An Englishman in New England

An Englishman in New England

Work like no-one's watching, dance like you don't need the money, and hurt like you've never been loved.

All About The Englishman


Be informed
Be entertained
Be perverted
Confess, sinner
Things fall apart. The center cannot hold.
Change your perceptions. They're lame.
I have a dream.
I am Jack's imaginary friend
Don't think. Just Grow.
For all your multimedia needs
Rehabilitating Mr. Wiggles
Filthy Lies
Hey! You make me throw up a little!
The Framley Examiner Personals
From the creator of 'Grow'
Fura Neko games!
This man is everything I hope to be, artistically
Tokyo Plastic 2.0h!

I love free speech. Talk to me.


December 2003
January 2004
February 2004
March 2004
April 2004
May 2004
June 2004
July 2004
August 2004
December 2004
March 2005


Belle De Jour
C h a p e l . P e r i l o u s
Another Girl, Another Planet
Robber Rabbit

currently. . .

[Playing] Oh, holy Halo 2, Xbox
[Reading] War of the Worlds
[Songs of the Moment] Freelove Freeway, Ricky Gervais/David Brent & Noel Gallagher (The Office), Let Me Love You, Mario
[Movie(s) of the Moment] Before Sunset

highlight reel

Pussy Perspectives
The Laid List
Liquored Up and Lookin' Fer Pussy
Orphan Rampage
The Office and David Carradine
Urkel's Calling
A Wee Turtle's Head
Non-Event Horizon
The Illusion of Time
Born To Run
Bush Humor
Fiendster: The Anti-Friendster
Crusoe and the INS
Peak Oil
Smile for me, Mona
Spin the bullet bachelor party
Spin the bullet part II
Heaven and Home
Heal the world

Atom Feed me, Seymour

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Tuesday, March 2

Smile for me, Mona

Belle put up a great post a little while back, in which she reminisced about past loves, lovers and, erm, loving in her own inimitable style. I think the thing that struck me about it was the way she referred to these memories as 'sketches' of people, because in my mind, that's exactly what they are, and that's when you know that you really know someone.

They're little snatches and snippets of your life with someone that tell you way more about them than a date, an interview, or a feverish hookup followed by an awkward breakfast the next morning complete with promises of calling you later. In my mind, these sketches aren't in color, most of the time they aren't even moving - they are just pictures that are attached with more meaning than any other person in the world could possibly fathom.

I think I speak about this because I recently deleted all my ex-girlfriend's emails to me - now that M is my wife, I felt like I didn't need to hold on to them any more; it felt wrong to have them. My ex (A) and I emailed a lot, and I kept every single one after I dumped her from well over 8,000 miles away (yeah, yeah, because I'm a big brave man, okay?).

I didn't want to look at them for the longest time, but I remember when I finally cracked that folder open, there lay an entire relationship, perfectly preserved, from its' very early courting stages to its' stumbling, awkward end over 9 months later. Each message carried with it its' own little sketch of A in my mind - they were a look, a tilt of the head, or a particular blemish that used to be so familiar.

I find it kind of hard to picture what she looks like now, something which I wouldn't have believed when we split. In the movie French Kiss, Kevin Kline beautifully describes how you feel like you'll never get over someone you've loved, but you wake up one day, and you can't remember what their chin looked like, and a few weeks later, you forget about that thing they used to do with their eyebrows. Soon after that, you're confused about how tall they were, and can't quite recall that thing they said to you once that made you marvel at how they thought. Pretty soon, they're gone, replaced by only a vague feeling, or spark of recognition at their name.

I guess the gist of all this is that by deleting those emails, I wanted to clear out the inbox of my mind, because I need the room for as many of M's sketches as I can fit in there.