amy hit the atmosphere
caught herself a rocket ride out of this gutter and
she's never coming back, i fear...
- Counting Crows, "Amy Hit the Atmosphere"
You're demented. I did not like your story. Only the parts Justin and Karl were in were good. You need to write a real story about your messed up idea of relationships.
- Amy Walburn on Clarky Clarkington III vs. the Bunny-Bun-Bunnies
She was the girl, I know that now. But I pushed her away. I’ve spent every day since then chasing Amy... so to speak.
- Kevin Smith, "Chasing Amy"
I'll go in with you for the bowling alley off 40...sounds like a great plan.
- Amy Walburn, Haloscan Comment #110792939719507073
there has to be a change, i'm sure
today was just a day fading into another
and that can't be what a life is for...
- Counting Crows, "Amy Hit the Atmosphere"
"Chasing Amy"
My blog has finally validated its existence.
I'm not going to lie -- this blog was never simply about pronouncing my love for Ed and Marvel Comics in a forum where the world could see it. When I started out, part of the reason I did so was so I could send not so subtle messages to Tuttle, just like I used to with the good ol' door of post-its. Of course, that stopped being a viable option several months ago when she stopped reading it. (And it stopped being a good idea, like, the second I started doing it.)
So what's kept me going? Boredom mostly. Plus it feeds my massive ego. And when you get down to it, I'm a storyteller who loves telling stories, though it's occurred to me recently that all the really good stories have fabulous endings...
(Though notice, I didn't say I was a good storyteller.)
So I was perusing my archive, as I'm want to do in my exercises of vanity and ponderings of the point of all of this, when I found a comment I'd missed from none other than The Beast Her Own Self, and everything seemed to coalesce for me.
This is why I have a blog. So that people I haven't seen or heard from in years can easily find me.
I've felt an odd compulsion to get in touch with Amy for a couple of months now. (The original title of my March 6th entry "I Was Debra Messing" was going to be "Nomenum Bestiae Advocam," and the text was going to read as follows: I invoke the name of The Beast. Amy Walburn. Amy Lynn Walburn. Please be the type of person that googles their name every once in a while. I don't remember why I ended up editing the entry so radically.)
I've had her e-mail address for a few days, but I still haven't e-mailed her. I find myself strangely reticent to do so. Why? I'm going to say it's because of a deep-seated and sublimated fear brought about by repeated readings of Ezra Keats' "A Letter to Amy" at a young age, but that's a lie.
I didn't read that book until I was in high school.
Really what it is is this: over the last five years, my idea of Amy has grown into a legend in my own heart. I don't understand why this is the case, because I used to see her everyday, and she didn't seem all that special at the time. She was just a normal girl.
And yet now, she's the only person from high school who i generally wonder about. I want her to have either grown up into Wonder Woman or have ballooned up to 450 pounds of washed up homecoming queen. Somehow, I doubt anything so sweeping or mythopoetic has taken place. She's probably still just a normal girl.
To say nothing about what I've turned myself into (or have failed to turn myself into, as the case may be). I go through sgml code to make sure that various articles about tax and accounting practices will publish on the company website. I spent my whole life trying to avoid having a job description that bland, but here I am...
Jesus. When did high school get so far away?
"Paging Rachel"
Over the last couple of days, I have been in contact with all of the past objects of my affection for, like, the last ten years -- save one.
I'm sorry, Rachel. I'll drop you a line soon. I promise.
Actually, there's also Sarah Reed from the first time I was a freshman, but I just know I'll never hear from her again...
"Covering 'Melissa'"
Every morning on the way to catch the subway, I wonder when the saxophone player, the bongo guy, and accordion dude -- who all stand no more than fifty feet away from each other along the way to the 9 train -- are finally going to come together and form a superband that'll take this wicked little town by storm with the Allman Brothers' greatest hits.
"Betraying Granny"
My grandmother's skipped town for the weekend. She won't be back until Monday.
I told her I was going to have a big party while she was away, but she just laughed because she knows as well as I do that I don't have a lot of friends out here.
We have to prove her wrong people.
So I'm begging you: Make your way to the Garden State. Bring friends and lovers and your own beverages. I'll order some pizzas and maybe one of those big sandwiches from Subway.
Okay. Forget bringing your own beverages. My friend the Bum Bandit says he can raid the liquor cabinet. I'll stop by Washington Square Park and score some weed if you want. There's plenty of crank under the floorboards.
It's gonna be a rocking time. Oh please, won't you come?
