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captainsblogI've become quite attached to so many people here. At the wrist and ankles, which makes riding a bicycle rather interesting.
It's been tempting, and utterly lazy, for me to just use our undistinguished second person plural pronoun "you," or any of its regional variants (youse, yas, yall, allyall, allyallyouse), to express those genuine feelings of affection and appreciation.
No more. It's time to put faces to the names that move me, inspire me, feed my soul and make me laugh.
Of course, they'll be the entirely wrong faces. And therefore, no names.
(Note how I crossed out classmates just like my daughter did on HER first grade picture 30 years later.)
You. With the really goofy tie in the back row. We became friends the minute we both walked into 8th grade alegbra, and even separated by years and miles still crank up the act in seconds anytime we walk into the same room- real or virtual. I love you, man.
You. In the first row standing so nobody can see you're not wearing pants. You started me on the road to meeting so many other people here who've made my life brighter and probably longer. You always have a kind word and a smile no matter how long you've been on call or how much you've been teased. You have a wonderful boyfriend, even if he's either imaginary or at least never able to show up for a class picture the same time as you. I love you both.
Girl with the pulled back hair in the third row. We've never met, and might never have become acquainted if I knew how to use a pointing device. Your words, your pictures, your experiences add much to many a dreary morning. Love ya too.
You. Not in the picture but looking at it from the country in the next classroom. You nurture twice as many with half as much, and even though you take shit for it, you always speak your mind and make it interesting, if not entirely what I'd agree with. I love you, eh?
Hey. Barbershop quartet boy. If you hadn't assembled one of the most amazing collections of fellow bloggers on your own site, I would not have been moved to grow within what this medium allows. You've friended me more than I deserve and I love ya for that.
Girl whose tendons must hurt from those stupid Mary Janes. For every time you complain about this hellpit, I shall make it my business to perform a random act of kindness to someone in it to ease the torturous effect of the brimstone. Maybe not to you- wouldn't want to spoil your escape- but you'll take a lot away from us whenever you do go and I'll miss it, and you, terribly. And I love you. Anyway.
Front row in the kilt looking thing. You showed me so much of the world of the Web, and without even knowing it showed me the door of this place when I needed expression. Nine years ago, one older and wiser than both of us commented behind your back how destined you were to great things. She was right. I'll love ya no matter how far away from this hellpit you manage to get.
And last. And least only in one sense. In the first row as usual cause the short people always go there. You are blessed and a blessing. You add and it multiplies. I miss your words when they're away and get kicks (in all senses of the word) when they're here. I love them- and you.
Feel free to adopt another pupil if you feel left out and I'll spoonriverize you, too. (I wouldn't pick the boy seated in the middle of the first row- you really REALLY don't wanna know.) Also, a 3 point bonus for anyone who can pick me out.
It's been tempting, and utterly lazy, for me to just use our undistinguished second person plural pronoun "you," or any of its regional variants (youse, yas, yall, allyall, allyallyouse), to express those genuine feelings of affection and appreciation.
No more. It's time to put faces to the names that move me, inspire me, feed my soul and make me laugh.
Of course, they'll be the entirely wrong faces. And therefore, no names.
(Note how I crossed out classmates just like my daughter did on HER first grade picture 30 years later.)You. With the really goofy tie in the back row. We became friends the minute we both walked into 8th grade alegbra, and even separated by years and miles still crank up the act in seconds anytime we walk into the same room- real or virtual. I love you, man.
You. In the first row standing so nobody can see you're not wearing pants. You started me on the road to meeting so many other people here who've made my life brighter and probably longer. You always have a kind word and a smile no matter how long you've been on call or how much you've been teased. You have a wonderful boyfriend, even if he's either imaginary or at least never able to show up for a class picture the same time as you. I love you both.
Girl with the pulled back hair in the third row. We've never met, and might never have become acquainted if I knew how to use a pointing device. Your words, your pictures, your experiences add much to many a dreary morning. Love ya too.
You. Not in the picture but looking at it from the country in the next classroom. You nurture twice as many with half as much, and even though you take shit for it, you always speak your mind and make it interesting, if not entirely what I'd agree with. I love you, eh?
Hey. Barbershop quartet boy. If you hadn't assembled one of the most amazing collections of fellow bloggers on your own site, I would not have been moved to grow within what this medium allows. You've friended me more than I deserve and I love ya for that.
Girl whose tendons must hurt from those stupid Mary Janes. For every time you complain about this hellpit, I shall make it my business to perform a random act of kindness to someone in it to ease the torturous effect of the brimstone. Maybe not to you- wouldn't want to spoil your escape- but you'll take a lot away from us whenever you do go and I'll miss it, and you, terribly. And I love you. Anyway.
Front row in the kilt looking thing. You showed me so much of the world of the Web, and without even knowing it showed me the door of this place when I needed expression. Nine years ago, one older and wiser than both of us commented behind your back how destined you were to great things. She was right. I'll love ya no matter how far away from this hellpit you manage to get.
And last. And least only in one sense. In the first row as usual cause the short people always go there. You are blessed and a blessing. You add and it multiplies. I miss your words when they're away and get kicks (in all senses of the word) when they're here. I love them- and you.
Feel free to adopt another pupil if you feel left out and I'll spoonriverize you, too. (I wouldn't pick the boy seated in the middle of the first row- you really REALLY don't wanna know.) Also, a 3 point bonus for anyone who can pick me out.
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Date: 2004-08-01 09:28 am (UTC)Since I have never seen you and have no idea what you look like... I'd guess you were the boy in the white shirt in the second row on the left?
Are the two kids in the top row wearing the same shirt twins or call each other the day before to decide what they were wearing for the class photo? The young dude in the solid red shirt looks like my little brother.
Anyway, you're entries are great :)
no subject
Date: 2004-08-01 10:00 am (UTC)xx
no subject
Date: 2004-08-01 05:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-08-01 08:23 pm (UTC)