Life Abounds

It almost doesn't feel right, posting on The Beguiler. I almost feel like I should lay this blog to rest. Indeed, I have stopped thinking about it for some time now, as I'm sure all of you have. But I never took it down. I never completely let go. And maybe that's because I still believed I could put up something worthwhile. To be honest, I ran of of stuff to say. And I didn't want to write about just anything.

...Okay, sometimes I wrote about anything. Sometimes I may have actually written about nothing. But, I did it all because I have so many friends out in different parts of the world with whom I wanted to maintain contact.


...Okay, I don't have many friends, much less friends all over the world. Yet I do have a select number of friends with whom I wanted to maintain contact. With whom I still want to maintain contact.

But that's not the point here. I thought I could try to write a blog that didn't just give you a play-by-play of my daily activities. Whether or not I succeeded, well that's for you readers to decide (if you still remember). However, I feel like I owe it to the people who care to give an update, since the last one was sometime in September. To make it interesting (for me as much as anyone), I will write it in the form of a love letter written to a departed lover.

*Ahem* (cue romantic string quartet)

When we last met, I was fresh out of schooling, with an innocent outlook on life. Mine eyes were untainted by the pollution of the workforce, and I looked upon the world with a naivety that would later become a grand disappointment.

I fell away from you as I drew nearer to my job; I fear it may have changed me, sucked the life and humor out of me like an helium balloon into the lungs of the Machine, which mocked and laughed with its terrible voice - high and annoying, not that unlike Christopher Lloyd's character at the end of Who Framed Roger Rabbit? The circumstances at my place of employment revealed themselves to be bleak only after I had the perspective from where I now sit, from the confines of my desk in my home state of North Carolina.

What I gained in experience, I lost in youth. And with youth, so I lost thee.

Yet, hope still burned beneath the veil of uncertainty. There happened a period of doubt, when I felt I would be discarded from my job for lack of work to perform. I therefore began the search for a professional employer who wanted, nay, needed my services in the land I was most familiar: that of fair North Carolina. Giving up on my skilled trade, I applied myself for positions any man could maintain. Yet there was one that I secured safe in my heart. A position at the enchanted Elon University which advertised all of the things which I knew catered to my skills. So, with a prayer, I delivered the application with haste.

Not a fortnight passed before I was called by the man at the University, fetching an interview. Naturally, I obliged to attend and was stunned, upon my arrival, at the beauty which lay manicured before me. Trees of many species, flowers and bushes, all trimmed to perfection as if prepared to greet me. And, ah! the people whom I met. How gloriously bright and delicious they were in their gentility. I am not ashamed to say I was quite entranced by their flattery.

The trip back up to Richmond following the interview was cold with apprehension and I shivered with anxiety. Days crawled by with infinite seconds as I waited ever patiently for the fated call declaring my status with the position I so desired. I paced. I prayed. I played a lot of Snood. And then --

The heavens answered in joyous agreement! And I began my new job the following week.

Many wonderful things have happened since, which is why I write to you now. I think I am ready to start seeing you again. I am not fraught with shame as I once was. And I also get bored whilst searching for mundane things to do. You may just be the missing piece of my wilting puzzle. Oh! wherefore did I discard thee, dear Puzzle Piece?

Wherefore?

In humble repose,
Jeffery of Yorkshire

If this isn't rocktastic enough, consider this: three months before I got the job, my darling niece, Clara, was born. (I'd post a picture, but she's so cute she'd destroy your monitor. I'll need Joey and Sarah to claim responsibility.) Then, they (Joey and Sarah) moved to Greensboro, a mere 30 miles from where Windy and I are now living. If you still aren't flabbergasted, check this out: During the first month of working here, I attended several interviews for an open position in the same office I'm in. It just so happened that it was a position I thought our dear friend Strauch would be perfect for. And although I knew he was tucked away in Chicago, I mentioned the job to him and he became interested. As did my employers upon hearing about him. He begins working IN THE DESK DIRECTLY BEHIND MINE in a few weeks.