NEXT:
"Unsold Tales of Spider-Man"
caught herself a rocket ride out of this gutter and
she's never coming back, i fear...
- Counting Crows, "Amy Hit the Atmosphere"
You're demented. I did not like your story. Only the parts Justin and Karl were in were good. You need to write a real story about your messed up idea of relationships.
- Amy Walburn on Clarky Clarkington III vs. the Bunny-Bun-Bunnies
She was the girl, I know that now. But I pushed her away. I’ve spent every day since then chasing Amy... so to speak.
- Kevin Smith, "Chasing Amy"
I'll go in with you for the bowling alley off 40...sounds like a great plan.
- Amy Walburn, Haloscan Comment #110792939719507073
there has to be a change, i'm sure
today was just a day fading into another
and that can't be what a life is for...
- Counting Crows, "Amy Hit the Atmosphere"
"Chasing Amy"
My blog has finally validated its existence.
I'm not going to lie -- this blog was never simply about pronouncing my love for Ed and Marvel Comics in a forum where the world could see it. When I started out, part of the reason I did so was so I could send not so subtle messages to Tuttle, just like I used to with the good ol' door of post-its. Of course, that stopped being a viable option several months ago when she stopped reading it. (And it stopped being a good idea, like, the second I started doing it.)
So what's kept me going? Boredom mostly. Plus it feeds my massive ego. And when you get down to it, I'm a storyteller who loves telling stories, though it's occurred to me recently that all the really good stories have fabulous endings...
(Though notice, I didn't say I was a good storyteller.)
So I was perusing my archive, as I'm want to do in my exercises of vanity and ponderings of the point of all of this, when I found a comment I'd missed from none other than The Beast Her Own Self, and everything seemed to coalesce for me.
This is why I have a blog. So that people I haven't seen or heard from in years can easily find me.
I've felt an odd compulsion to get in touch with Amy for a couple of months now. (The original title of my March 6th entry "I Was Debra Messing" was going to be "Nomenum Bestiae Advocam," and the text was going to read as follows: I invoke the name of The Beast. Amy Walburn. Amy Lynn Walburn. Please be the type of person that googles their name every once in a while. I don't remember why I ended up editing the entry so radically.)
I've had her e-mail address for a few days, but I still haven't e-mailed her. I find myself strangely reticent to do so. Why? I'm going to say it's because of a deep-seated and sublimated fear brought about by repeated readings of Ezra Keats' "A Letter to Amy" at a young age, but that's a lie.
I didn't read that book until I was in high school.
Really what it is is this: over the last five years, my idea of Amy has grown into a legend in my own heart. I don't understand why this is the case, because I used to see her everyday, and she didn't seem all that special at the time. She was just a normal girl.
And yet now, she's the only person from high school who i generally wonder about. I want her to have either grown up into Wonder Woman or have ballooned up to 450 pounds of washed up homecoming queen. Somehow, I doubt anything so sweeping or mythopoetic has taken place. She's probably still just a normal girl.
To say nothing about what I've turned myself into (or have failed to turn myself into, as the case may be). I go through sgml code to make sure that various articles about tax and accounting practices will publish on the company website. I spent my whole life trying to avoid having a job description that bland, but here I am...
Jesus. When did high school get so far away?
"Paging Rachel"
Over the last couple of days, I have been in contact with all of the past objects of my affection for, like, the last ten years -- save one.
I'm sorry, Rachel. I'll drop you a line soon. I promise.
Actually, there's also Sarah Reed from the first time I was a freshman, but I just know I'll never hear from her again...
"Covering 'Melissa'"
Every morning on the way to catch the subway, I wonder when the saxophone player, the bongo guy, and accordion dude -- who all stand no more than fifty feet away from each other along the way to the 9 train -- are finally going to come together and form a superband that'll take this wicked little town by storm with the Allman Brothers' greatest hits.
"Betraying Granny"
My grandmother's skipped town for the weekend. She won't be back until Monday.
I told her I was going to have a big party while she was away, but she just laughed because she knows as well as I do that I don't have a lot of friends out here.
We have to prove her wrong people.
So I'm begging you: Make your way to the Garden State. Bring friends and lovers and your own beverages. I'll order some pizzas and maybe one of those big sandwiches from Subway.
Okay. Forget bringing your own beverages. My friend the Bum Bandit says he can raid the liquor cabinet. I'll stop by Washington Square Park and score some weed if you want. There's plenty of crank under the floorboards.
It's gonna be a rocking time. Oh please, won't you come?
NEXT:
"Unsold Tales of Spider-Man"
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