If you had told me a year ago that I would be quoting the following source - for Thoughtful Thursday no less - I would kindly but assertively be telling you that you had bats in your belfry.
Nasty, rabid bats.
Nibbling away on your brain.
Nasty, rabid bats.
Nibbling away on your brain.
Icky, I know. But true.
It's a year later, and over the past weekend I caught the Baron watching one of his guilty pleasures DVDs. Normally, I just avert my eyes, and skitter out of the room, stat.
This time, I kind of got sucked into the vortex. Why?
Because it's a year later, and I heard that voice. Wait a minute - I recognized that voice.
It's the voice of my new favorite tv doctor, the brainiac who has usurped House in my heart.
Instead of averting my eyes, I stopped dead in my tracks, looking at the screen. I saw those deep dark eyes, and I felt the vortex making me dizzy. Or maybe it wasn't the vortex at all.
Maybe it was the essence of Kal Penn (a/k/a Kumar, a/k/a Dr. Kutner). Dude has got me all a-quiver.
Dude is hawt.
Dude is sexy - smart sexy.
This time, I kind of got sucked into the vortex. Why?
Because it's a year later, and I heard that voice. Wait a minute - I recognized that voice.
It's the voice of my new favorite tv doctor, the brainiac who has usurped House in my heart.
Instead of averting my eyes, I stopped dead in my tracks, looking at the screen. I saw those deep dark eyes, and I felt the vortex making me dizzy. Or maybe it wasn't the vortex at all.
Maybe it was the essence of Kal Penn (a/k/a Kumar, a/k/a Dr. Kutner). Dude has got me all a-quiver.
Dude is hawt.
Dude is sexy - smart sexy.
So what that he's one half of the idiot duo who have been to two of the more, uh, important hotbeds of social activism - White Castle AND Guantanamo Bay? I now know that he's been carrying Harold this whole time.
Harold is, I'm afraid to say, a moron. I mean this in the least xenophobic of ways.
Harold is, I'm afraid to say, a moron. I mean this in the least xenophobic of ways.
While I watched, mesmerized, Kumar recited the following poem, and the world around me blurred and I felt all airy and giddy; it was the seldom-verbalized mating call of the nerdy.
I stared at the screen, agape, and a-geek.
I stared at the screen, agape, and a-geek.
It was him and me, me and him. No one else.
It was math bliss.
It was this:
The Square Root of Three
I’m sure that I will always be
A lonely number like root three
The three is all that’s good and right,
Why must my three keep out of sight
Beneath the vicious square root sign,
I wish instead I were a nine
For nine could thwart this evil trick,
with just some quick arithmetic
I know I’ll never see the sun, as 1.7321
Such is my reality, a sad irrationality
When hark! What is this I see,
Another square root of a three
As quietly co-waltzing by,
Together now we multiply
To form a number we prefer,
Rejoicing as an integer
We break free from our mortal bonds
With the wave of magic wands
Your love for me has been renewed
David Feinberg
