Monday, February 27, 2006

Full circle, I believe is what they call it, and that’s precisely where we’ve arrived after the past few weeks. Wherever we were headed–picture an elysian expanse of nightly dialogue without any vulgarity–didn’t exist in the first place, not to my knowledge at least, so here we are. That’s that. Any further explanation would be like holding forth on the function of pants to a nudist colony.

I’d like to tell you I was absent the last few days because the campus police tossed me in a dank cell, their fascist reply to the amends I demanded for the parking ticket over which we adjourned. Tortuous sentence construction aside, this didn’t happen. I called. They voided the ticket. I wish I could tell you they sicced dogs on me, dogs frothing with injustice, to liven this conversation.

The truth is, as Spasticat pointed out recently, these websites are like PR pieces for our grandparents. I suppose this would be even truer if Secondhand Rants were available in those mystic Asian languages my grandparents so love, but you get the point. We’re relating to the public of our choice, and on some days there’s just nothing to relate. Days like today, for instance, hang-me-Mondays where you wonder what would happen if the FedEx guy walked into your office and delivered a noose, and then you saw your door hinge, and then you said, “Huh, I spy a turnkey solution, so to speak.”