Thu, 19 May 2005

every different dog
I occasionally have the unfortunate tendency to pretend that people I don’t know, usually friends of friends, are actually my friends, and are perfectly comfortable with my calling them out of the blue to chat. I was at my worst with this during my first year of college, mostly as I was homesick a lot and also because I now had access to second-circle friends who lived in the same city. I’d call around one am and rail on about how lame contemporary cereals are or my plan for fueling the energy needs of high schools by harnessing the nervous energy of horny teenagers before they could ask who I was and how they got their number. Occasionally I’d show up at their apartments or dorm rooms and ask if they wanted to go to the Hamburg and help me with my ball lightning experiment or install sculpey genitals on thriftstore Barbies. Mostly this led to trouble and stern talking-tos by the intermediary friends, some of whom decided from such actions that I was a “kook” and stopped hanging out with me, but once in a while I managed to bypass the middlefriend and meet someone with a high tolerance for rambling and sugar abuse. That’s how I met Owen, for instance, and while that didn’t exactly end on the best of terms the premise still stands.

I’ve recently taken to doing the same thing with websites, jumping off the friends list of my friends and leaving barely coherent replies to entirely unrelated posts. I sneaky-pete their home addresses and send them Ana Skyfish Heroin Drive ‘04 t-shirts and borderline-creepy letters about how every different dog has a different language but you can learn a language called Perfect Dog which will allow you to communicate to every dog if you’re willing to use the powers of your Middle Brain.

If I don’t know you, and I’ve bugged you in such a way in the past couple months, I apologise. Take it as a compliment. (ljcomments)
(12:12.05.19.2005) [/ana] #