is a blog by Brendan
When Ian and I talk on the phone it is for express and efficient reasons, so we don’t really bother with greeting protocols. When I called Ian earlier this evening to determine the provenance of one of Yale’s expletives, I forgot that he wouldn’t have my new cell number, and I was already on edge in a feverish Halo match. Thus:
Ian: Hello?
Brendan: DO YOU SAY FUCK BEANS!
Ian: … Who is this?
I made brownie pie and we ate Spinelli’s. DC and Beth got me a book and a bunch of great Actors Theatre stuff, and Yale got me some stuff he found in his car, and he, Ken, Kyle, Scott, Lisa, Monica, Mom, Ian, Maria’s family and especially Maria got me a present I would never have let myself buy: a real camera.
Thanks, ballers.
For better or worse, (Ultimate) The Office is the new Arrested Development. The Tuesday Night Ballers gave it up after four episodes last year, when it came on after Scrubs; the first season was like watching a Christopher Guest movie with all the jokes surgically excised. But Yale, persistent fan, got Maria and me to try it again last week. And it got funny! Funny and poignant! They put the jokes back in!
It’s not as edgy or fast or thick as AD, and probably no show on network TV will be again. But it’s self-aware, filmed with handhelds, and clever. It’s good.
Also, I think Jim from the show is the subject of Jimmy Eat World’s name. Not because he eats the world. Because he angsts charmingly.
HEY BALLERS. There will exist, this week, an unprecedented Wednesday Night Basketball because that’s when Ian will be here. There will be games and pizza. There will be shouting. Tuesday Night Basketball will not happen, because we will need the evening to fortify the apartment against you barbarians, but if Scott and Yale and Kilz0r are available we should try to do the thing with the stuff, that night. Right?
PS If you have pledged money toward the Bring Ian Home Fund and want to give it to us so you get to sign the card, the next few days would be ideal for that–we’ll be handing it over Wednesday night. (If you have already paid but can’t be there, we will forge your signature.) Thanks very, very much to everyone who has helped with this!
Yale on the Glade Wisp:
“It’s a robot asshole.”
I’m starting to think of my friend Yale as less a single person and more a state of mind.
Or a syndrome.
In case you were wondering, Napoleon Dynamite is a movie specifically and entirely about Yale Deskins. Take this as you will.
Update 1814 hrs: I should add that I liked it.
I got four Hellboys, two Supermans, a tombstone, a whoopee cushion and Graeter’s Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream Cake. I had a gonzo adventure with my friends and we drove off a cliff. I ate two orders of the best ribs in the universe. I won eighteen zillion games of Crimson Skies.
I have to invent a final project from thin air tonight and turn it in tomorrow, but I had a very good birthday.
Lately, with the absence of Captain Rodchester, Tuesday Night Basketball has transitioned to a kind of Weekly Illuminati Night, Where Maria Always Wins. That’s right. Maria has won every single one of our (three) games, including the first one, when she’d never laid hands on it before. I hate Maria.
Expect a spate of posts about Illuminati now, in the fashion of many geeks when just getting into Illuminati. Also, I’ll probably complain about the Society of Assassins, whom I apparently draw 75% of the time, and whom I am growing to hate. Assassins suck. Give me the Bermuda Triangle.
Secret Conspiracy Update: If you google for “steve jackson” illuminati, this ISP in Austin comes up as like the second result, despite the fact that they in no way mention either a) “steve jackson” or b) Illuminati. Dun dun DUNNN!
Okay, I’m not sure what that proves.