Monthly Archive for May, 2005

so you have stubborn veins

Published
by
Alfina the Vague
on May 28, 2005
in Cheese Sandwich and Vintage Imports
. 0 Comments

Why do doctors’ offices insist on having only those informational pamphlets in their exam rooms? They have magazines in the waiting rooms, don’t they?  But in the exam rooms, you are forced to either twiddle your thumbs and stare at posters of fluffy kittens proclaiming “Dare to be zany!” or read “Questions and Answers about Herpes.”

I refuse to touch the damned things.  I confess this is because I have the irrational fear that, should the doctor finally come in while I am savoring the lean and efficient prose of “Eating Disorders:  What You Should Know,” she will assume I want to discuss eating disorders with her.  Which I don’t.

I prefer to stare at the colorful designs on them, memorize their titles, and ridicule them later.  The two best pamphlets are “Oh, My Aching Back!” (zany hot-pink geometric patterns, flamboyant exclamation point mirror the torturous pain of back spasms) and “So You Have Mono” (warm, citrusy orange squares, breezy title allay fears of a slow lingering death).  The worst pamphlet, hands down, is “Common Rectal Problems,” which tries to hide its shame behind a non-descript grey cover and small print.

I have decided to write one for patients who have been tormented by rookie lab technicians who couldn’t find a vein if it popped out and throbbed in their faces all Henry-Rollins-style.  They poke and poke and prod and tighten the elastic around your bicep, plunge the needle in and suck at nothing.  Then they try the other arm.  By the time they’ve finished stealing your precious life-juice, you look like you’ve taken a ride on the white horse.  Jerkburgers.

open letter to the baker at my local grocery

Published
by
Alfina the Vague
on May 25, 2005
in Correspondence, Food and Drink and Vintage Imports
. 0 Comments

Baker, Baker, Can you explain?

I was just wondering about this garlic “artisan bread” I just purchased.  It seems to have dozens and dozens of raw garlic cloves baked into it.  That’s right, sir, raw garlic cloves.  Didn’t you think of roasting them first?  Or did you consider roasting, but then reject the idea in favor of using them raw?

That sounds like something my German friend would do.  Once, a few months ago, she sliced up some raw garlic to use as a pizza topping.  That was a memorable pizza, I tell you what.  I still have nightmares about it.  But my friend, she is no professional.  You, sir, are.  A professional pantywaist.

Please go about fixing this problem, or I will be forced to breathe in your general direction.

Noxiously yours,

V

open letter to my three dead-novelist fake boyfriends

Published
by
Alfina the Vague
on May 23, 2005
in Academia, Books, Correspondence and Depressertation
. 5 Comments

Dear Vlad, Billy, and Scott,

I hope you all know how much I care about each of you, in your own special ways. We’ve had a good time of it lately, what with the whiskey and the gin and the butterflies and the having to learn Russian and the hey-hey.

There’s only one problem in our grad-student/dead-novelist fake relationship(s)–you’re all, well, dead. I think the time has come for me to have a living novelist for a fake boyfriend. Someone whom I could potentially meet in real life, or maybe I could just stalk him in real life. That would be pleasant, too. Someone who feasibly could, at some nebulous point in the future, buy me open-faced sandwiches at a charming sidewalk cafe somewhere like, I don’t know, let’s say, Copenhagen. You three, being dead (while quite clever and charming!), make for impossibly smelly travel companions.

Here is what I propose: I think we should see other people–just to try it out. Well, what I mean is, I will be seeing other people. You guys will just be, you know, lying there. Like you always do. Meanwhile, devastatingly handsome-and-talented Danish novelist Peter H?eg and I will be doing nasty, nasty things. In my mind.

I hope you can understand. Of course I’ll still linger longingly over your books, it’s just that I will no longer be pretending to date you.

Wondering what kind of shoes are best for stalking novelists,

Vague

more, er, dope sub-cultural vernacular*

Published
by
Alfina the Vague
on May 20, 2005
in Uncategorized
. 8 Comments

In the interest of pre-emptive clarification, I bring you the vocabulary guide for any upcoming entries.  You know, plus ?a change, and so on.  Please take note, there may be a quiz.

"Jerkburger" is the new "Asshat."

"Boob" is the new "Chowderhead."

"Writing" is the new "Afternoon Nap."

It may be worth noting that the first two amendments to the Old Zembla lexicon are offered in spite of Arlington’s assertion to the contrary.  Differences of opinion, though, are at the very heart of any prolific discourse community, as I always used to tell those boobs in my writing classes.

*Thanks, Hungbunny, for the title.

memo from the desk of pedestrian traffic studies

Published
by
Alfina the Vague
on May 15, 2005
in Correspondence and Vintage Imports
. 0 Comments

RE: UNWRITTEN BUT COMMONLY UNDERSTOOD “WALK ON THE RIGHT” RULE

It has come to our attention that may of you in have been blatantly flouting the unwritten but commonly understood “walk on the right” rule.  As you surely must know, this rule calls for pedestrians to walk on the right when making use of any shared, bi-directional walkways, stairwells, or double doors.

Certainly, in some countries, people walk on the left–it is said that this stems from their desire  to quickly draw their weapons with their right hand should they have to approach any shady characters on a public thoroughfare.    Here in The U.S., though, it is of vital importance that we not allow these contagious old-world ideas to affect our sidewalk traffic.  Ignoring the “walk on the right” rule can result in extreme awkwardness, often terminating in the Embarrassing Dance of The I’ll-Step-Aside, No-I’ll-Step-Aside.

Such an event can, at best, distract the pedestrian, causing him to lose focus and thus be rendered unable to successfully avoid any drunks, can collectors, or anarchist panhandlers he may chance to meet along the next block.  At worst, it can develop into an obsessive rocking behavior similar to the self-stimulatory head-banging of autistic Pigface concert-goers.

Citizens, heed our memo!  Walk on the right!  We know where you live, and we are just like Santa Claus but one small difference: we stop at nothing to regulate sidewalk, stairwell, and double-door traffic!