I am Nate. You may remember me from such notable roles as "Brittany's Husband: Nate is His Name" and "My Name is Nate: Because That's What My Parents Named Me." My latest vehicle, which is currently receiving high praise on such online dating services as "e-Harmony" and "J-date" is "Nate: He Took Pictures of His House... With a Camera." This blog entry is an homage or synopsis -- depending on your bent -- to that production. I hope you enjoy it, because I have been told that if it is a flop, I will be through in Hollywood. My fate is in your hands, Mom.
This is a picture. I'm sure you have seen them before on other forms of "media", such as "web" "portals." In my case, it is a "picture" (you remember this from the previous sentence) of our soon-to-be nursery for our soon-to-be daughter. She has many fewer cells than a "real" person, but is already a Democrat, like certain other "real" persons I know. You don't need to have a lot of cells to be a Democrat, but you need far fewer to be a Republican or an Arsonist. Notice that the walls are green - this is the color of spring, because I said so. The crib (it's the small bed in the corner, opposite the thing that is not a crib) is small because our daughter will be small (hopefully). Brittany told me that I may like her when she is little, but that she will eat a lot and probably poop on the carpet -- I'll be d*mned if I'm going to feed and clean up after her when she is a full-grown dog! ... I may be thinking of something else now, but needless to say that this is the soon-to-be nursery (this sentence should provide closure for this section, that is how we do things in the literary world).
This is a "picture" (see Webster's New World Dictionary) of our home office. Mostly, you will notice that there is a cat in our office that is wearing a onesie. This is a coincidence and should in no way distract from the pretty brown walls. I painted these walls this color because a nice lady at Lowe's convinced me that this color would make our house look like something out of a magazine at Lowe's. It does not do that, but it does make me want a butterscotch cookie. There is a desk with a computer opposite my pregnant wife (the red/blonde non-Cat in the picture). The computer is not pictured because I am jealous of it (and it of me). That is a long story for another day (this is what is called in the literary world "leaving the audience thirsty for more"; without it, there would be no reason to see the sequel).
When I pressed the little round button on my camera, this image was assembled by the witch that lives inside. The kitchen really is red; that is not a prank played by the witch. Notice that the walls have no tile on them. Nice, eh? You're welcome, Brittany. I am told that the stovetop will kill us someday and that it should be replaced. You might be thinking, "but Nate, stovetops are a peace-loving appliance," or "Nate, this looks like a particularly docile stovetop." Normally I would agree with you, but I have been receiving calls at work from an "unknown number" and when I answer I hear nothing. I'm sure you are thinking what I thought: MUST BE THE STOVETOP! Seems rational at first, until you realize that if the Stovetop were calling me at work, it would show up as my home number! Confound it! What a mystery!
This photograph (see also, "picture," supra) was taken by me not 10 minutes ago! Super! Right on! When I was 9 years old (20 years ago) it took significantly more than 10 minutes to upload a picture to a blog! I recall that back then it took almost 20 years to upload a picture to a blog. That's science for you... always on the "go." Notice the chandelier (upper quadrant) and the dining room table (bottom third-rant) -- both were purchased with hard-earned American money -- my money. They both do the jobs for which they were purchased (preventing the inky blackness from stealing my soul and keeping dishes 3 feet off the floor, respectively), and they also do a good job of framing the view into the "living" room in the middle five-twelfth-rant of the picture. "Living" room is a misnomer in our case, because nobody lives there any more, thanks to the medieval writ of ejectment -- goodbye Thompson family.
"They say that a picture is worth 1,000 words. I say this picture is worth twice that. It's a heckuva picture. It has a leather couch, portions of several chairs, and multiple lighting sources. Objects in the distance seem smaller in this picture, even though in reality they are not. 'Magic, right?' you are probably thinking -- and I thought that too at first -- but NO! It's just high quality engineering and craftsmanship. This picture is practically brand new. The previous viewer only looked at it to church and back -- very low viewage. I would buy this picture myself, except that I just bought a picture last week. If I were you, I would jump on this deal, because I can't promise that it will be available tomorrow." I glanced desperately over my shoulder at the manager's office -- a shack, really -- in the distance. The sun baked down on the cracked asphalt and as I turned back to my mark a drop of sweat (or was it a tear?) tumbled from the tip of my nose onto the sleeve of my drenched sport coat. Tweed was a bad choice for June, but the deep discount rack at Super Plus was long out-of-season and short on style and the hard reality of necessity had long since beaten back any shadow of pride or self-indulgence. My head throbbed and the shard of Iraq that I brought home in the base of my skull felt like it was boring into my hindbrain. "So what do you say we go fill out some paperwork?" I nervously interposed. He leaned toward his old picture in the adjacent lot - his retreat now inevitable and my heart sinking. He pursed his lips and folded his arms across his chest like bandoliers -- unmistakable signs that my July rent would be late, just like June's was. But I digress... cool living room, eh?
