enhanced by Mr. LeTellier’s good humour and Andrew’s scrap book full of hilarious and heart-warming pictures. Mrs. DeStefano said she had faith in me (and that she won a good deal of money by betting on my not graduating), Mrs. Martinez gave me the most thoughtful and encouraging talk I’ve ever had, and Mr Goddu, the strongest, most sincere hug I’ve ever had from anyone but my parents. I must thank most of all, my classmates, who still consider me one of them and have stood by me like they have, without being critical or mean-spirited.
That night we part-tayed at Will’s house. And by “par-tayed” I mean sat around and laughed at each other’s jokes and signed yearbooks. Mr. Murray gave me quite a scare by slowly maneuvering his crotch in front of my face, but luckily he was merely fixing the bird cage in front of which I was sitting.
Friday I can’t remember what I did. If someone was with me then please fill me in on the details. I think it may have involved the LeTelliers and scallops, but don’t hold me to that.
The same for Saturday.
Sunday, or as I call it, The Day of One Thousand Parties, was needless to say, full. It began in earnest at Brendan Smith’s house, where his dad greeted me in a good-natured and hilarious manner and the friends and food were great . . . despite the early lack of dipping sauce and the fact that Ashley Lapointe put makeup on me. Next was Tony Celi’s party, at the canoe club in SoHo. This was quite some fun. His dad forced delicious pasta dishes upon us (I know what you’re thinking, “A Italian forcing food on someone, and pasta for that matter, you must be crazy) and we ended the party by reenacting several times the storming of the Bastilles using a rake, a club, a bucket, and a tree house. I realized at this party that Stephanie Lepine is incredibly sexy and that Tony is a great guy. I next journeyed to Andrew’s house, where I was confronted by a horde of Andrew’s well-wishing relatives, and several sexay lay-days. Mmmmhello, Lay-days! I also got to spend more time with Andrew’s friend, John. He apparently oft times confuses the two of us, as we’re both semi-buff, hilarious, hormonaly-controlled fellas. One bad thing about this day was how I may have accidentally called an 8-year old girl hot in front of Evelyn Powell. She got all offended , something about that being wrong and having sisters that age. . . jeez, some people can’t take a joke. I kid, it wasn’t as bad as all that. I finally made it to Tony’s birthday party, which was so crowded with friends and enemies that if we had all been gassed we would have remained standing for there would be no room to fall down. It was fun! I especially enjoyed the anime parody “Labyrinth (Loverinth?) of Flames.”

Something occurred to me while enjoying the week’s festivities. I realized that I wasn’t treating every moment with my friends as if it were the last. At first I was disconcerted. I felt I wasn’t enjoying their company enough and that I’d regret not being more aware then after we had parted ways. Then I had a mini epiphany. I realized that maybe that’s how it should be. If I were focusing on every moment I’d never appreciate the whole thing. Someone, I think it was my dad, told me right before the epiphany that nothing makes sense until it’s done. You can’t fully understand anything while it’s going on. I believe now that this is the way to say good-bye to friends, slowly, but not acting very much differently than you would under normal circumstances. You have to have fun as you normally would with those close to you, and then after you say good-bye you can cherish that time, not during it. I wrote a short message to put into one of Brendan’s awesome and speedily written songs. Some people liked it. So, I decided to immortalize it on this here blog.*


In life, we are tested by, and sometimes broken upon, obstacles known as insecurity, loss, fear, and regret. We survive these trials through the most well known form of divine intervention: Friends. Our friends are what ensure that we are not destroyed, but made stronger after passing through the fire; that we are forged anew. They are God’s way of helping us pass His tests for us.
But their most important effect is not aiding us in the present. Rather, a friend’s most crucial purpose in our lives is to shape us into the people we are becoming. The love and companionship of a friend are often most evident after we have parted ways, for through the times they make us laugh or hold us when we cry, give us advice or help us realize something about ourselves, we are forever changed. So, a friend’s impact on our lives is with us always . . . long after we say goodbye.

