Seeing as how I introduced myself in a discussion section a few weeks earlier as a graduate of "some school in upstate NY," it's quite clear that I am more than willing to dissociate myself from my white trash Ivy past. And if I couldn't care less about the school itself, then surely I'd have even less love for the one activity to which I dedicated any appreciable time, the campus "humor" rag--the only connection to which I maintain is my own middle-school picture which has served as a default avatar for many stalking-only social networking profiles.
So of course yesterday, in my weekly convo with my parents, I found out that I'd received a package from said humor rag's founder, a man best known for writing books about how to use shaving cream to clean your patio. Apparently a "Best Of" collection has been in the works, and a half-dozen items which I wrote or co-wrote were selected to appear. I wasn't sure if I should be flattered or horrified by this, but then I realized that my "pieces" were actually sent as part of the package and that my parents had perused them. If I thought some family gatherings were awkward before, imagine what they would be like with my parents knowing what Duke Nobbins is. Maybe I should have just written about ping bombs and that dude in Cascadilla who always were shorts.
2 comments:
Ha! Bong chua! Why duck, when you can shrivel into a ball and pretend you're invisible while your parents try to figure out the punchlines in the Firetruck Music article?
Ha! Dude, I didn't write that shit. And I'm not sure what the punchlines were either.
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