Friday, 7 December 2012

Josh, and the worst feeling since tonsillitis.

  Love. what the heck is it, anyway? I think people love asking the question because it makes them seem mysterious and, like, ponderous or some stuff, but no one likes answering it. Uncle Marty claims he has all the answers about love, but then again, would a modern day Casanova spend all this time building a homemade spyglass out of jam jars to look into the neighbors indoor Jacuzzi? My feeling is probably nope. I know what you're thinking; has Ames gone soft in the head? what next, questions about the meaning of the universe, or why there are actually eight yogurt-pops in a Ricky Burger's six pack? Believe me, I ain't just asking questions for the sake of askin' them. Ms. Fear has partnered me up with Josh for the end of semester play, the Great Gatsby. Oh jeez, what's that you say, I've never mentioned Josh before? Well, I spend too much time around him, I'm hardly, like, the most impartial observer, but I'm gonna put on my dad's pith hat (metaphorically, because the real one is totally filled with human fingernail clippings) and play the anthropologist for a sec. The subject, Joshua Bane, is by all accounts a total goofus, let it be known. His dad's this really famous TV hypnotist, Josh is always wearing band hoodies and trying to seem like he doesn't care about anything. He's got a nose that's, like, twenty times too huge for his face and droopy dirty blonde hair that looks like someone planted a bunch of dead grass on his scalp. The subject originates from Chicago, where he helped his dad carry lights and, like, stage equipment for the show, so he's got weird little arms, like, all skinny on the top and sort of bulgey below the elbow, like a teen Popeye. In summary, the subject is a total dreamboat. Oh man, I feel like I'm totally losing it, and Joanne's visiting her sick aunt in Boston, so I've got no sane people to listen to my ramblings and prescribe me, like, a bottle of pills and five hail mary's. Maybe if I had a halfway normal childhood, and didn't watch Harold and Maude on repeat for two weeks, I'd have a better idea of what to do when Josh steals my hat during rehearsal and wears it all casual like. BOYS ARE EVEN WEIRDER THAN DAD SOMETIMES, let it be known. Heavens to Fuzzy. I'm gonna watch some infomercials in the hopes that they dull all the feeling out my feverish teenage cerebellum.