Thursday, July 13, 2006

My husband told me once, and I honestly can't recall whether this was his original idea or he got it from someone else, AND I am sure to make it sound far more crass than he would, but...pick something at random out of your mind: plastic flamingos, or jewelry made from tortoise shells or shoes or reindeer, and you can bet there is someone (possibly many) in the world who either wants to fuck it or is afraid of it.

I am serious when I say that my husband DID NOT use this language. The idea is that fetishes and phobias abound and those of us who imagine ourselves to be relatively normal might be surprised at some of the things that really do it for people.

Take signs for instance. I don't mean astrological signs. I mean signs that say things like, "Thank you for not smoking," or "25 Miles to Detroit." I think the proper term for it is "signage." That 'age' at the end somehow makes it important, serious. Something that one might, say, dedicate a trade publication to.

Well, my friends Joy and Marcia and I met one such sign-inspired fellow at a media mixer we attended this week by Mediabistro, which as far as I can tell--and yes, I'm a paying member and I still don't quite know what it is--is some kind of freelance media clearing house.

Picture if you will a room full of somewhat attractive, potentially interesting people. You are male, over fifty, sporting a funky goatee and a questionable cowboy hat. What is your best chance to have a nice evening? Holding people hostage talking about signage for twenty plus minutes, or actually asking people about themselves and not taking yourself so seriously? Yes, well, he was wearing that odd little hat, so what do you expect?

All I know is that at the moment when the three of us were physically worn down by the discussion, and could not be held accountable for any variety of snide things that might issue from our mouths, Marcia managed to say something that sounded SO straightfoward (something to the effect of: "So signs are basically the glue that keep us from degenerating into chaos), without the slightest hint of sarcasm (she swears sarcasm was intended) that the dude felt as if she totally GOT him! Joy and I were not doing a good job at refraining from laughter. It was deeply, deeply amusing in a "I am about to walk away" kind of manner.

Right when we got there, too, they posed us like Charlie's Angels for a photo. Sometime in the next couple weeks that embarrasing photo will be available and I will post it.

Plus, I ordered a beer. A regular Newcastle, or so I thought. It turned out to be enormous. it was THE BIGGEST beer I have ever held, much less drank. I did it slowly over the course of two and a half hours, but still, that was an enormous beer!

In other news, it is 100 degrees in my office and you know what my sweat smells like? Chlorine. That's wrong. Very wrong.

J

2 Comments:

At 6:27 AM, Blogger Patrushka said...

Ohhhhhhhh! If I were you (*) I would be seriously worried about the chlorine smell of your sweat!!!

Don't you think Cancer is getting near?????? :))))))))))))))


(*) I'm not sure this is the right place, you can answer by e-mail maybe, but this is ancient doubt I have: why is it that I cannot write "If I WAS you" that sounds more "grammatically logical"?

 
At 10:02 AM, Blogger smart kitty said...

I had no idea my sarcasm was so subtle. I must figure out how to use this to my advantage.

I'm glad you came.

 

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