(bombsy, analyze this.)
prof. j bought a house in greensboro. a white clapboard bungalow (i heartily approve) with a sunporch. photographs were emailed, which for reasons unknown i decided to view at a red picnic table in the middle of a massive field far from civilization. meaning there was an incredibly long way to run to fetch the parental express to show them. meaning that the lappy and the picnic table were only just coming into view again when an enormous thunderstorm broke out. meaning i watched its destruction without being able to do anything about it.
ESLA and the dread pirate were having a movie night in an abandoned house that we seemed to think we owned, presumably somewhere in chicago and far from the far from everything field. croftie and i needed to be somewhere to do JBB-related things, but everyone else was bundled up in sleeping bags on the floor watching the cutting edge. they begged us not to leave. we love the cutting edge so i don't think we did.
but somehow i wound up alone on a civil war battlefield with the clown division of the confederate army. for good measure, let me repeat that: the confederate army, clown division. so there were clowns. clowns operating cannons, clowns loading other clowns into cannons, clowns shooting out of cannons and presumably clowns flying across the battlefield and making the yankees pee from shock.
fortunately, vieve rolled out one of her trademark dance parties at this point, so i was spared the sight of clown casualties and yankees cramming clown corpses into crowded clown cars and stealing clown shoes and festooning themselves with assorted clown finery.
but i can't quite express the trauma of wandering upon the clown division of the conferederate army in a dream. surely the confederate army clown division are denizens of hell. surely i have breached the infernal borders and been given a glimpse of just how low the devil will stoop to terrorize decent God-fearing, bird-hating people. i have had a vision. damn yankees? damned clowns.