Awesomeness abounds as Windy's art career has begun a sharp incline. She is no longer teaching and is focusing strictly on painting, and it is yielding amazing results.

Basically, I feel like I am along for the ride. So, I'd like to come back to The Beguiler if you'll let me. It may not be for visits as frequent (or infrequent) as before, but I want to come back just the same.

So consider this my return to a blog nearly forgotten about. Alas, it still breathes.

FW: Nobody Cares

I just read a fowarded email thing that is supposed to promote patriotism, and the very last sentence was (no lie), "if you don't send this, you have no soul."

People are really going to great lengths to get/guilt people into fowarding emails to everyone in their address book. I won't be suprised when I get one that reads, "if you don't send this, you're ugly and no one likes you," or "if you don't send this, you should just go ahead and kill yourself to get it over with because your life is meaningless and you don't believe nor stand for anything, so why should you even be allowed to breath the same air as those who fought in Vietnam, or flew a fighter jet in WWI, or saved lives on 9/11, or gave their meager life savings to help some old guy on the street. You worthless waste of space."

Just you wait.

Trust Me

Listen to Sigur Rós. Holy crap.

Harmful When Swallowed

A couple days ago, I made some raspberry Kool-Aid. It's the super awesome clear kind that Windy wanted to get because she "likes drinks that are clear." After making an unfunny quip about Crystal Pepsi, I made the Kool-Aid and poured a glass while having flashbacks of Michael Jordan and Pogo Balls.

Today, I thought I would have another glass. "Hmmm...this is quite tasty," I thought as the sweet liquid engulfed my parched mouth. I finished that particular glass and set it aside on the counter, lest I had another urge to sooth my sweet tooth. Sure enough, as I was passing by the refrigerator without any direct intention of having more L'Aid, I reached in and grabbed the pitcher and poured more into my happy glass sitting patiently on the counter. I drank it down, set aside my glass, and all was well.

After moving some empty boxes into the attic space, I began to feel quite thirsty from all of my hard labor. And so, a few minutes ago, I poured another glass. Now, I didn't just toss it back. No. I wanted to enjoy the taste of clear raspberry. And although I should have had a tall glass of water right before going to bed, I was comforted knowing that I could pretend it was water. It was only right after I finished the drink that I noticed that the entire glass was covered with ants.

Needless to say, ants can and will climb one's esophagus when they have been swallowed. FYI.

Chinese Torture

Seriously guys, I just ate some Chinese food, and I think they may have substituted the MSG for botulism. So just to throw out a warning: if you're ever in Richmond, don't go to China Top Buffet on the Midlothian Turnpike. It is definitely not a top buffet. Not on the "digestible foods" list anyway.

I'm gonna go rot on the bed now.

The River Tamer

I thought I should write to assure everyone that Richmond is proving to be a rather appealing place to be. Windy and I have been traversing around town in our now out-of-the-closet Volkswagen Beetle. (That's right, after 5 years or so of obvious denial and frustration, our red car has finally admitted to being attracted to automobiles of the same make and model.) And while racking up the milage by driving down every paved road in Richmond, we have started to get a feel for where we are.

One of the more alluring places that we have been anxious to visit is the James River. We are staying on the south side of the river, and we cross it every time we gayfully drive into town. It's not a huge, Mississippian type of river. I mean, I'm pretty sure it's not the kind of river you'd write something like The Illiad on. But it is quite stunning to look at. There are thousands of large, bald rocks which have been worn down over the years from the current. And these rocks contribute to the small yet intriguing rapids scattered about the aquavista. (YES, I've FINALLY figured out a way to use AQUAVISTA in a sentence!)

On weekends, teenagers, homeless people, and hippies gather to commune with the long-time frequenters of the river, who happen to be homeless teenage hippies. While this crowd can provide hours of entertainment for spectators and lookers-on (who happen to be different from onlookers), they can make one feel rather, I don't know, dirty. Now, I don't mean to be judgmental, but when I am afraid to get into the water downstream from someone for fear of my health, I move to a different spot. So I told Windy to follow me upstream. Watch me get ebola or something. I'm just waiting for Windy's TB test to flair up. Sheesh.

