“You’re a writer,” the 25-year-old web developer says as we walk to a club. “I think that would be hard.”
“It can be,” I agree. “It’s just one of those things.”
He nods.
“You know,” I say helpfully. “Everyone has different abilities that come naturally. Or that don’t come naturally at all. Like I met a girl once who said she was so nervous whenever she had to write an essay, she wanted to throw up.”
He smiles.
“It’s hard to imagine that,” I continue, “but I guess that’s how nervous I used to feel when I competed in swimming in high school, like right before a swim meet or something. Especially freestyle. That was the worst.”
He nods and smiles.
“I guess,” I say, “everyone has their own things that they find difficult and different things they’re good at.”
We walk in silence.
“Yeah,” he says. “I just meant hard to make a living.”
Live from the True-Brew Cafe…
I flew into New Orleans, sat next to a Business Guy who gave me his complimentary snack bag. I said I didn’t want it but maybe I’d give it to a homeless person.
To this Business Guy responded, “Why do that when you could sell it to him instead?” And I thought that was a good idea, but I knew I could do better.
So instead I ripped out all the pages from Skymall, tied them up with a pretty pink ribbon, and sold them to the local street urchins for kindling. Because nothing starts a fire like pictures of motivational golf hoodies and an assortment of fine monogrammed cheeses.
My favorite character in advertising by far is the suspicious rebel character. This is a pretty hip guy. While his friend is simply trying to enjoy his crispy chicken product, Ol’ Mr. Ne’er Do Well has to question everything. “You think they’re juicy and tasty. Why buddy? Is it because they tell you that? You know that’s all part of their plan to make you think they’re juicy and tasty.”
Here I thought their plan was to get rich off the backs of morbidly obese Americans awaking ever so slightly from their diabetic comas to shove down another value pack of McGriddles. But what do you know. Maybe they just want to convince us it tastes a little bit more homecookiny.
Sometimes my heart goes out to advertisers, especially all those spammers out there. I got one the other day from Clerkaude Georgio and the subject line was, ‘Hi, my name is Allison.’ You know, right there. Dead give away, Clerkaude. I don’t have that kind of time. Especially when I’ve got a Nigerian dictator who wants to share a big fat pot of money with me waiting in the wings.
I got an email from Martin Sheen during the last presidential election. I did think he’d have a hipper email address than info@deanforamerica.org, but hey, you know he plays the president on TV, not me. It’s been a couple months now, and this guy is just terrible at K.I.T. I’m trying not to take it personally, but it’s hard when he’s ignored every single one of the parties I’ve evited him to and blown off multiple—and I mean multiple—friendster requests.
I like to have role models. Since there aren’t any, I feel it’s important to have sworn enemies. For the past five years my sworn enemy has been Kelly Ripa. She represents to me the pinnacle of Trideltization happening in society today. She is a woman who will let you know right away through a little upturn of that adorable priggish nose of hers if something is supercute or kind of weird. What’s really interesting is when every once in a while something kind of weird makes the big crossover. And you’ve got to admit, “Heya” is a supercute song.
It’s always painful to realize that this country is run on a system of politics first established in junior high. President Bush’s longtime friend reveals tapes he has of the president admitting to marijuana use, and what does the White House say? What is their official word? “Those tapes came from someone President Bush thought was his friend.” Added the spokesman later, “And less of a total gaywad.”
Your message to mstadtmiller@yahoo.com regarding “retards” is likely to offend the average reader. You might consider toning it down.
