I think I had a four-hour flu last night, which might explain why I cranked up the heat in the apartment to ninety degrees and had a very odd dream. I dreamt I was in something called a “King Henry V”, which wasn’t the name of something as “Titanic” is the name of a ship, but rather, was the name of an actual product — some people fly in Boeing 747s, I was in a King Henry V!
Anyway, so some idiot forgot to put the “heat shield” on this King Henry V and we were entering Earth orbit — did I mention it was made of wood? — and about to burn up. “Ah, but it’s so cozy,” I remember dream-thinking. Indeed, it was. I didn’t want to get out of bed once I finally woke up, and a stubborn lethargy and various aches have convinced me I either had a very brief bought with the flu, or had sex with five or seven thousand hot chicks at the same time.
I was very excited when you-know-who didn’t win Top Chef, I do wish I could’ve seen the entire episode, unfortunatly, a very busy night at work left me away from home until 10:30 or so. Was it just me, or were Mike and Sam actively sabotauging Marcel’s dishes? Marcel, you coulda picked anyone you wanted as your sous-chefs, you chose two guys recently eliminated who didn’t have a lot of reason to like you: what the eff were you thinking? Whatever, I was glad you lost. Shave your stupid under-the-lip devilstache.
As I may have possibly mentioned, I’m a great guy who is more than happy to lend his Scrubs DVDs to friends who are in need of a quick-nine-month pick-me-up. In fact, I’m so wonderful, when I ordered the fourth season of Scrubs off Amazon, I had it shipped to this friend’s apartment, because I knew I wouldn’t have the time to view it for quite some time and that she would appreciate it more than I. However, with the lapse of the minimester and my just-begun springmester, I had the time — finally! — to get caught up on season four, so that DVD set (she’s holding on to the rest, I should really charge late fees) was returned to me last week, and I finished it over the weekend.
By the way: this post might possibly — which means “yes, this post does absolutely contain spoilers for Scrubs — feature some spoilers for past and future Scrubs. So, y’know, read on at thy own peril.
Marcel, you think you’re hot
but you’re not.
What is with your Dracula hair
It makes you look stupid.
And not just your head hair
But also your soul-patch Dracula insipid!
(Look, I’ve never claimed to be a poet.)
A hat-tip from the true story of what was leads to the below YouTube of Marcel, who, I swear to Christ, if he wins Top Chef, I’m going to scream, track him down, and drop kick him off the Stephen’s Hall clock tower. As Geisha is coming over to watch — maybe I’ll bring a pizza home from work? — she can help me with the whole kidnapping/drop kick thing …
Particularly when you’re not very discriminating about what you blog about.
Anyhoo … standing outside of Linthicum killing time, I happened to run into Prof GH, who taught the minimester Shakespeare class. We got to talking about what classes I was taking, who was teaching them, how interesting and fun the Shakespeare course was, and then, this professor, this man with a tough-as-nails reputation, this learned educator whose opinion I highly value, paid me an incredible compliment, when he expressed his regret that we would not be together in a longer class format (as in, “regular semester”) because of my particular take on Shakespeare, which, apparently, came across in the take-home quizzes (which surprised the hell out of me - I do?). After that he headed off to Cook Library, and I was left with my ego somewhere between the planet Earth and the Andromeda Galaxy, never to be seen again.
Don’t worry - I still haven’t had my Film & Lit class (Thursday night), and I still have to write about the Fratdiot in my Fiction course.
