Monthly Archive for November, 2005

open letter to my pants

Published
by
Alfina the Vague
on November 18, 2005
in Correspondence and Vintage Imports
. Closed

Dear Pants,

I realize we’ve just met, what with my buying you mere days ago and everything, but I think I am falling in love with you.  I hope I haven’t freaked you out by saying that, pants. It’s okay: don’t feel like you have to say it back or anything. You will when you’re ready.  I just can’t help what I’m feeling–there are so many wonderful things about you, not least of which is the fact that you are the exact same shade of gray as my cat:  her hairs, they do not show up on you, pants!  You are like a miracle!

But, dear gray pants, that is not all.  You are the coziest of soft-yet-sturdy fabrics, delightfully warm, and you’ve arrived just in time for Freezing Fog Season.  No chilly leg will blight my step when I am wearing you, pants!  No freezing, wet ankle will ruin my afternoon walk, either, for pants, you do not drag in puddles.  You are the perfect length!  You have flouted the clothing industry once and for all, pants, by defying their illogical prescription that all persons should wear a thirty-four-inch inseam.  How ridiculous!  But you and I both know, pants, that a thirty-two-inch inseam is perfect.

Your zipper never gets stuck; your pockets are in just the right place; you cradle my backside like a sleeping baby.  We are perfect for each other, I know already.  You will see this in time. Just stick around and I promise I will do everything in my power to make you as happy as you have made me–even if that involves Martinizing.

Still comparing all other pants to you,

V

you all sound australian to us, anyway.

Published
by
Alfina the Vague
on November 14, 2005
in Television and Vintage Imports
. Closed

I don’t hate you; I can’t hate the pathetic.  –Rory Gilmore

Television Without Pity–if you’re not reading this site, you probably should be.  Unless, of course, you’re one of those “Kill Your Television” types, in which case: enough already. We get it.  You are better than us.  Fine, now piss off.

So back to what I was saying, which was: TWoP is great–just stick to the recaps.  You’ll want to avoid the message boards. No, really; I am not kidding.  AVOID THE BOARDS.  It’s all fine and good if you enjoy ridiculing the stupid (as so many of us do), but even that loses its sheen after page upon page of comments so ridiculous you’ll wonder how the posters can even follow an hour-long drama, let alone remember any of the events long enough to compose a commentary about them.

Some recent gems [these are approximations, but I have attempted to recreate the predominant posting style as well as content]:

“If they are supposed to be in Montenegro I don’t know why there is Russian letters on the door.  The writers need to pay better attention.”

[On the subject of the wonderful Kelly Macdonald, who was playing an Irish character] “They should have cast somebody who could do a better Scottish accent.”

“I can’t believe Emily just called Lane ‘Rory’s Asian friend’ like that!”
“LOL! Especially since she got the wrong ethnicity.”
“ITA, Lane is Korean not Asian!!!”
[Eventually someone called this person's attention to the fact that Korea is indeed located in Asia, but then the poster defended her statement by saying that calling a Korean 'Asian' is offensive in the same way that (apparently) calling a Cuban 'Hispanic' is offensive.  This comparison is wrong in so many ways I don't even know where to begin.]

So, if that is the type of reading material you prefer, then you should head right over to those message boards, post-haste!  You can have a good laugh about how little Americans know about the rest of the world.  By all means, be sure to blame it on TV.

i certainly do not love that dirty water

Published
by
Alfina the Vague
on November 13, 2005
in Cheese Sandwich and Vintage Imports
. Closed

Hey, y’all remember how my bathroom exploded that one time?  Yeah, well, it happened again.  It is now five forty-six in the evening and I have once again spent the day crawling around outfitted with rubber gloves, an old tee shirt, a pair of South-Carolina-state-flag flip-flops, a scrub brush and a bucket, washing the disgusting bacteria from my otherwise lovely green tile floor.

The constant cleaning is a serious detriment to my already tenuous grip on sanity, as in the dark chambers of my neatness-obsessed mind, I am picturing fecal bacteria swarming all over my apartment, digging barbeque pits in the hallway and staging little hoe-downs and taking their psychedelic bluegrass jam-bands on tour to the kitchen sink.  Yeeeeeeeesh.  I want a shower now, but I will have to steel myself before setting foot in the tub, which was until recently a murky repository for whatever backed up out of the main plumbing line.  Eventually I am going to just give up and start wearing Kleenex boxes instead of shoes.

open letter to the waiter who just stands there and looks at us

Published
by
Alfina the Vague
on November 9, 2005
in Correspondence, Food and Drink and Vintage Imports
. Closed

Dear Waiter Who Just Stands There and Looks at Us,

I hope you are well.  I am writing from the cozy warmth of my office, where I am enjoying a coffee I purchased and fetched for myself–no waiter brought it to me and then just stood there and stared at me.  No waiter stood there, staring at me, and refused to take my money.  That, friend, is what makes this coffee unique among the many foodstuffs I have consumed outside my apartment in recent weeks.

You seem to be everywhere, Waiter Who Just Stands There and Looks at Us.  You are at the new Mexican place, trying to convince me to opt for the pricier margarita; you are at the new Caribbean place, explaining the alligator entree.  Is there no fledgling international restaurant at which you will not whore yourself?

You seem very normal and waiter-like, AT FIRST.  But then, Waiter Who Just Stands There and Looks at Us, you change.  You cross over to the dark side.  You begin making trips to our table just to stand there and look at us; finally, perhaps a full minute later, you mumble something incoherent before lingering a minute more and then sort of shuffling off like one of the un-dead.

When it is time for us to leave, you ignore the credit card protruding from the receipt folder on the edge of the table–rather, you collect our plates.  You collect our glasses.  You walk by, pausing, standing, and looking.  Yet you refuse to let us pay and leave.  Are you lonely, Waiter Dude?  Are you in love with me? Have you lost the powers of sight and speech?  More importantly, is the curried goat really goat, or is it actually just rump roast?  What the fuck, Waiter Dude?  What. The. Fuck.

No, I do not want to hear about the goddamned specials!

V

haaaaaaaaate

Published
by
Alfina the Vague
on November 9, 2005
in Academia and Music
. 31 Comments

Honestly, Noreen’s recent title pretty much says all that needs to be said, but I felt like contributing to the general ire in the air.  These are some things I currently just ain’t feeling:

1. The Black Eyed Peas, period.  Of late, I especially detest the song "My Humps." I detest it so much I feel an intense physical pain when I catch a second or two of it on the vile radio.  It’s bad enough that Fergie prances around dressed like this, but then to refer to those bits of herself she incessantly shoves in our faces as her "lovely lady lumps"?  Well, that is just beyond the pale.

2. Knitting.  I tried knitting; I tried to fucking like it.  I conceived of a fabulous, easy, wonderful scarf, but I hate making it.  It takes forever, the needles are all pokey and sharp, and touching yarn makes my skin feel icky (kind of like touching newspaper).  Knitting is way too trendy to be the miserable activity that it actually is.

3. The entire Folklore department.  The irrelevant discipline they have chosen to study gives them far too much leisure time–leisure time they spend gathered in the hallway near my office and chattering and giggling all the livelong day.   If there’s one thing I can’t fucking stand, it’s the sounds of mirth.