of trapeze and cowboys
Whilst browsing the magazine section of Barnes & Noble on Friday, I overheard the oddest thing from a girl who was perusing a few feet away. She was with her mother, and she pointed to a girl on the cover of some random magazine and said:
"Remember the first time we saw her, in the Bahamas, I was on the trapeze?"
I am almost completely sure this girl is not in a circus. She's from L-Town, and we went to the same junior high. She was in my 8th grade World Geography class, taught by the venerable Mr. Worth, for whom I once wrote a paper about Russia that was so good, he gave me a D for cheating. Putz.
I was, of course, in love with her, and I, of course, never actually spoke to her. So upon seeing her in Barnes & Noble, I, of course, became an 8th grade boy all over again. I shrank 4 inches and gained 30 pounds right there while holding the new issue of Lenswork. And I suddenly had a strange urge to listen to Nine Inch Nails. My social ineptitude in junior high knew no bounds.
Not that there's anything wrong with listening to Nine Inch Nails (which there is), but I think you'll agree that a pasty, quasi-spherical, suburban junior high white male living in what is easily the most insular culture in the continental U.S. simply does not fit the profile of a Trent Reznor fan. I guess I thought I had angst.
I'm sure that 8th-grade Hoov had a cornucopia of things to fuel a respectable adolescent rage. Maybe the tennis team lost a dual-match to Evans. Not that that ever happened, Regan. Or maybe the king of the dumb jocks stole my typing paper in Keyboarding class (again). I hate that guy. Or maybe Todd Macfarlane had just decided to stop illustrating Spawn. Which was rough on me.
Or maybe it was the fact that I always seemed to be falling for the beautiful girls like this one. And for some reason they never returned the love to an overweight bookworm with bad hair. Go figure.
But the point of all this is: What was she doing on a trapeze? In the Bahamas? And apparently, the experience was so blase that she was just hanging out and striking up conversations with random people.
"Hey, how ya doin'? Yeah, this trapeze is alright. If you're ever in Fiji, you should check theirs out. They got the new 500 series. It's dece."
I thought about talking to her, just to see if there was any chance she might remember someone who sat 3 isles over and 4 rows back and to whom she'd never spoken or even acknowledged my existence as a fellow carbon-based life form.
But then she picked up a book about George W. and showed it to her mom and started telling her how good it was. Nope. Even if she would have remembered me and decided that I had become reasonably swell over the past decade, I've done my time making out with Republicans.
Yeah I said it.
But, considering it was a pro-W book, maybe she just liked it for the pictures. And in case you're offended by my implication that any pro-W literature would necessarily be a children's book, please consider that I had originally planned to imply that it was a pop-up book, but couldn't make it work out grammatically.
* * * * *
I guess somebody thought it would be real funny to sign me up for a WebDate profile. Yeah. Laugh it up.
Now I have administrative assistants from New Jersey sending me instant messages and they're all, like:
"so, do you have any pics? ; ) "
And I'm all, like:
"Yeah. Dozens. Just none with me in them."
And she's all, like:
"your from texas, are u a cowboy?"
And I'm all, like:
"Well, I would suppose that the answer to that question would hinge on whether you're inquiring as to my profession and whether I am involved in the breeding, caring for, and transport of bovine mammals, or whether your question is perhaps more directed as a inquiry towards my personal dress patterns and preferred forms of entertainment, i.e., do I enjoy listening to western-influenced musical artists and does my common attire conform to the archetypal image of the appropriate dress for the male residing in the American west."
And she's all, like:
"i'm going to the Usher concert next week!"
Nothing against Stacy though. She's a nice girl. If you're ever in the Garden State, and you need the tradition of brokerage excellence that only Meryl Lynch can deliver for your portfolio, look up Stacy and maybe she can administratively assist you.
"Remember the first time we saw her, in the Bahamas, I was on the trapeze?"
I am almost completely sure this girl is not in a circus. She's from L-Town, and we went to the same junior high. She was in my 8th grade World Geography class, taught by the venerable Mr. Worth, for whom I once wrote a paper about Russia that was so good, he gave me a D for cheating. Putz.
I was, of course, in love with her, and I, of course, never actually spoke to her. So upon seeing her in Barnes & Noble, I, of course, became an 8th grade boy all over again. I shrank 4 inches and gained 30 pounds right there while holding the new issue of Lenswork. And I suddenly had a strange urge to listen to Nine Inch Nails. My social ineptitude in junior high knew no bounds.
Not that there's anything wrong with listening to Nine Inch Nails (which there is), but I think you'll agree that a pasty, quasi-spherical, suburban junior high white male living in what is easily the most insular culture in the continental U.S. simply does not fit the profile of a Trent Reznor fan. I guess I thought I had angst.
I'm sure that 8th-grade Hoov had a cornucopia of things to fuel a respectable adolescent rage. Maybe the tennis team lost a dual-match to Evans. Not that that ever happened, Regan. Or maybe the king of the dumb jocks stole my typing paper in Keyboarding class (again). I hate that guy. Or maybe Todd Macfarlane had just decided to stop illustrating Spawn. Which was rough on me.
Or maybe it was the fact that I always seemed to be falling for the beautiful girls like this one. And for some reason they never returned the love to an overweight bookworm with bad hair. Go figure.
But the point of all this is: What was she doing on a trapeze? In the Bahamas? And apparently, the experience was so blase that she was just hanging out and striking up conversations with random people.
"Hey, how ya doin'? Yeah, this trapeze is alright. If you're ever in Fiji, you should check theirs out. They got the new 500 series. It's dece."
I thought about talking to her, just to see if there was any chance she might remember someone who sat 3 isles over and 4 rows back and to whom she'd never spoken or even acknowledged my existence as a fellow carbon-based life form.
But then she picked up a book about George W. and showed it to her mom and started telling her how good it was. Nope. Even if she would have remembered me and decided that I had become reasonably swell over the past decade, I've done my time making out with Republicans.
Yeah I said it.
But, considering it was a pro-W book, maybe she just liked it for the pictures. And in case you're offended by my implication that any pro-W literature would necessarily be a children's book, please consider that I had originally planned to imply that it was a pop-up book, but couldn't make it work out grammatically.
* * * * *
I guess somebody thought it would be real funny to sign me up for a WebDate profile. Yeah. Laugh it up.
Now I have administrative assistants from New Jersey sending me instant messages and they're all, like:
"so, do you have any pics? ; ) "
And I'm all, like:
"Yeah. Dozens. Just none with me in them."
And she's all, like:
"your from texas, are u a cowboy?"
And I'm all, like:
"Well, I would suppose that the answer to that question would hinge on whether you're inquiring as to my profession and whether I am involved in the breeding, caring for, and transport of bovine mammals, or whether your question is perhaps more directed as a inquiry towards my personal dress patterns and preferred forms of entertainment, i.e., do I enjoy listening to western-influenced musical artists and does my common attire conform to the archetypal image of the appropriate dress for the male residing in the American west."
And she's all, like:
"i'm going to the Usher concert next week!"
Nothing against Stacy though. She's a nice girl. If you're ever in the Garden State, and you need the tradition of brokerage excellence that only Meryl Lynch can deliver for your portfolio, look up Stacy and maybe she can administratively assist you.
posted by hoov, esq at 3:13 PM
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