To this day, Davy, I can't figure out how convinced me to go ice fishing at all - let alone at 2AM in formal wear on the perilously thin ice of the Schuylkill. Yes, yes, I'll admit there was something magical about being out in the dark, dead of night, mere shadows beneath the inky black sky; our cloudy breath illuminated only by the lights of boathouse row which winked at us conspiratorily. But really - silk lined or not - chiffon gowns and strappy heels simply aren't meant for that kind of adventure. I had frostbite in places I'm too much of a lady to mention.

And while we're on the subject of things a lady shouldn't mention..sorry again about the Fish Hook Incident. Do you still have the scar? (I'm mortified to even have asked; even writing the question down makes me blush.)

I'll never forget that night that you read my latest chapter and RAVED about how incredibly talented I am, and how I inspired you to head out to Cali to your pursue your writing dreams.

That really made my day.

I remember when you had first moved out here and we were just getting to know each other, I decided to show you around Southern California. So we packed my old Altima with snacks & gas, and then just started driving down PCH.

Only we got lost when I had to get off the highway due to construction, and we spent the next four hours looking for some familiar part of Orange County. At last, we finally hit the 605 just before it went into San Diego.

Although it cost me more than I could really afford in gas, it was so worth it.

I have a really good memory... but I'm dashing out the door, so you're just gonna have to wait a bit, me bucko.

~j

I remember those few days when you were curled up naked in the closet of my hotel room... ... ... ummmm ... and you were cradling a lemon pie and a football screaming, "Bleeding coats the canvas of babies."

It’s been a long while since I last spoke to David, so it was quite a surprise for him when I called. He was twice as surprised when I invited him to my Westwood place to participate in my latest photo shoot projects: a book with photos of all the geeks/scientists/ I know (and I know a few- my boyfriend is in UCLA’s math dept.:), designed to show the world how sexy, alluring, charming, simply hot men with brains can be; and a photo collection of all my lovers.
He agreed. I asked him to grab all the nice shirts he has and come over. He was a bit tense in the beginning, but relaxed after having a shot of rum. It was a wonderful session. Photos turned out amazingly beautiful. Now the whole world will see those deep, enigmatic, dreamy eyes that once made me lose my head.

Anna O.

so then I shouldn't mention how we were getting all hot-n-heavy in the hotel bathroom at the suite party at ConJose (or was it Torcon?) and then Dirj (or was it Reny?) started banging on the door so hard that we wondered it it'd hold? ;)

Anyway, now I'm wishing that I wrote down that dream that I had about you this past November...

You stole my javelin at the DB4D larp. From what I heard, you thought it was yours. I got mad and picked a fight.

Hours later (and many sheets to the wind later) at the Irish Pub, you took a closer look at the javelin and realized it wasn't yours! Then felt bad and tried to give it back. However, I couldn't hear what you were saying over the din. All I saw was your trying to talk to me whilst waving the javelin in the air. I of course assumed you were rubbing it in that you have my javelin, and proceeded to drink not only my shot, but mistakenly picked up and drank Jonathan's shot well. Then promptly made a sour face since it was not my usual vodka he was drinking.

At some point in the evening, I donned Dallas's pyrate hat, borrowed Mike Sara's walking stick, and tried to recite one of O'Hara's poems. I was making too much of a scene for Jonathan to stand it. He kept trying to sit me down and return said items to their proper owners. Everyone else was laughing and joining in on the recitation of said poem.

Out of the blue, a javelin ended up across my lap. I was too rocked to notice that you were standing behind me the entire time and when I finally sat down, you managed to have Dallas place it on my lap.

I smiled and I passed out...

That's all I can remember.

HM

At the diner after game, we were all just sitting there minding our own business and freaking the mundanes when two HUGE FRIGGIN GUYS walked in with guns and demanded that the cashier give him the money.

You looked around furtively and darted to the bathroom. We were all confused. Then, suddenly, some guy in a cape and a mask burst through the wall and kicked the robbers' asses. You missed it. It was totally wickedly awesome. Strange how you were in the bathroom the whole time and didn't hear the crash when he broke down the wall. Oh well.

We never spoke again after that one argument. Sitting in smoking jackets next to the fireplace. Leather armchairs warmed by the burning wood. Wood from the good old dry chords I keep in the carriage house for snowstorms.

We were arguing. You were standing for John Stewart Mill and Jeremy Bretham and in some cases Frederick Hegel. I was standing with Immanuel Kant, Hohfeld and Justice Cardozo.
I should have seen in your eyes that it was not a night for argument. You had a hold of a new idea, and you were dragging it into the world. I thought I was helping. We fire issues and ideas and counterpoints back and forth, our minds ablaze with higher reasoning.

Then it happened. You called any rationalist a fool. You started on your tirade and could not stop. You mocked the idea of metaphysics. You ridiculed any argument not based in empiricism.

I was angry, I brought up Kurt Gödel's attack on the Principia Mathmatica. I made it clear that empiricism could never describe the world without self reference. I bellowed that your empirical "Science" was another part of the world you thought to describe, and Heisenburgs point that you altered the world just by trying to describe it.

We descended into Semiotics like two hungry starved wolves fighting over one dirt smeared carcass; each seeking to be the only winner. raging over the nature of symbols and the impossibility of real communication.

The nights arguments ended from exhaustion with out any resolution of the ideas, or any kind words to reconcile our rift. To this day, I read your journal articles and I wonder if the pursuit of knowledge must in all cases cost a man his friends.

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

::wink::

We faced each other on the quartedeck you and I.

You raised your rapier in a jaunty salute.

Smiling now. "I have been waiting for this for years, Captain". You jerk the point of your blade towards yourself twice. Try. Me.

"Me too, David." A sad smile.

"So it begins!!" You flash a wide grin and bring your blade on point...

Slowly, weary beyond words, I raise my pistol and point it at your head.

"No my friend, so it ends." A roar. A flash. A plume of smoke.

Either that, David, or we were sitting at a table in Boston, breaking bread and comparing hangovers:p.

GAWD DAMN SON!!!

Fastest LJ reply ever.

After a long night of drunken revelry, I awoke naked and handcuffed to you by the side of the road in Australia. Although complete strangers, circumstances forced us to work together to return home. I'll never know how we survived kangaroo stampedes, the Japanese mafia, a flimsy raft, being shanghaied by pirates, the accidental acquisition of 200 pounds of cocaine, a freak tidal wave, a rogue KGB assassin, a secret Illuminati base, and rabid Harry Potter fans. I owed you my life, and you owed me yours.