This is a picture. I'm sure you have seen them before on other forms of "media", such as "web" "portals." In my case, it is a "picture" (you remember this from the previous sentence) of our soon-to-be nursery for our soon-to-be daughter. She has many fewer cells than a "real" person, but is already a Democrat, like certain other "real" persons I know. You don't need to have a lot of cells to be a Democrat, but you need far fewer to be a Republican or an Arsonist. Notice that the walls are green - this is the color of spring, because I said so. The crib (it's the small bed in the corner, opposite the thing that is not a crib) is small because our daughter will be small (hopefully). Brittany told me that I may like her when she is little, but that she will eat a lot and probably poop on the carpet -- I'll be d*mned if I'm going to feed and clean up after her when she is a full-grown dog! ... I may be thinking of something else now, but needless to say that this is the soon-to-be nursery (this sentence should provide closure for this section, that is how we do things in the literary world).
This is a "picture" (see Webster's New World Dictionary) of our home office. Mostly, you will notice that there is a cat in our office that is wearing a onesie. This is a coincidence and should in no way distract from the pretty brown walls. I painted these walls this color because a nice lady at Lowe's convinced me that this color would make our house look like something out of a magazine at Lowe's. It does not do that, but it does make me want a butterscotch cookie. There is a desk with a computer opposite my pregnant wife (the red/blonde non-Cat in the picture). The computer is not pictured because I am jealous of it (and it of me). That is a long story for another day (this is what is called in the literary world "leaving the audience thirsty for more"; without it, there would be no reason to see the sequel).
When I pressed the little round button on my camera, this image was assembled by the witch that lives inside. The kitchen really is red; that is not a prank played by the witch. Notice that the walls have no tile on them. Nice, eh? You're welcome, Brittany. I am told that the stovetop will kill us someday and that it should be replaced. You might be thinking, "but Nate, stovetops are a peace-loving appliance," or "Nate, this looks like a particularly docile stovetop." Normally I would agree with you, but I have been receiving calls at work from an "unknown number" and when I answer I hear nothing. I'm sure you are thinking what I thought: MUST BE THE STOVETOP! Seems rational at first, until you realize that if the Stovetop were calling me at work, it would show up as my home number! Confound it! What a mystery!
This photograph (see also, "picture," supra) was taken by me not 10 minutes ago! Super! Right on! When I was 9 years old (20 years ago) it took significantly more than 10 minutes to upload a picture to a blog! I recall that back then it took almost 20 years to upload a picture to a blog. That's science for you... always on the "go." Notice the chandelier (upper quadrant) and the dining room table (bottom third-rant) -- both were purchased with hard-earned American money -- my money. They both do the jobs for which they were purchased (preventing the inky blackness from stealing my soul and keeping dishes 3 feet off the floor, respectively), and they also do a good job of framing the view into the "living" room in the middle five-twelfth-rant of the picture. "Living" room is a misnomer in our case, because nobody lives there any more, thanks to the medieval writ of ejectment -- goodbye Thompson family.
"They say that a picture is worth 1,000 words. I say this picture is worth twice that. It's a heckuva picture. It has a leather couch, portions of several chairs, and multiple lighting sources. Objects in the distance seem smaller in this picture, even though in reality they are not. 'Magic, right?' you are probably thinking -- and I thought that too at first -- but NO! It's just high quality engineering and craftsmanship. This picture is practically brand new. The previous viewer only looked at it to church and back -- very low viewage. I would buy this picture myself, except that I just bought a picture last week. If I were you, I would jump on this deal, because I can't promise that it will be available tomorrow." I glanced desperately over my shoulder at the manager's office -- a shack, really -- in the distance. The sun baked down on the cracked asphalt and as I turned back to my mark a drop of sweat (or was it a tear?) tumbled from the tip of my nose onto the sleeve of my drenched sport coat. Tweed was a bad choice for June, but the deep discount rack at Super Plus was long out-of-season and short on style and the hard reality of necessity had long since beaten back any shadow of pride or self-indulgence. My head throbbed and the shard of Iraq that I brought home in the base of my skull felt like it was boring into my hindbrain. "So what do you say we go fill out some paperwork?" I nervously interposed. He leaned toward his old picture in the adjacent lot - his retreat now inevitable and my heart sinking. He pursed his lips and folded his arms across his chest like bandoliers -- unmistakable signs that my July rent would be late, just like June's was. But I digress... cool living room, eh?
3 comments:
Lisi - Be careful what you wish for!
So...yeah...I think it's just fine to have an empty blog...
I think my brain just exploded....
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