Last night I dreamed that Molly, John Galt, and I were sitting in the front room of John's house. (except not johns real house, a house my dream made). The front room had a tall rectangular window, as older houses are prone to have. It was evening and we were all facing the window, talking. 2 men were walking down the sidewalk. We watched as the first man, a lanky white male, reached into a dumpster, pulled out a handful of shredded paper scraps, cursed, and threw them on the ground.
The second man had long greasy blonde hair and wore a dirty baseball cap. He was shortish, under six feet, and wore round, wire rimmed glasses. He was walking about five feet behind the first man. When he got to the large rectangular window, he grabbed on to each side of the frame and put his foot at the base. He was trying to break into the house while we were all sitting there watching him. It took him a few little hops to get in the window. When he came through and landed in the front room with a bounce, I shouted "HEY!" and John seemed to notice him for the first time. John rushed his body at the waist and pushed him out the window kind of by folding him in half, ass first. The man managed to grab on to the bottom of Johns shirt, so that it was all up around his shoulders when the man fell. The man stood back up and jumped back in the window, but John was standing less than a foot away from the sill, so their bodies collided almost immediately. The man pulled out a tiny tiny little pistol, smaller than the average cell phone, and started firing miniature bullets that moved slow enough that you could track them with your eyes. John was holding the man in a kind of one armed bear hug, effective simply due to the fact that John was much bigger than the man. John wrapped his other hand around the gun and crushed it like a wad of paper. The man fell back out the window.
Posted by Sonya at August 11, 2003 10:44 AMI think it means I need to kick JG's ass in public because clearly he's stealing my turf as the badest geek on the block.
Posted by: Joshua at August 11, 2003 01:06 PMI think it means you shouldn't watch "The Matrix" late at night while eating pepperoni sticks dipped into a jar of Smucker's "Goober" PB&J.
Either that or you have some lingering security issues about your new place...
Posted by: THE COMTE at August 11, 2003 01:15 PMDear Josh,
I totally knew you were going to be jealous about this.
If it makes you feel any better, you'll always be the first one I come to if anyone needs a stern talking-to, and I also dreamed that I had a kid and you taught it to kickbox before it's second birthday.
heart,
sjet
Posted by: sonya at August 11, 2003 01:23 PMDear Sonya,
Jealous and predictable; oh, let the shame end now!
kidney,
Jn
Posted by: Joshua at August 11, 2003 01:32 PMit took me a really long time to figure out who "john galt" was because i didn't want to look stupid.
i'm on percocet right now
John Galt, Novelist B: 1779 D: 1839
Galt was born in Irvine on 2nd May 1779. His family moved to Greenock when he was ten and he stayed there for the next ten years. He moved to London in 1804 and tried to establish himself in business with little success. From 1809 to 1811 he toured the countries of the Mediterranean and became acquainted with Lord Byron, of whom he wrote the first biography. He wrote plays, poetry and biography before discovering his real métier as a novelist. From 1827 to 1829 he acted as manager of a company engaged in the settlement of a large part of Ontario.
Some of his other works, especially his Autobiography and Life of Byron, are interesting, but Galt's main achievement lies in thirteen novels which are innovative, diverse, intelligent and highly entertaining. A group of them which Galt called Tales of the West, are set mainly in the part of Scotland where he grew up: The Ayrshire legatees (1820), The Steamboat and Annals of the parish (1821), Sir Andrew Wylie, The Provost, The Gathering of the West, The Entail (1820), The Last of the lairds (1826). Together they amount to a comprehensive picture of life in the world of Galt's youth and for a generation or two before, from about 1760 to about 1820.
In 1834 Galt returned to Greenock and continued to write short stories with undiminished zest and humour. He died there on 11th April 1839.
He's also a character in a novel by Ayn Rand, "Atlas Shrugged".
Posted by: THE COMTE at August 11, 2003 04:33 PM