I am behind in my posting duties. I am, coincidentally, also behind in almost every other duty I know of. Are these linked? I'm not sure. What I am sure of is that by concentrating on my blogging duties I can effecitvely ignore my other, admittedly less pleasant, duties. I had originally intended a serious, heartfelt post in which I bared my soul and told the most appalling secrets. I've since abandoned that idea in an effort to cut down on my Louisa May Alcott references and also because I don't actually care for baring my soul to the swirling cybernetic void of Kaos and eldritch Night.

Please note, by the way, that I spelt Kaos with a K, like the director of Ballistic: Ecks vs. Sever. Fun fact: I just checked and the writer of that particular cinematic gem has a number of other fine films under his belt, ranging from Wrong Turn to Left Behind: the Movie. He is apparently working on the movie-version of Tekken. Why has one man, Alan B. McElroy been graced with so much talent? I don't know, but I am envious.

I'm currently getting ready to renew my student visa, go to Seattle, finish dealing with funerary rites, and, perhaps, find the real meaning of Christmas. All of these tasks have created numerous subtasks through which I must slog, like commandos through a Florida swamp at night. Under heavy enemy fire. And the enemies are all FSU fratboys. I'm not exaggerating.

Well, okay, maybe a little. But it still sucks.

However, the thought of Seattle with its concomitant waterfront, coffee shops, Gorditos, Taco Bell, Todai, Red Robin, Alderwood Mall, glorious fast-food capitalism at its most caffeinated--has me salivating like a rabid dog. I'm also afraid of water, which I am told is a bad sign. Either way, I am definitely excited to see some old friends, and, especially, to help a very dear friend get married. And to, you know, get his drink on.

I apologize now for the fragmentary nature of this post. It has been three days since I started it, and my mood has changed dramatically. Also, my vocabulary, which brings me to the point of this post. I've made up at least six more vaguely theological-sounding words since I began. Words like liturgiomartyrdom and metasushi. I admit up front that 'metasushi' doesn't sound particularly theological.

But it is. I shall define metasushi as:

Metasushi (me-tuh-SOO-shee) n. 1. a. That which comes before sushi; b. That which lies around sushi; c. That which comes after sushi. 2. Theological: refers to lengthy insertions at the end of some services, especially if those services fall on inconveniently placed fasting days, such that the feast becomes a fasting (fish, wine, oil) feast.

Thus, metasushi can refer respectively to a ravenous hunger for raw fish, to modern yet classic atmosphere and subdued conversation, or to green tea ice cream. When used theologically, metasushi can refer to the blessing of water on Theophany or August 1, or the Lamentations on Dormition, or pretty much anything that comes between the Prayer Behind the Ambo(n) and my lunch.


Now, I know you're excited. I mean, hey, who wouldn't be? I've just given you a new word. A new sign by which to communicate meaning, a new way of relating to the world, and especially to its recently demised aquatic population. However, I advise some caution in using this new word. Many people are not as well-informed as you are, since many people do not yet read this blog. They may be resistant to your newfound erudition, obstructing your grammatical liturgiomartyrdom by saying things like 'That's not a word' or 'That's not appropriate' or 'Who are you and what are you doing here?'

If they say these sort of things to you, you may wish to belittle them or to mock their verbal illiteracy. Resist that urge. We all know that a little honey catches more flies than insults do. Or something to that effect (I found it in a copy of G.W. Bush's old edition of Bartlett's). So, be nice, and bear with your weaker brothers and sisters who do not share your Spartan-like conversational prowess.

So, I know this has been a far cry from a deeply personal admission of thoughts and feelings. But it's been a good ride, with a few laughs, a few tears, and a little verbal abuse. What more could you ask for?