Sunday, May 22, 2011

Lala in Italia.com

My sister-in-law Laura has been in Italy for a week.  A week ago I created a blog for her at www.lalainitalia.com so that she could keep us all updated on her adventures studying abroad.

I can count the number of posts she’s done on one hand.  Actually, I could count the number of post she’s done on Aron Ralston’s hand because there haven’t been any!

Frankly, I’m a little irate that I spent $10 on a domain and she has yet to post.  She’s coming back in mid August which means that she’s only there about 12 weeks. So that’s one week down with no posts, how many more are we supposed to endure, Laura?!

One week is one twelfth of a 12 week trip, or 8.3%.  Laura, you owe me 83 cents.  I want a Coke.  Make it caffeine free because I have trouble sleeping when I drink the hard stuff.

For those of you reading this who think I am being a little ornery (“Geez dude, she’s only been there a week, let her relax a little before she feels obligated to update us bums back in the U S of A.”), there’s something you should know.  You should know that the Laura who’s been not posting for a week is the same Laura who volleys angry hatemail mortar text messages at us whenever 2 days go by without fresh updates on this blog.

Given her impatience with us, I don’t think my indignation is unjustified in the slightest.  In fact, I encourage you to threaten encourage her to post yourself.  You can do it through comments on this blog or hers.

lalaitalia

And for those of you who think I’m weird, and those of you who would point to the text of this post as evidence of said weirdness, you’re probably right.  However, I submit to you that writing this blog post added a quantifiable amount of joy to my life today.  And it’s made even better by the knowledge that there’s probably someone out there who won’t make it to this last paragraph that’s coming up (Because, of course, no one really reads long-form prose anymore in any package, blog, book, magazine or otherwise.  If we can’t get in and get out in paragraph our two, then Matt Drudge just isn’t doing his job and we probably don’t need to know it anyway.  And besides, this last paragraph is longer than the others and it’s after the picture.  That one picture is worth a thousand words so by the time you make it down here to read this stuff you’ve really invested some time.) 

And this last paragraph is where I’ll reassure you that I really am joking and I’m really not angry at Laura and such and such - end of disclaimer.  As I mentioned though, it’s funny to think of people reading a paragraph or two and clicking to the next tab with the thought, “Man that Luke guy really is a jerk and kinda weird, how can he write stuff like that about Laura?” It kind of makes me happy to throw a few people for a loop. Admit it, you’re thinking right now about how you kind of want to write a stream of consciousness like this one simply because you like the sound the keyboard makes when you type really fast.  Of course, laptop keyboards sound completely different than desktop keyboards, and the fake clicking noise that comes out of the speakers on iWhatevers just isn’t as satisfying.  And finally, you should also know that this post was written when I’m supposed to be catching up on some work and I am consciously procrastinating. (And we just got back from church where we had communion, so I’m a little buzzed. Not really. Actually, at our church you can choose from wine or “dealcoholized wine,” as if anyone really knows what dealcoholized wine is. I can’t even hardly spell it.  I’ve tried both, and the dealcoholized stuff tastes like what I imagine paint thinner tastes like.) Stephanie’s sewing across the room and she thinks I’m really working hard because she sees lots of keys being pressed.  I guess when she reads this the ruse will be up…

3 comments:

Stephanie said...

You sound like Abed.

La La said...

Give me a break. Rome is a busy city plus we traveled to Venice an Milan. Promise I'll post everything tomorrow. :)

Ed said...

This post sounds like typical Luke. Love, Mom