McGuenette

In the last week or so, largely because of some serendipity involving Holmes, I have reconnected with a guy from the class behind me in high school. He is a writer who teaches at a community college up in Madison, worlds away from Newport High. He keeps a blog, Seize the Means, that just made it to the blogroll.

Put it this way. Anyone who writes lines like what follow is likely to get the dcat treatment (good version):

Teenybopper jailbait in the mall pornographically sipping electric green slurpees. Teenybopper jailbait wearing yoga pants that say bling-bling across the ass. How can I look and not feel like the perverted uncle? How can I not look?

And the teenage boys are saying some stupid shit like, “yo, her tits are like battleships” or “yo, check out the guy reading.” Then they point at the guy reading like he’s a platypus or something, a web-footed egg-laying duck-billed fuck-wad, because you know, reading a book, especially in the mall, has to be the most ridiculous thing. Ever.


And yet, I day-dream of the bling-bling. I day-dream of the most ridiculous things ever, like Swedish Gangsta Rap, or taking off my pants during staff meetings, and putting everything I say in quotes above my head. “The universal is in the particular,” Barb. “Your shit is whack,” Sven.

Check it out, yo.