Good News, Everyone!
Sep. 12th, 2010 07:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bloodyrosemccoySo my brother got a job.
It is a pretty sweet job, more so than the abortive national park one and, incidentally, much more relevant to those four and a half years of engineering school I'm told he went through. I’m not entirely sure what it is. I believe he refines lightning, after it is extracted from the lightning mines, and then puts it into large machines, but I could be wrong. I might be confusing this with the magic smoke factories.
Anyway. This is totally awesome, because he no longer has to sit around in the room across from me in the Bat Cave moping, and also it is a bummer, because now I’m the only one in the Bat Cave. It’s hard to yell witty comments about whatever is occupying one’s interests* when there’s nobody in the other room. I may have to remember how to operate one o’ them instant messengers again.
Also it means that while Mom helps my brother drive to California, I get to stay home with Dad, which means alternating between companionable watching of old movies** and reassuring a somewhat nervous Dad that no, that one time he got a call telling him which hospital the Life Flight was dropping his wife and kids off at was probably just a fluke, and that road trips don’t always lend themselves to broken necks and crushed cars. Sometimes we toss in some grocery shopping, although more often the garnish is moping about my brother’s absence.
Oh, and also, we broke the new stove already.
Perhaps you shouldn’t let the two slightly autistic family members alone for a week, is what I’m sayin’.
But I digress! I would now like to take the time to wish the Dude good luck at his new lightning-related job in California. And Dude, I think I speak for all the family when I say: FUCK TUBULAR.
And you know I mean that.
*Such as: “I can’t watch Lord of the Rings anymore! I keep inserting ‘Dammit, Jim’ before every line Éomer utters!”, “Alton Brown has just compelled me to make homemade Pop-Tarts, but it’s 3 in the morning. What do I do?”, “Look! I drew an alien’s respiratory system!” and, of course, “JESUS CHRIST YOU WOULD THINK AFTER 18 YEARS I’D KNOW HOW TO BEAT THIS, BUT FUCK TUBULAR.”
**Although we have agreed: no more Doris Day movies. That shit is bananas.
It is a pretty sweet job, more so than the abortive national park one and, incidentally, much more relevant to those four and a half years of engineering school I'm told he went through. I’m not entirely sure what it is. I believe he refines lightning, after it is extracted from the lightning mines, and then puts it into large machines, but I could be wrong. I might be confusing this with the magic smoke factories.
Anyway. This is totally awesome, because he no longer has to sit around in the room across from me in the Bat Cave moping, and also it is a bummer, because now I’m the only one in the Bat Cave. It’s hard to yell witty comments about whatever is occupying one’s interests* when there’s nobody in the other room. I may have to remember how to operate one o’ them instant messengers again.
Also it means that while Mom helps my brother drive to California, I get to stay home with Dad, which means alternating between companionable watching of old movies** and reassuring a somewhat nervous Dad that no, that one time he got a call telling him which hospital the Life Flight was dropping his wife and kids off at was probably just a fluke, and that road trips don’t always lend themselves to broken necks and crushed cars. Sometimes we toss in some grocery shopping, although more often the garnish is moping about my brother’s absence.
Oh, and also, we broke the new stove already.
Perhaps you shouldn’t let the two slightly autistic family members alone for a week, is what I’m sayin’.
But I digress! I would now like to take the time to wish the Dude good luck at his new lightning-related job in California. And Dude, I think I speak for all the family when I say: FUCK TUBULAR.
And you know I mean that.
*Such as: “I can’t watch Lord of the Rings anymore! I keep inserting ‘Dammit, Jim’ before every line Éomer utters!”, “Alton Brown has just compelled me to make homemade Pop-Tarts, but it’s 3 in the morning. What do I do?”, “Look! I drew an alien’s respiratory system!” and, of course, “JESUS CHRIST YOU WOULD THINK AFTER 18 YEARS I’D KNOW HOW TO BEAT THIS, BUT FUCK TUBULAR.”
**Although we have agreed: no more Doris Day movies. That shit is bananas.
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