wiki endi

ahhhhhhhhhh...
yes, as a matter of fact:
i am typing snazzily to the jazzy and ever-hip soundtrack of Ocean's Twelve.

[several points of clarification, in the name of accuracy, make themselves necessary]
-it's been a...fine weekend.
-my battered, Houghton-issue $96,000 laptop has been upgraded in the name of frugality and well-connected housemates to become a DVD player.
-by "weekend"--call it four and a half days off between the end of an old rotation and the beginning of a new one. an October Break for the working class.
-by Fine...lets say it involved--karaoke, a dash of rum, off-road biking citified style with uber-fast wingman Jake, pancakes with Kilpats and Mighty Taco with Mr. Lilley back home from Asbury. and an evening's stroll along the waterfront with Kat'n'Amy and, of course, Paul and Dave.

but I must confess that such speaks only for half the weekend. the other half--rests in the makeshift DVD player.

you see, last weekend Blockbuster informed me that while they have had an entire wall devoted to the Lost television series first season DVDs for the past month, they have yet to recieve the first DVD in the set.

well. i hadn't the time for full-length movies. i hadn't the creativity for anything else but dinner and TV. i hadn't cable. so i went for Desperate Housewives in the name of culture critique and evaluation. and at the time, i was happy with it...i thought it was pretty decent. for TV.

that, you see-- that was before this weekend. for Friday, i discovered that they had, yes, finally--after a month of sloth exceptional even for a national chain with accompanying bureaucracy--they had recieved such first four episodes.

those--i rented. those--i watched, over a lovely dinner of hot pockets with dr. pepper. i was enchanted. i was delightfully surprised by twists and turns and characters i'd never imagined. i finished them and sat in my five-dollar rummage-sale armchair pondering. it just past midnight. perhaps Danny Ocean and his folks would term it "O-Dark-Fifteen". it was precisely at said time when, in typical half-timed flashback action, i remembered an overheard snippet, one of those little pieces of conversation that clicks into place only hours later. it had occurred as i breezed out the blockbuster door, zipping up my ever-fashionable rouguish softshell jaquet, and pulling on my of-questionable-taste bright yellow SPAM took.

"we're open until one a.m."

enter snazzy, percussive, Latin dancing music. and, my own flip-flopped feet flip-flopping down stairs half-balanced, throwing earlier mentioned softshell on and my elbow into the windowframe halfway down the stairs. and nothing but the velvety cushion of my newly shorn auburn locks between my head and the overly low arch finishing off the staircase.

DVD number two, after a short nighttime bicycle rain with a dash of ride...took me until a bit later in the evening. morning. it doesn't matter, i'm on break, and i'm working overnights for the forseeable future. i am considering getting cable. it's that good. Housewives...hah. whatever. tramps meandering about suburbia getting flustered when the toilet clogs. try being charged by a wild boar, or learning to sew up wounds, track a lost friend, or sleep at night with the jungle howling at your ear.

so, for the time being, if you see me perhaps, mind wandering--i'm marvelling at how much fun it would be to combine two pursuits that I already dabble in: transportation disasters with medical emergencies and wilderness living. and leadership in a diverse group under stress. so that's three pursuits. oh, and philosophy, themes of redemption in people's lives, and mysteries. that's six. looking incredibly good with a tan? oh, make that a round seven!

well. at any rate. the show's about surviving on a desert island after a freak plane crash, and about the people on that island sorting through who they were and who they are and who they are becoming. in a blatant attempt to lend myself some legitimacy: a great monastic (I think Evagrius) once said that the world after the Fall was a collection of the survivors of a sinking ship, bearing whatever wounds and treasures they collected among the wreckage. Lost is the entire world in a nutshell: all sorts of people bouncing off each other's idiosycracies, wounds, fears, miracles and histories, and if that were not enough...

there's a polar bear. in the middle of the south pacific...

and a bald dude who sounds like a zen monk, throws knives, tracks, hunts, and smiles with the beautiful look of peace on his face whenever the rain washes over it. then he maintains that the island that everyone else is terrified of and wants to get off is a place of miracles and beauty.

basically, exactly the kind of guy i want to be if i grow up.