Hello everyone. My name is Tim Colwill, and I have a problem.
Hello, Tim!
Actually, I have a number of problems. For example, my facial muscles tend to operate on a ten-minute time delay, which causes me to sometimes be unable to properly communicate emotions to people important to me. In the same manner one can look up at the sky and see the stars as they were hundreds of years ago, my face is a delightful mirror of the emotions I was feeling ten minutes prior.
Working in combination with my expressionless voice I often, to my great chagrin, give people the impression of being either utterly disinterested, monstrously sarcastic, or having actually passed away several minutes ago and now operating entirely on volatile corpse gas and twitching nerve reflexes. My thanks to all those who have frantically, and mistakenly, dialled for an ambulance. I appreciate it.
But we’re not here to talk about that, are we? Today I would like to talk about my unnerving tendency to not so much blur as demolish the line between the internet and real life. I have, at various times in the past done, and probably will do again in the future, the following things.
- Picked up envelopes addressed to me, fresh out of the mailbox, and gleefully exclaimed “Oooh! Email!”
- Mused aloud on the possibility of “bookmarking” delightful staff at restaurants so that we could come back to the in the future.
- While sketching from a reference book, reached out to flip the pages of the reference book so that it would not go into screensaver.
Yes, I have done all of these things. I am not proud of these things, but they are my things, and I have done them. I will probably do more of them in the future even, until the time comes when I am found curled up in the foetal position on the floor, sucking binaric dregs from a blue CAT-5 cable and cackling quietly to myself.
Still, at least when I am asked in job interviews whether I “eat, sleep and breathe the internet”, I can hold my head high and say proudly: “Yes. Yes I do”. And then I can break down in a series of embarrassed, choking sobs.
I’ll always have that.
Nolonger will I love you as the shambling bastard child of my experiments with Necromancy, animated by twisted, necrotic powers. Now I know the truth – You’re nothing but a filthy, slack-muscled breather! I’m hurt Tim, I’m hurt…
I have never misinterpreted you as being utterly disinterested or monstrously sarcastic. I have also never given you the false impression of being so. This is the supporting foudnation of the interstellar battle cruiser that is our friendship.
Foudnation
–noun
1. An enchanting land of vociferous food.
Hah! Friendship! Unintended delight.
Also, spam.
Marquis: To think that our love hinged entirely on your perception of me as a necrotic abomination! Frankly I thought there was more to our relationship than you cackling and me, shambling down the mountainside towards the unsuspecting village. For shame.
Jimi: I am gladdened by this fact, and by your supplementary definitions and unintentional puns! Truly our friendship is the most supreme of interstellar battle cruisers. Let us “catch up” soon, as the kids say.
At the comic book store I used to go to, a number of us artist types would take turns writing each week’s incoming comics on a small whiteboard. Then we would draw something in the margin that was related to one of that week’s comics. I drew a picture of Nick Fury holding a gun up and trying to “look all cool and stuff.” But I felt that he wasn’t quite pulling it off so I erased his arm holding the gun and redrew it. I then decided that I like it better the old way. I stared a the little white board for about 20 minutes until my girlfriend asked me what I was doing.
I responded, “shit, there is no undo button on this.”
You make me lol, Tim. (Yes it’s merc, from back in the day. I have you bookmarked, oh, yes, I do.)
chagrin? good word. I like it.
masterymistery at cosmic rapture