Monday I did some other stuff. . . mostly getting ready for the beach, no biggy there.

Tuesday! Tuesday! Need I say more? I need? Alright, then. On Tuesday, that's Tuesday, I went to Hampton Beach with some of my favoritest people in the world: Andy "Crock-pot" LeTellier, Kit Kat Szewcyk, EJ "The Wind Massa, Evelyn "Hottie" Powell, and Daniel "Shifty-eyes-McGee" McLaughlin. Now, I know this beach trip sounds like roses and cauliflower, but it was in reality quite an ordeal. Lemme 'splain. We all had to get up early with little sleep, myself especially. I had gotten 2 hours, to be exact. We all convened at La Casa LeTellier and set out at 6 of the clock. After 2 hours of driving we hit a snag. Two tractor trailer trucks collided and burst into flames and such, and this held up traffic for obvious reasons. By the time we got to my friend's house in Littleton, Massachusetts, it was 8 twenny foe-wah. We then drove for about another hour and a half to Hampton Beach. We parked several miles away, because my friends are geniuses, and lugged our goods to the sand dunes on the horizon. While crossing the street, we met an eccentric truck driver, who let us pass, but threatened in a gruff Southern accent to "Take a belt to us" if we did not hurry. He then requested that the girls show him their bellies. Now I don't know how they run things in the South, but were he here now I would challenge him to a duel. May he contract a venerial disease though intercourse with his mother/sister, the cad! Where was I? Oh yeah, the main problem with Koreans is that they . . . wait, that's not where I was. Lemme check . . . . . . . . . Okay, right, the beach. Things started out badly, actually, once we hit the sand. This happened for two reasons. First off, I have come to the sad realization that I am not the worlds greatest frisbee player. In fact I . . . what's the word I'm looking for? . . . Suck. That's it. I suck at frisbee. Suck harder, indeed, at frisbee than I would on Evelyn's toes. Still, Andy was the usual patient good sport/great friend he always is, and I didn't feel as worse as I could have. The second reason that I thought I had made a mistake in coming was my insecurity and self-consciousness about my body. I felt very uncomfortable at first, but built up enough courage to take off my shirt and head to the water. This is thanks in no small part to Caitlin, who encouraged me to go try the water. No, about the water. It was cold. And When I say cold, know, dear reader, that I mean Ball-Shriekingly Freezing. It gave one the impression that one's blood was now composed of little shards of ice. I don't know how it was for the ladies, but as a guy, I can say that once you were up to your waste you longed for the numbness to set in. Hilariously enough, it never did. Nonetheless, EJ, Andrew, Caitlin, and myself, intrepidly braved the frozen waters, dodging ice bergs and evading leopard seals, and proved ourselves Champions of the Waves! Plus, the cold gave me a nipple erection like you wouldnae believe and that makes anybody look better.
The day was full of things to do, read, relax, eat; there was no shortage of good food. We also took a walk to the jetty. The five of us clambering across the peninsula of boulders, laughing and jesting away. EJ and I leapt the rocks with ease, and Evelyn out did us both in grace and finesse. Danny McLaughlin made it to the tip of the outcropping first, and sat brooding pensively over the waves like a guy in a book. There was also no shortage of sexy bodies to gaze upon, though none so beautiful to mine eye as that of Evelyn Powell. Best of all she was barefoot. I actually got to lie quiet close to her on the blanket, and that was, as pathetic as this sounds, kinda thrilling. (More on Evelyn a lil' later on.) The day wore on well. I love what the beach does to my hair. I looked so cool. We headed for home at about 3 o'clock, as Dan had the Declamtaion Delight to attend. EJ and I were the only souls brave enough to drive the 4 hours home under the influence of enormous fatigue. It was quite frightening for the first half hour, I had to grasp the wheel firmly and slap myself repeatedly to avoid swerving off the road. We made good time, though, mostly because I was going 90 on the highway! Zooom! It was a great day, despite the tiredness and sunburns which ensued. The back of my legs is all burnt up. It hurts like a bitch, if I may use the expression. Nothing is worse than a burn.
Later that day we went to Chili's, where I made the mistake of ordering a fajita again. I hate those things. In case you know not what they are, a fajita is a crafty sort of Mexican dish which is comprised of a skillet of meat and fried vegetables, a plate of cheese and cold vegetables and sauces, and soft corn tortillas. They must be manually assemled into soft shelled tacos, and do not come with instructions. I have no idea what I'm doing whilst I makes 'em, but I am told I do it well, and that it appeares to be an art form.
Now, about Evelyn. I have decided to resort to what I have code named "Plan B." Let me brief y'all on it. When I first resolved to express my feeling towards her to her . . . uh . . . yeah, that's right . . . I confided in mi amigo, Brendan Smith. He has been the driving force in this operation. Some of the last advice he gave me was, "Tone down the romantic angle. Tell her you'd like to hang out with her more and get to know her better." I saw the wisdom in this. However, as it turns out, I am spending more time with her this summer, so I do not need the first monolgue, only the second. This I will deliver in good time. I also want to organize a send-off for her before she leaves for Honduras on a mission of charity. This would be better than organizing a send off after she got back. She leaves June 28th. So let's get crackin'.

