I Miss You, Sha La La La La

Elton John in concert at the Marriott Center in 1985. I'm not kidding you.

I don't have a lot to say right now, because I don't do a lot. And the things that I do do haven't been the greatest material lately. I mean, the greatest public material. There IS great material, which I have handfuls and handfuls of starting two nights ago, GREAT material, more than I can cohesively journal; then there is great public material, which I don't have, which I probably will not have until I go back to school and see all the annoying people again. I miss the annoying people. I miss the kissy-face people and the people in the Subway line and the creepy guy with the really wide eyes who works at the Sugar and Spice and reading ridiculous articles in the Daily Universe, and I miss the people who are too afraid to be the kissy-face people and instead are the stare wetly into each other's eyes people. I miss them. I miss the guy who, at the five minute break in class, would go out to the vending machine and buy sour patch watermelons, sun chips, pretzels, two bottles of juice, and a peanut butter twix and spend the rest of the class period crinkling, then leave, a subtle dusting of granulated sugar covering his work space. I miss the people girls cough who caused me to eat my six inch Italian BMT all the more ferociously in order not to jump over my table and onto them because I could hear them talking about professors assigning them, like, too much reading. Like twenty pages every class period. Like.

I even miss the one other person besides me in class who would raise their hand who was usually a girl whose hair I envied that I wanted to punch in the face and let have a nap and a sandwich under my desk. I am yearning for the mommies spooning yogurt with the enthusiasm of short-distance runners into the mouths of their toddlers, trying to get a whole container of strawberry in them before they have to crawl five feet into class. Them, not the toddler. Or both.

It's even sad to me that when I go back in April, less than half of these wonderful, wonderful, story-forming people will be there to form stories about. The library will be nice that way, empty, so I can pull more than two armchairs together in some strange chair-bed configuration and nest--perhaps, drool while napping and not feel like I need to wipe it off the second I wake up--but every other building will really suffer the loss.
I'll walk through the basement of the JFSB mourning the six-month hiatus of the cute little husbands in blue button-up shirts lining the walls, cross-legged, eating their thick soup out of tupperwares and sitting on their coats. Sometimes there's a stroller thrown in there. I always wanted to see one perched on TOP of his stroller, and I think everyone else wanted to as well--it seems like it would have saved a lot more space for the rest of us fat-backpacked lemmings trying to wriggle by.
I miss you, strollers, I miss you, wet-eyed-starings, I miss the thick soup.

Soon I will be back amongst these people and their puffed backpacks.

PS: This is Jeremy. I forgot to post this video in December, and now I'm posting it. Notice what Emily says at the end of the clip. (When I say notice, I'm saying Emily, notice what you say at the end of the clip. Haha.)


Eeeeeeeeeeh.