Peachy hath returned to his lands in Upstate New York. His noble manor hath not been sold off by his parentage, and he hath drunk full measure of the joys of reunion amongst his old gallant comrades! However, he hath been filled with much wroth, since the wicked bishop of Rochester made much desecration of the Cathedral, and put the Most Blessed Sacrament, Jesus Christ Himself, in an obscure corner! Anathema sit for such sacrileige, and may he repent of such wicked deeds, before the Master calls!
Besides opening a post with medieval style, I'm doing well. Or not well as the case may be. But at any rate, it's very good to be alive since God made it so! So where shall I begin...
I was sitting at my computer, doing the daily routine of checking for e-mails that no one ever writes, and I was thinking to myself that today would just be another day for the ritual deleting of spam e-mail. Then zut alors! (what the heck! or oh, by gosh by golly!), I see this invitation to a blog, and Jenne's email! My heart felt light as a feather, my spirit soared! This is a good way to end a bad evening! (Confirmation at the renovated Cathedrale (sp? It's spelled that way in French. Do we keep the last "e"?) Finally, I can contact my good friends! And, so I set up my account, and began to write: Peachy hath returned to his lands in Upstate New York. His noble manor hath not... hmm... yes. Moving on.
The difficult thing to date has been finding work. I got offered a job at Tim Horton's. 10-6. Not bad, eh? It's full time, and the graveyard shift sounds just... peachy. Yep. Well, it pays, and I don't have much choice. Aucun choix. I also am lifeguarding, so I'm going to have to figure out how that fits in with my schedule. Hopefully, I'll be pulling totally 60 hrs per week at something better than $7/hr. I'm looking forward to it. And as an honest and sincere fellow, I mean this truly.
I miss life at Christendom, but left it none too soon. If I forgot to say goodbye to anyone, I profusely apologize. I left Christendom after opening my mouth, and left it before I spoke any more. I thank God for placing summer in the design of the Universe. That way the absolution of men may perhaps be gained over time. God forgives quicker than man does. It's a very funny thing.
Have you ever read Calvin & Hobbes comics? I love Calvin and Hobbes. I think it is the most hilarious comic strip ever created. Anyway, in one of the comics there is a machine called the transmogrifier. It changes one thing into another. I think Calvin got transmogrified into a worm.
Well, to make this pertinent I discovered a hidden transmogrifier in the telephone! So, on account of this. I advise all fellows when they return to their dorms to debug their telephones in the Fall. How do I know this? Well, it happened that an intimate friend of mine related to me one of his personal distasters. (With him, they happen to be quite common). Apparently, he was talking with a young lady with whom he was acquainted, and harmlessly said (according to him he thought he was giving an innocent compliment) that she was "a very cool person". Much to his horror, he later found out that this turn of phrase was transmogrified into an expression of undying love and affection! I was shocked that this happened to him, and I decided to see if it were really he or technology repsonsible for the disasterous communique. I plied open the telepone and Lo, and behold! A transmogrifier was planted in the cursed machine! A bitter fate for my friend. Resigned to the damage done, and quite confident it was not a case of the OAOR syndrome, but the fault of technology alone, he thought the summer might cure any misunderstandings.
The poor chap has since turned to writing, but every now and then gets this dreamy (that is dreamlike, spacey, not quite here) look, and wonders whether men and women speak two different dialects of English. I tell him to stick to transmogrifiers and write a better story. He cannot write a whit but he tries. He's trying to write a love story, about a girl named Evelyn, and a fellow named Ryan. I think he's going to end up as a priest, since he's as dramatic as Karol Wojtyla.
Well, here's to the new blog. I'd toast with champagne, but I took the pledge and I can't afford champagne anyway! So I raise my glass of mountain dew to the blog!
The Spinning Reel
Here's to the dances and the reels,
A glass raised to life's spinning wheel,
The dancer weaves a pattern there,
Holds in his arms a girl so fair
See how about the floor they whirl,
Her dress it swishes as she twirls,
Ah there, once more she's in his arms,
See her gaze upward at his face,
A look of tenderness and grace!
What look he gives I cannot see,
Beaming his eyes must surely be.
Ah, were I only on that floor,
what poetry might I write and more!
So here's a glass to love and sweethearts!
- The poet staggering drunk with life's joys.