It occurred to me, gentle reader, that I’ve not yet published a cryptic message. And so I ask you to humor me and allow me to indulge in this practice just once; more wisdom, I promise you, shall assault your senses in the coming days.
The highlights of today:
1. “The interview took place in our living room, where it was quieter and less distracting than the Cheesecake Factory.” Thanks for the TWISTED insight.
2. Irony de la Barnes and Nobles: A middle-age man browses the “Self Improvement” shelves and breaks wind very, very loudly. I believe I can offer you some advice, mister, and save you a couple of dollars in book money.
3. Psychosis de la Barnes and Nobles: A nutcase yammers to himself while “reading” a book–usually books need to be open in order to be read, understand–and eating lots of sponge cake.
4. Dashing madly across Sheridan, seeing my life flash before my eyes in a headlight-fluorescent hue, just to make it to the campus shuttle.
Indeed, my most excellent weekend continues. Share in my joie de vivre, won’t you?
After running some errands today, dear reader, I felt a sudden rush of Spring Fever. Thank God for these moments, let me tell you.
Though I left my favorite barber for a chilly twenty-seven degrees Fahrenheit, I was compelled to take off my jacket and run. And so I dashed all the way up North from South Evanston, belly full of food, my backpack full of knowledge, hair freshly cut, papers all handed in. And while I ran with my chin up, hands supple, back straight, a French–or Turkish, I suppose–fellow shouted to me.
“Vat are you doink? Are you crazy?”
“Yes!” I replied, jogging past him.
“Your college years,” my mum told me one evening, “will be the best years of your life. They won’t happen again.”
She may very well be right, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself this afternoon. Even the sky, taciturn and an insolent gray, affected me little. What a glorious day, gentle reader, and I wish you a Happy Friday.
I thought I would share with you, gentle reader, how I managed to make Secondhand Rants into the media juggernaut it is today. You probably want to start with the basics, especially how to land that first job as a cub reporter. And so I will enlighten you about the finer points of hob knobbing and career fairing.
The first thing you must do–and this is critical, so get that pen and paper out–is to eat a lightly-microwaved piece of decadent goodness. Forget everything you learned in Home Economics and cotillion. These puppies will lose their taste if you approach them with forks and knives. Instead, get the sugary coating ALL OVER your fingers, chin, and lips. Wipe a little bit on your forehead; the time of frosting is over, dear reader, and I need you to think war paint with me.
Next, locate the nearest ATM. Take out some cashola, find the nearest cashier, and exchange the cashola for dollar bills. This is important, very important.
Finally, I hope for your sake that you have some garlic chews handy. Even today, some people whisper of vampires who walk among us, so you can never be too safe.
With all of this in mind, make your way to the career fair. Before you step into the fair, however, tousle your hair a little. Ladies, think disheveled Punky Brewster. Men, think Huck Finn. Fortunately for you, I ooze efficiency, and the sugary glazing on your fingers will double as hair gel.
Before you enter the fairground, someone will offer you a guide of some sort. Snap him a dollar and graciously accept the guide. Now you’re on the inside; it’s show time! Make a beeline for your top choice and try to knock over as many competitors’ brochures, pins, and mugs as possible. Roll up your guide and bop other recruiters on the head. Not only will they enjoy it, but it’s also never too late for corporate sabotage.
When you reach your table of choice, keep your eyes on the prize and IGNORE ANY LINE(S) OF FELLOW HOPEFULS. You’re not in first grade anymore and lines are so un-phat. Walk up confidently to the recruiter and give her a hearty handshake, making sure to grasp her hand fully and slowly. Remain locked in a handshake for, oh, a good 30 seconds. That fusion of sugar and skin? That’s cohesion, gentle reader, not disgust.
This isn’t just an empty handshake, however. It’s a Dollar Shake.
“Why look at that!” you should exclaim with a wink. “I think some money just came out of my sleeve.”
After that, make sure to lean in close, BREATHE, and…
Oh, wait. This just in. I have to go type up ANOTHER PAPER. Holy Fruits, I love my liberal education.