EMAIL MOMENT!

Subject: Toledo and the state of higher education.

Excerpt:

“At the University of Toledo today, the sidewalk was chalked up with all
kinds of misspelled school spirit: ‘Your here!’ ‘Sign up for the ski
raceing team!’ What the fuck are these people going to do?”

11:05 a.m.

I went to my first baseball game last night, Dodgers v. Giants in the newish SF stadium. I stood and sang the national anthem, I had some cotton candy and a hot dog with grilled onions. It was a very American evening, except for one thing. No half-naked bouncing women. Not a single one anywhere. Was I not here in America–land of amply endowed, blonde women who bounce professionally? Is baseball not our national sport? Everyone seemed entertained by the game, but I pondered the sad truth. An entire generation of young baseball fans will grow to maturity without knowing the nuances of reflective spandex, the alluring twinkle of cleavage sequins under stadium lights. Wistfully, I surveyed the vast stretch of field before me. “Jenni? Tifanni? Jodi?” Two rows down, three sorority girls turned from their gaggle and looked up at me questioningly. “Nevermind,” I said, and flagged the peanut vendor.

11:07 a.m.

You’re an attractive, successful man who seems to have a lot going for him. But let’s say that your dating life is kind of slow, you’re not getting as much action as you used to, and all the women your age want to get married. What if you were to launch a Web campaign offering$10K to the person who finds you a wife? My guess is that you’d never sleep lonely again, my friend. Ah, romance. I can almost hear the violins.

(via adnan)

12:23 p.m.

My credit card company gave me an unsolicited increase. As you might imagine, my first thought was, Money? What the hell am I supposed to do with more money? Fortunately, they enclosed an informative brochure entitled, What to do With a Credit Card Increase. Apparently, when your credit line exceeds your annual income, you should take a Princess Cruise and order a digital watch that tells time in 20 different countries at once.

1:35 p.m.

I bought leather pants this weekend, and they’re fabulous. They make me want to pose instead of standing still. They make me want to take up chain smoking. They make me want to pout out angry lyrics and crawl catlike toward a video camera while underage models writhe seductively in the soft-focus background. Man, nothing screams rock star like wrapping your legs in dead cow.

2:28 p.m.

A while ago, I finished Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole. It’s a modern satire with a hilarious main character. The author committed suicide without ever trying to have the work published. His mother got it published and it won the Pulitzer. My favorite parts:

  • Your total ignorance of that which you profess to teach merits the death penalty. I doubt whether you know that St. Cassian of Imola was stabbed to death by his students with their styli…Pray to him, you deluded fool, you “anyone for tennis?” golf-playing, cocktail-quaffing, pseudo-pedant.
  • My mentality, uncontrollable and wanton as always, whispered to me a scheme so magnificent and daring that I shrank from the very thought of what I was hearing. “Stop! I cried imploringly my godlike mind. “This is madness!”
  • “Santa, honey, that’s a sweet little Blessed Virgin you got on top that TV,” Mrs. Reilly said.
    …Santa said, “Ain’t it nice, though? It’s a little Our Lady of the Television. It’s got a suction cup base so I don’t knock it over when I’m banging around in the kitchen. I bought it by Lenny’s”
    “Lenny’s got everything,” Mrs. Reilly said. “It looks like it’s made outta nice plastic, too. Don’t break.”

      11:20 a.m.

The best headlines from the April edition of Martha Stewart Living:

  • The Finest Seasalt
  • Painting a Window
  • Ruffles: They are much more than a dressmaker’s detail.
  • Ironing Ruffles and Pleats

Bonus points for an article on how to spend several hours hand fashioning and sugaring the marshmallow Peeps that you can purchase at your local grocery store for 40 cents per package. I didn’t even know it was possible to make marshmallows at home. Can you see, dear reader, how I’m becoming just a little more enlightened with each passing month?

10:37 a.m.

OVERHEARD

Subject: New Economy moment on Muni.

Characters: Young, hostile woman having a loud public conversation on her cell phone.

You didn’t send them yet?! Send it. Send it now… Yes! Now… OK, what else? I’m about to go into the tunnel… What do you mean?… No, we haven’t moved yet… On the 14th, why?… Would you spit it out? What do you want?… Yeah. What do you want?… WHAT? Are you joking?… No way. I’m not paying for that, why would you think that?… I never, ever said that… No, I didn’t… I never, never, never said I would pay for it, you’re insane!… I don’t even know where you’re getting that… Oh my God. No I didn’t. That’s $1,000, you think I just have that kind of money laying around?… WHAT? I did not say “Go to Africa, it’s on me.” That’s a joke… Why would I say that? I don’t have $1,000 laying around… Yes, I said that, and I sent you $100 for it last month. Yes… You know what your problem is? You think I’m made of money… Yes, you do. I’m beginning to see why you get so upset when I don’t just send you checks on a whim… I’m not made of money, I work for it, and I have a lot of stuff to pay for… OK, look, I didn’t say that, but if you thought I was going to pay for the trip, and you honestly believed that, I’ll try to help out… Yeah… If I have any cash this month, I’ll send it to you. OK, Dad?”

11:08 a.m.

“By the way, if anyone here is in advertising
or marketing, kill yourself. No, this is not a
joke: kill yourself… I know what the
marketing people are thinking now too: ‘Oh.
He’s going for that anti-marketing dollar.
That’s a good market.’ Oh man, I am not
doing that, you fucking evil scumbags.”

–Bill Hicks

(I blatantly ripped off the link and the quote from Metascene. Thanks, Fred.)

10:48 a.m.