Blogspot, aged to perfection for three years at the McIlhenny cellars.
A couple weeks ago Joe won the Williamsburg Spelling Bee. I was munching on a panini when he spelled his final word. Unfortunately, none of us remembers since it was impossible to pronounce. His final word wasn't exactly a "winning word" in the sense that Rebecca Sealfon's E-U-O-N-Y-M was. Unlike in the Scrips Spelling Bee, where the bee mechanics ensure that the winner claims their victory by spelling something right, the Williamsburg Bee crowns a winner when the runner-up spells something wrong. It basically boils down to: In Williamsburg, every victory is necessarily sealed with scads of negative energy. I myself cannot spell for shit. They had a layman's mini-bee during a break in the competition. I wasn't in it, but I played along. I was eliminated on the word cantaloupe (reproduced correctly here).
As part of his prize haul, Joe won two prime seats for the 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, which I went to last night. The songs were pretty mediocre (A song without any motifs? Balderdash!), but the dialogue was snappy. Joe commented that it would have been amazing as a stage play. I'll disagree here, as without musical interludes it would have been tres difficult to peer into the home lives of the contestants: a fat dancing asthmatic boy, blazer-wearing girl who is the head of her elementary school's Gay Straight Alliance an incredibly adorable latchkey kid in pink overalls and...some other characters. The three above were the ones I fixated on. Actually, there was an overacheiving Asian girl. During her solo, I leaned over to Joe and whispered in his ear, in as Gollum-esque a manner as possible: "my child."
Still, I wish the tunes were a little more musical.
Afterwards, Joe stayed over and we cuddled--awkwardly, as I found out come daybreak. Now I have this intense aching running down the left side of my back. When I swivel my head in that direction, I feel like there are 3000 petite Japanese masseuses digging their toes into my back muscles. It's very unpleasant. Trying to cross 16th Street this morning, I couldn't check the street for traffic, so I did had to do a full-body 180 to make sure I didn't die. (To be fair, Beth Israel is right there, so if the impact didn't break my face/heart/brain/lungs/kidneys/GI tract, I stood a good chance of getting away with just being a paraplegic for the rest of my life. Still.) It's times like that when I wish I was an owl, or the girl from The Exorcist--in fact, probably the only time.
A couple weeks ago Joe won the Williamsburg Spelling Bee. I was munching on a panini when he spelled his final word. Unfortunately, none of us remembers since it was impossible to pronounce. His final word wasn't exactly a "winning word" in the sense that Rebecca Sealfon's E-U-O-N-Y-M was. Unlike in the Scrips Spelling Bee, where the bee mechanics ensure that the winner claims their victory by spelling something right, the Williamsburg Bee crowns a winner when the runner-up spells something wrong. It basically boils down to: In Williamsburg, every victory is necessarily sealed with scads of negative energy. I myself cannot spell for shit. They had a layman's mini-bee during a break in the competition. I wasn't in it, but I played along. I was eliminated on the word cantaloupe (reproduced correctly here).
As part of his prize haul, Joe won two prime seats for the 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, which I went to last night. The songs were pretty mediocre (A song without any motifs? Balderdash!), but the dialogue was snappy. Joe commented that it would have been amazing as a stage play. I'll disagree here, as without musical interludes it would have been tres difficult to peer into the home lives of the contestants: a fat dancing asthmatic boy, blazer-wearing girl who is the head of her elementary school's Gay Straight Alliance an incredibly adorable latchkey kid in pink overalls and...some other characters. The three above were the ones I fixated on. Actually, there was an overacheiving Asian girl. During her solo, I leaned over to Joe and whispered in his ear, in as Gollum-esque a manner as possible: "my child."
Still, I wish the tunes were a little more musical.
Afterwards, Joe stayed over and we cuddled--awkwardly, as I found out come daybreak. Now I have this intense aching running down the left side of my back. When I swivel my head in that direction, I feel like there are 3000 petite Japanese masseuses digging their toes into my back muscles. It's very unpleasant. Trying to cross 16th Street this morning, I couldn't check the street for traffic, so I did had to do a full-body 180 to make sure I didn't die. (To be fair, Beth Israel is right there, so if the impact didn't break my face/heart/brain/lungs/kidneys/GI tract, I stood a good chance of getting away with just being a paraplegic for the rest of my life. Still.) It's times like that when I wish I was an owl, or the girl from The Exorcist--in fact, probably the only time.
posted by Byron at 2:06 PM
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