Mike loses his words

K, so now that it's Thursday, Mike's ready 2 share a bit of what happed @ his "OMG author!" party this past Saturday. Here's what he posted last nite:

April,

Little sis. Sometimes there are occasions or situations which can leave even the most accomplished speaker at a loss for words. Such was the scene at my Congratupalooza, when my good friend Josef Weeder stood on top of a previously-unseen platform to address the collected gathering of my well-wishers. Josef started off with, “Ladies and Gentoids, may I have your attention, please!” This is a perfectly normal way of addressing a crowd, except, of course, for the word “gentoid”. As I was standing there, I wracked my brain, running down the list of all the slang words I know, and yet a definition for “gentoid” did not come to mind. The obvious word derivation of the first syllable “gent-“ is short for “gentlemen”, which is the word which normally accompanies the word “ladies” in these kinds of addresses. However the suffix “-oid” means “resembling or like,” and is used in the formation of adjectives and nouns (and often implying an incomplete or imperfect resemblance to what is indicated by the preceding element), like anthropoid or planetoid. I was struck with fear. Had my good friend, Josef Weeder just insulted every man in the gathering, by saying that they were incomplete or imperfect gentlemen? And if that was his intention, did he say it out of jealousy for the male attention being given to me by my guests? It is true that I could not think of a man in the room who meant more to me than Josef Weeder, but is it possible that I had not communicated that to Josef in some way? Did he doubt me, after all the years we have been together?

I can tell you little sis. I feared what Josef would say next. Then he said, “Tonight’s soirée is in honor of writer extraordinaire – Michael Patterson! He has just signed his first contract with a publisher…” My mind was racing again. Josef used not one French word, but two. He knows how I and my whole family feel about the French. This was a definite insult. Not only that but he said “honor” without the “u”, which is a slight to all us Canadians. Those 3 words spelled “doom”, not the word but the outcome. I had done something to upset Josef. I looked down at all the people who had gathered before me. My friends, family, and business associates and they all went black, with a light white outline. They had gotten the subtle insult in Josef’s introduction. I rolled up the sleeves on my shirt and prepared to do physical battle in order to regain my honour, with a “u”. I know I had a grim look on my face as I approached Josef. Deanna later told me my face was less “grim” and more “old man without dentures in”, but it doesn’t matter. I made my way past the strangely-coloured balloons which were hanging in midair next to the platform.

Then Josef said, “On behalf of your friends and family-and this is from the heart, man…congratulations on becoming an AUTHOR. “ And as he said it, Josef put his hand to my heart. There were no more French words; after all, Josef could have said “auteur”. There was only the warm feeling I get whenever Josef touches my chest and his heartfelt congratulations. My bad feelings melted away like ice on a Milborough street. I should have known Josef would be feeling a tad jealous, but would never let it get in the way of our friendship. My feelings welled up inside of me. As the crowd started saying my name, the word balloons seemed to come at me from all sides--- to my left, to my right, disembodied directly over my head, and even cutting into the old brain cavity a bit. I could feel my eyes going googly. I could feel my head or my ego expanding or elongating. I am not sure which. It was too much for me, little sis. Your big brother, the soon-to-be-published, best-selling author had finally reached one of those situations I described in my first paragraph. I was speechless.

Then I remembered what my old English teacher had told me back in J school. She said, “Mike Patterson. When you have nothing to say, it really is better for you just to say you have nothing to say than to try to say something; because when you have nothing to say, your work is considerably worse than the awful material you produce when you do have something to say.” Those words came at me from my past and escaped onto my lips as I said, “Um…I…don’t know what to say.” I guess that old English teacher was right about something after all. Let that be a lesson to you little sis---When you have nothing to say, just say it.

Love,
Michael Patterson

Rn'tcha glad U asked? U didn't ask? Nev mind. Mike, it sounds like U just never noticed that Weed isn't v. smart and that he's pretty immature 4 a guy who's gonna B 31 this yr. I think that's Y the "gentoid." He prolly thot it sounded cool and "alternative" or sumsuch.

Apes