Uh . . . what else is there to say? Oh yeah, Sarcasm. Sarcasm is a key part of humour, but it must be used wisely. One must use proper inflection so that the sarcasm is subtle, but perceptible. Evelyn has trouble with this. It makes me feel kinda stupid. Hopefully after I get to know her better she will be less sarcastic, more open and honest, and also I'll be able to tell when she is which.

I am happy happy happ happ happerroo. This is because of many many theengs. Let me tell you some of them.

First and-a foremost, it appears I will not have to go to summer school after all. Alls I need ta do is finish that paper, an' some other stuff. So, hurray.

Next, I just finished Jeeves and the Tie that Binds, my favorite P.G. Wodehouse book, and started The Hobbit.

I have discovered the music of Howie Day. Thanks, AL.

I will be going to Charter Days this weekend with some friends, and also hopefull working on Undying Love.

I have found the best place to buy low priced DVD's: Target.

Perhaps some day everyone will explode.

I want to wish anyone with love problems good luck and tell them they are in my prayers. You know who you are.

No Joke Corner for tonight, just a funny story.

Funny Story:

My friend Jutsin LeTellier and his friend Drew, were listening to the comedic stylings of Dave Attell, on his Skanks for the Memories CD while on a road trip. They made the mistake of leaving the CD case in the car . . . the family car. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, the admirably pious, but somewhat sensitive Mrs. LeTellier found the case. Taking her sons, Andrew and Justin, aside, she began to harangue them about the topics Mr. Attell chose to cover.
"Why would you listen to this filth? He talks about dirty sex and drugs and alcohol. He makes fun of people with disabilties. He talks about masturbating. How could my boys be thinking about masturbating?!"
Passing by and hearing this, Mr. LeTellier said, "Boys don't think about masturbating, they just do it."
Enraged and distracted from the two sorry youngsters she was yelling at, she threw Mr. LeTellier into another room, walked in, and slammed the door after herself. In this way did Mr. LeTellier take a bullet for his two sons, and make a funny witticism at the same time. Way to go. My hat's off to you, Mr. L. Rock on!

Current Mood: Happy, despite fatigue and burnation.
Current Music: The sounds of the rain.

*Author's Note: When I went to publish this blog last night, I double clicked on the PUBLISH button. I thought it published two copiies of the entry, it only published one and a half. I deleted the full one, and left my readers with half a blog and lots of confusion. Here is the re-written post, as completely true to the first as the drugs allowed me to remember.