A moment with Chris

My world, she is crumbling. Since coming to Austin for the 2009/2010 holiday season I have been stripped of the primary tenets of my sacred routine. I am left adrift and undefined. Long the pioneer of romantic entanglement among my siblings, hacking through young love with a careless machete, I have suddenly been surpassed by not one but two siblings. Dear William has found himself a bright young thing in Morocco (which is, as they say, for lovers) who shares his sense of adventure and altruism. She is, he says, "The best thing since the White Album". Words of such magnitude are rarely heard from anyone not currently governing a country. Hannah as well drinks from the sweet nectar of twitterpation, though her venue of amour is that most treacherous gorge of college sweetheartship; a cruel mistress that beckons the stragglers of the pack- the weak, slow, hopelessly romantic, and those not yet properly scarred by high school affairs. I must add at this point that I myself fell prey to this brightly-plumaged beast my Freshman year, courting a native lass for nearly a full three years of university studentship. How my heart collapses like a horse who's run over a landmine to hear this. Dear, sweet, simple Hannah. Did I not teach you well enough the perils of this world?

Mind you, the lad seems like an upstanding sort- about par for the course in this generation; friendly (if somewhat aloof), well-raised, without sharp edge or acerbic tone; and either a truly good sport in terms of meeting a girl's family or just very, very desperate to get Hannah time. Either way, I commend his indefatigable efforts. To young Squire Karl I say this: Hannah comes encumbered, more than most, with a singularly trying family. Prepare for weirdness on a grand and savage scale; the likes of which are probably enough to turn your pretty little eyes to coal, curl your shampooed little hair, and give it some company on, say, your chest. Namely, son, strap in. We Stewarts are like a rare gem: half of the value is in the blood sweat and dear-mother-they're-crazy-what-have-I-gotten-into-she-said-they-were-weird-but-I-thought-she-was-utilizing-hyperbole tears spent in obtaining said gem, in this case, Hannah. What? You think of her as an object, some treasure to be won? Shame on you. Go beg mercy of whatever gods ye call your own.

I find myself unable to write my usual material here. Too happy. Too content, sober, fulfilled, well-adjusted, and overall healthy. I have had to move all of my screenwriting efforts to my one (thank goodness I had one) comedic project. I simply can't access my darker chambers without a cold, hellishly lonely room, a slew of academic and social woes, and a few warm drops to put a shiver back in my face and circles 'neath the old eyes. Without these things I am artistically inert. Comedy is not my forte, and I have been forced (though happily!) to outsource my shallow well of humor to dear sister Siobhan, who will henceforth be assisting me with "Illuminati!: The Musical", a co-written screenplay that will plunge the unmined depths of humor to be found in...Freemasonry. As well as, of course, journalism.

Alas, I am called to clean the house. More to come.