Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Letters to the reader

Dear homeless man,
A bit of sales advice: future transactions will be easier for all of us if just level with me when you make your pitch. When you asked for a dollar for “something to drink” I thought you’d be pleased with my generous contribution of two unopened Coke Zeros. Instead, you turned your nose up and started griping about diabetes and cash flow. That misunderstanding could have been avoided with more honesty and specificity on your part. Instead of “something” just say “Robitussin” or “cooking sherry.” If your plans for the evening involve huffing spray paint and disrobing in a convenience store, let your benefactor know. Personally, I’d support that all day. Just don’t be pissed when you ask for a “drink” and receive one.
Columbia City Paper

Dear Palin reality show experiment,
In typical Republican fashion, it’s blatant and shameless but expertly played. After all, what do you do when you have a perfect figurehead, who doesn’t quite hold her own in hard politics? You back her up a step, rebrand her as “Sarah Palin, Reality TV Celebrity,” and America will vote for her all day. Of course, there’s a risk that the show could backfire. We’re supposed to see her folksy, human side. Instead we see that either a.) she can’t humanize and step out of her robotic public persona for a millisecond while the cameras are around or b.) even more frightening: that caricature is who she really is. But, at the end of the day, this is America and most voters aren’t much for abstract thought. Celebrities are shoe-ins, regardless. The only reason Gary Coleman lost his gubernatorial bid in California is because Arnold Schwarzenegger was on the ballot.
To combat the coming juggernaut in 2012, the Democrats need to adapt in the same way Republicans have (i.e. drop antiquated concepts like legitimacy, pride, civic duty, and competency); they need to tell Biden to hit the showers; and they need to run an Obama/Oprah ticket. Otherwise, kiss the soccer mom vote goodbye.
Columbia City Paper

Dear archaeology community,
Some of you recently asserted that primitive humans were brewing beer as early as the Neolithic Period of the Stone Age. Booze, you said, actually helped facilitate the rise of early civilization by greasing the rails when neighboring tribes gathered together to feast. Certainly beer was instrumental in the evolvement of human society. But not, I postulate, for its role in tribal relations.
In reality, its benefit is most evident in terms of procreation of the species. See, dudes probably haven’t changed much in the last 11 millennia. However, concepts like bathing and lingerie and shaved landing strips were alien in the Neolithic. A cavewoman back then probably made even the ripest of Russian armpits smell like roses. When she, draped in a goat pelt, sidled up to ancient man, cocked her furry Cro-Magnon brow and flashed a toothless grin, he might have needed at least a few gourds of ale to make her look even semi-passable. Inventing the social gathering is one thing, but alcohol’s primary function, I argue, was the same back then as it is today. You simply discovered the invention of early beer goggles.
Columbia City Paper

Dear Gamecocks football fans,
I want to sing! I want to spontaneously break into dance with strangers on Main Street, like some shit out of a Broadway musical. I want to twirl around light poles and click my heels and do jazz hands on the hoods of taxicabs. I feel like a schoolgirl again!
Yet, I am frightened. As I know you are. Spooked in the way an undiscovered tribe would be after its first glimpse of an airplane. Seeing the Gamecocks atop the East is like encountering space aliens or some terrible giant god bird in the sky. Our reality has been torn asunder too quickly for our collective consciousness to process it. Being a Gamecock fan molded me into the proud cynic I am today. The dark gallows humor that all Carolina fans possess was forged in the fires of anguish and loss and humility. How do we move forward from here? Surely with excitement into a bold new future. But also with trepidation. We are afloat on a ship with no compass heading for a broad new horizon. And I? ...An asshole reduced to writing melodramatic prose.
Columbia City Paper

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