Monday, February 17, 2003

The last time we met, I was engaged in a hearty act of rebellion against Blogger.com. Whenever academia threatens to overwhelm me, I get a little grouchy and a lot more rant-happy, so settle in and prepare for an utterly essential treatise on body spray. That’s right, gentle reader—today’s proverbial middle finger goes to Axe Deodorant.

After a rousing game of tennis one cold winter night, I stumbled upon a big bowl of deodorant spray in our beloved SPAC lobby. Fellow Asian readers, you will probably empathize with me when I say how absolutely compelling this seemed to me at the time. Like any Asian drawn to a big bowl of FREE STUFF, I grabbed not one, but two free samples. Fellow non-Asian readers (and I have quite a few in mind), I shan’t ostracize you, so let me repeat myself: like any non-Asian drawn to a big bowl of Asians, I grabbed not one, but two free samples.

Now, the spray proved effective enough. Friends and acquaintances did not run screaming from me, nor did seagulls start pecking me without provocation. In fact, what was packaged with the spray—an invitation to Axe’s house party—proved even more intriguing.

“Rock stars!” the invitation proclaimed. “100’s of girls and a beach house!” it exclaimed in vivid detail.

Here I was, stranded in subzero Evanston, and my body spray promised a brouhaha rivaling anything that Evanston could ever muster. Thank you, chic European-type spray.

While surfing The Onion one fine day, however, I discovered a banner ad that read JUST like my personal invitation. I thought this was a private invitation, but the unwashed (and un-Axed) masses were apparently invited too. Thank goodness I had my special “RSVP code” on my invitation.

“So did you go to the party?” you ask, eyes wide as saucers.

“No,” I would answer sadly. “I…I never wanted to go and more than that, I lost my invitation. Both of them, actually.”

Damn you, elves!