Just Saying...

Some of you may have arrived at the conclusion that the Masked Logician is the least bit cynical. My reaction to this is to declare that you obviously have the pattern recognition skills of mulch. No offence, but even a cursory perusal of my writings will clearly indicate that I am one of the Western Hemisphere's richest natural resources of raw cynicism. Had either of them been alive today, the likes of Fitzgerald and Hemingway would no doubt have slouched about my house all day imbibing thoroughly heroic quantities of alcohol and attempting to soak up ambient cynicism. Of course this would eventually cause them to reach some kind of social-pessimism critical mass, possibly resulting in a catastrophic chain reaction of jaded, world-weary affectation so severe that Amish farmpersons as many as seven hundred miles distant would take to hunkering in dingy cafes in company of rank cigars, cheap whiskey, and cantankerous women and expostulating ad infinitum about how very ironic it all is, really. But of course they're both dead--or so we're led to believe, anyway. Thus I am left to disperse the brunt of my pent-up sarcasm and disillusionment with the world at large as best I am able. So far, this blog seems to work prodigiously. I write snarky, scathing things, and then sit here an pretend that a great lot of you reading them, and everyone is thus happy: I because I've written something I felt compelled to write about, in the form of capricious curmudgeonry and general bitching, and you because I only pretended that you read it, rather than you actually having to do so. And so goes life.
But there are some things in life that are so fair, so fine, possessed of such intrinsic goodness that they are simply beyond such petty ideological and perceptual concerns. What does all that mean, you--those of you who are not embarrassed to ask such questions--ask? Well, it means, basically, that I am eye-wateringly verbose, and, many will tell you, a pompous jackass. More simply put, no matter how miserable a grouch you--like myself--may be, sometimes in life you find something that is just good. Period. Not that you always realize what you've found just because you find it. No, we often go straight on marching, head down and eyes closed, following life where it leads, and never once realizing how close we were to something that might have made us happy. And even, on the far-off chance that we do notice in time enough to take stock, how often do we actually appreciate what we've found? Generally speaking, not until after it's gone, passed in and out of our lives while we weren't even looking...
Fine, now that we have the Hallmark™ moment out of the way, I want to introduce you to one of those rare special things that I have the great fortune to include in my life. This special thing is in fact a special person, specifically a woman. (In the immortal words of some guy I overheard in a bar once, "Ain't it always a woman?") I have a feeling that she would be somewhat uncomfortable having me mention her real name, and, as a concession to anonymity, I will refer to her as "Sarah", which I feel is a suitable pseudonym on the grounds that it is a name I can consistently spell correctly. Anyway, "Sarah" is, to perpetrate a grievous understatement, extremely important to me. In fact, I have no reservation whatever in saying that she is easily the single most important individual in my life. Whether or not I take the time to let her know this nearly frequently enough is a matter for debate, but the fact remains that, without her influence, I would likely be a far different and, probably, significantly less pleasant person. Yes, I know what you're thinking, and let me assure you that in fact it is possible for me to be less pleasant. All that being the case, I obviously have a great deal to say about her, and about what she means to me, and how she fits into my life. In fact, even barring my natural verbosity, I could well ramble on for hours, which would be quite sad, as I'm altogether certain that you would stop reading after the first few minutes, leaving me alone to talk to myself. So I think, for the time being, I will content myself with relating something she said to me this afternoon.

"I think that if you were a pygmy goat, I'd want to be a pygmy goat, too."

Careful. I know, I should have warned you to remove any chewing gum from your mouths before reading that, lest you inhale it in the opening seconds of your internal-organ-rupturing attack of mirth. I admit, taken out of context, it sounds a lot like something Jack Handey might say on an off day.
Well, say what you will. As far as I'm concerned, that's one of the most beautiful and touching things I've ever heard.
I just felt I should say that.