On Friday night, HN Fozzie Bear took me out to dinner to celebrate my birthday. And he gave me a really wonderful journal as a birthday gift. He was really funny about it, too. He went out of his way to assure me that, though a journal might seem like a gift into which not a lot of thought had been put, he had, indeed, thought long and hard about what to get me.
He needn't have feared. It's a beautiful and thoughtful gift. I mean, how often does an inveterate scribe like myself get a leather-bound journal with a front closure flap that's magnetized?!?
All of my geek loves combined in one.
As an added bonus, I'm coming to the end of my latest journal, so I'll be needing a new one soon.
Score two for you, Fozzie.
After dinner, and owing to the fact that I'd been completely spent by my week, we retired to Fozzie's den to watch a movie he'd selected for the occasion. It was one I don't think I'd ever seen before, and it occasioned his new blog name. I think this one should stick, since he helped choose it himself.
Anyway, the evening was grand, and I enjoyed Fozzie's company yet again. Thanks, Fozzie.
Not long ago, in the middle of a conversation, I said to Fozzie something along the lines of "How long have we been dating?" or "Is what we're doing dating?" or something like that, and he said to me, "We're pals."
I thought about that for a moment, and I thought, "Okay. That's fair."
Well, apparently, Fozzie's friends (to one of which he recounted our conversation) didn't think so, and took the poor man to task for being rude. This, in turn, led poor Fozzie to apologize to me. He's sweet that way.
It's at this point that I -- apparently even more unaware of the power of my words than his friends think Fozzie is -- tried to downplay the whole thing by saying, "I thought nothing of it. That's just you." I meant, "You say what you're thinking. I accept and dig that."
Wrong approach, apparently. Sadly, the pearls of beneficence and wisdom that drop from my mouth don't come with little asterisks of clarification.
I drove lil' Fozzie to distraction by making him think I was carrying around this picture of him as this rude bastard who can't rule his own mouth.
Score one for him that he had the good sense to speak up about this when it bothered him. "Good on you, FB," say I.
Anyway, since I know he reads this, let me just take this opportunity to proclaim before all: I know you're a speak-your-mind, uncensored, mouthy bastard, Fozzie, and I accept and embrace you for it.
There are those who are demanding photographic evidence of Fozzie's existence, so this is all you buggers are getting. He deserves a little privacy. Accept it.
He liked this picture when it was in the viewscreen of the camera. I'm sure I'll hear about it if he doesn't like the Real McCoy.
He needn't have feared. It's a beautiful and thoughtful gift. I mean, how often does an inveterate scribe like myself get a leather-bound journal with a front closure flap that's magnetized?!?
All of my geek loves combined in one.
As an added bonus, I'm coming to the end of my latest journal, so I'll be needing a new one soon.
Score two for you, Fozzie.
After dinner, and owing to the fact that I'd been completely spent by my week, we retired to Fozzie's den to watch a movie he'd selected for the occasion. It was one I don't think I'd ever seen before, and it occasioned his new blog name. I think this one should stick, since he helped choose it himself.
Anyway, the evening was grand, and I enjoyed Fozzie's company yet again. Thanks, Fozzie.
Not long ago, in the middle of a conversation, I said to Fozzie something along the lines of "How long have we been dating?" or "Is what we're doing dating?" or something like that, and he said to me, "We're pals."
I thought about that for a moment, and I thought, "Okay. That's fair."
Well, apparently, Fozzie's friends (to one of which he recounted our conversation) didn't think so, and took the poor man to task for being rude. This, in turn, led poor Fozzie to apologize to me. He's sweet that way.
It's at this point that I -- apparently even more unaware of the power of my words than his friends think Fozzie is -- tried to downplay the whole thing by saying, "I thought nothing of it. That's just you." I meant, "You say what you're thinking. I accept and dig that."
Wrong approach, apparently. Sadly, the pearls of beneficence and wisdom that drop from my mouth don't come with little asterisks of clarification.
I drove lil' Fozzie to distraction by making him think I was carrying around this picture of him as this rude bastard who can't rule his own mouth.
Score one for him that he had the good sense to speak up about this when it bothered him. "Good on you, FB," say I.
Anyway, since I know he reads this, let me just take this opportunity to proclaim before all: I know you're a speak-your-mind, uncensored, mouthy bastard, Fozzie, and I accept and embrace you for it.
There are those who are demanding photographic evidence of Fozzie's existence, so this is all you buggers are getting. He deserves a little privacy. Accept it.He liked this picture when it was in the viewscreen of the camera. I'm sure I'll hear about it if he doesn't like the Real McCoy.
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