Suggestions, Verities, and Such:October 5th, 2009
by Litsa Dremousis
Historians assuredly will view this epoch and, among other things, conclude we fussed and churned way too much over pubic hair.
We elected a president, not Santa Claus. We’re not going to get everything we want in the first three fourths of the first year of the first term.
While I know otherwise, I prefer to think ships float by magic: the water displacement theory strikes me as kind of sketchy.
Ladies, we’re nearly 52% of the population. Perhaps more of us could act accordingly?
Also, might a tiny but attention-grabbing portion of us stop writing to and marrying serial killers?
And fellas, might a tiny but attention-grabbing portion of you stop serial killing?
Is anything more resplendent than a lilac tree in spring?
Nutella, while medicinal, is extremely potent and should be handled as such: the combination of spoon and jar seems to hurl one into a time lapse and next thing you know, your evening is shot to hell and your shirt looks like an eight year-old’s.
Some babies are utterly divine, miracles even, but not all are cute or even engaging and it doesn’t make you an asshole for noting such. Internally, that is.
While many writers have blogs, a blog in itself won’t connote talent.
My best friend appreciates neither Joan Didion nor Bob Dylan. I love him in spite, not because, of these facts.
Hey, a certain segment of white uneducated citizens, I know you’ve got a lot of public yelling to do today, but if I may have a bit of your time: this is a spectacularly inopportune point in history for the U.S. to field numbskulls who hate things like health care access and learning. So how ’bout if the rest of us supply free beer and pie for life and you cease with the “He’s a socialist/Nazi/foreigner!” crap? Deal?
I want to live long enough for a woman of David Letterman’s stature to announce she nailed half her staff and be greeted with a hearty round of applause. Then we’ll know we’ve achieved true gender parity.
I love him anyway, though. Color me conflicted.
Gray’s Papaya hotdogs, an iced soy mocha from Joe, and people-watching on a 75 degree day in Washington Square Park. Perfection.
After the atom and neutrons bombs, surely Tevas sandles are among history’s most pernicious inventions.
I often walk with a cane and last week at Seattle’s SeaTac airport, accidentally traipsed through the metal detector with it, rendering the TSA employee apoplectic. Three days later, departing Portland’s PDX, a TSA worker offered me one of two wooden canes they keep on hand for said purpose. Can we please nominate for a Nobel the person who concocted the latter idea?
My novel is a motherfucking pugilist, but I am upright because I can take and throw a punch.
I recommend Patton Oswalt’s latest disc, My Weakness is Strong, to everyone currently drawing breath. Unless, say, you have a nail wedged in your cerebral cortex and no longer find funny things funny. In which case, skip it.
Mom to me, several years ago when someone in Seattle’s Greek community erroneously concluded I was a lesbian, “You know how I know you’re not gay? Because if you were, we’d have to march in all the parades.”
Due to aforementioned cane, my balance is presently not great. But if any of you opt to kick Glenn Beck in the balls eight or nine times, I swear I’ll provide your alibi. Pecan sandies, too.