Windy kept going on and on about this Green River Preserve camp she went to as a kid. This was during her all black, turtlenecks and jewelry made from rocks phase. She claimed to be a master of crossing rivers. I mean, that's cool and all, but when I was 10 I was training to be a ninja turtle. I even had the briefs. I was a master of picking my nose. Anyway, she led the way. And we crossed it. The whole way, over dangerous rocks and swift currents. Then she showed me her River Crossing Master certificate when we got back to the room. Show off.

(Your State Here) Is For Lovers

At present, Windy and I are homeless.

I graduated on August 4 with a recording arts degree in Orlando. The day before, I was offered an internship position at a studio in Richmond, VA. In less than a week, we hired a moving company to pack our belongings, and on Thursday we drove up interstate 95 to our new hometown. That may be a little anti-climactic for those of you who didn't know, and for that I am sorry. You can always take solace in the fact that you aren't homeless.

Normally, I need some kind of adjustment period in which I accept the fact that I am moving away from one place to another. It is during this period I spend a little extra time with friends, search for housing, weigh the pros and cons of moving companies, and ready myself for a 13 hour drive to a city I have never even visited. In this case, I had no such luxury. The details of the stress Windy and I have been experiencing are not important, as the details yield no exciting epiphanies. While our bodies are created to handle situations such as these in certain ways, I must admit I would rather be hand-fed jell-o, with someone rocking me back and forth, silently stroking my hair, reading the latest installment of the Harry Potter series. Alas, we as responsible adults must do things on our own. So, here I am, in a hotel in Richmond anxious to go into the studio on Monday at 10:00 a.m. to begin my career.

If first impressions mean anything, I believe Windy and I will enjoy ourselves during our life in Richmond, no matter how long we should stay.

Here's to colder winters than Florida.

What's Up?

Something's up with my blog. This better fix it.

You'll Be Sorry

The Answer To All Your Worries

If I were you, I would have stopped checking this blog.

For a while there, I thought I would just put it to rest, placing it on a wooden raft and pushing it into the center of the lake from the shore, and shooting a firey arrow into its sallow heart. But then I noticed that it was still alive, and setting it ablaze in a ceremonial matter such as this would have been murder.

The excuses I have for not updating regularly in the past couple of months are, indeed, thin. I have had plenty of opportunity to sit at my computer to type out a paragraph or two of meaningless prose. I have been a little busier, this being the last month of my brief stint in Orlando, but I have been busy the entire year. Yet, with the anxiety of the job search breathing down my neck, I have found it difficult to conjure up a post worthy enough to share the same web space as the others.

Yet, there is life yet in The Beguiler. He came up to me a couple days ago and said something in a British accent about napkins being narcissistic, but I took that as his way of trying to beguile me. And the fact that he still has a desire to beguile tells me that he is healthy. I had to tell him to wait around for my cue, however. He understood, of course; he isn't that arrogant. And he silently bowed out of the room while I finished up my chicken salad sandwich. That is, after he punched me in the gut for the thought of killing him.

Hope is not lost, however. Because while I seek employment in the film industry, Windy is attempting to employ herself by making people like you happy with artwork. This means that you can spend all the time you would spend here at her website, which is fresh from the digital afterbirth of Internet Mother. There are even some photographs for sale that I took. I was going to sue her for copyright infringement, but then I remembered that I would lose money paying for the lawsuit and then we would lose even more money when I won the case. Actually, we wouldn't lose any money at all because she would just be paying me, and then I would just put it back into our bank account. But I could win. I could beat her, and that's what matters: beating your wife.

So, buy some art. In fact, upon your purchase of one of Windy's original paintings, drawings, or photographs, I will personally send you an email thanking you. What more could an art lover such as yourself want in life? If you have any ideas of ways you would like to support us, let us know. We have thought about making bumper stickers and t-shirts and jars of mosquitoes, but we are open for anything as long as you guys would buy them. Perhaps you would like a t-shirt with a picture of a jar of mosquitoes on it? I will make it. But I have to write windylampson.com on it somewhere. That's just how it has to be.