Most Boring Post Ever From France It Comes

I have not actually left the house much in the past, oh, month or so. I have been reading novels of my own choice and flagrantly declining to write a 10-12 page paper on the theme, symbolism, allegory, etc. in any of them. This I have greatly enjoyed. I have enjoyed it so greatly in fact that I forbade myself to go to the library again until I finished the story I am writing, because novels distract me terribly. But then my story started to go awry (when you start making people pass out just to see what the other characters will do, you have a problem on your hands) and so I'm thinking a trip to the library is in order. Also, it's air-conditioned there.

Yesterday I had a grand old time reliving the making of Alice in Her Own Personal Literary Hell with Matt and Adam and Dan. Chiefly this consisted of remembering who got hit on the head a lot (me), who fell from great heights numerous times (Matt), who gave me the most persistent case of the giggles EVER (Adam), and who had red hair (Dan). He still does.

Then Justin graced us with his presence and we badgered him into singing the Dandelion Song that he made up during filming. Imagine a kid walking down the street in a ragged Where's Waldo costume strumming an out-of-tune three-string banjo, getting suspicious looks and frightening the small children (and their parents) at the nursery school. That would be Justin. Four years ago, he did this all the way through town from the creek to Matt's house. Then he sang the Dandelion Song, which goes:

Don-day-lyon from France they come.
They grow in a garden, they can't be . . . cultivated.
They're indigenous to-o-o France.
Dandelion.
Pronounced don-day-lyon.

In typical Justin manner he changed it all around last night and wouldn't do the same thing twice, but it got stuck in everybody's head anyway. Those of you who don't know the tune, consider yourself spared.

Our unusual behavior may be explained by the fact that, in the course of the evening, we ate cookies made from pre-mixed batter from a freezer in an abandoned warehouse that Matt's brother found and stole and Matt's mother made. There is apparently some debate over whether the warehouse was actually abandoned or not, but I don't see how that makes a difference. Either way, Matt "forgot" to inform us of the origin of the cookies until Adam and I had each eaten about five. Then, when we didn't die, Matt tried them. It's good to have friends. Who will let you test their food for poison before they eat.

Anyway, I haven't laughed that hard in some time, so either the cookies or the company really had something going for them. Or the wine.