Blurbs Overheard! Feb. 22

Posted by Pulp Editors

"That's what happens when you put a tiny sweater on a tiny pumpkin."

        Overheard in the Newsroom

 

"Alright, what I want you to do is take that blue crystal and rub it against your chest."

 

"No, no, I'm not gonna do that. This sweater is cashmere."

        Overheard at Flow Jam

 

"I'm gonna squat my way right to the top."

         Overheard in Northwoods

 

"Oh, sorry! I thought you said -phile, not -phobe! I thought you were saying you were, you know, a mega-pedo."

         Overheard in first floor of Case

 

"They brought back Blurbs Overheard!"

         Overheard in Spa

Blurbs Overheard! Feb. 20: The wait is over ? everyone's favorite eavesdroppings are back.

Posted by Pulp Editors

"She couldn't make it, she was feeding blind orphans or something."

Overheard at Sailing Club Meeting

 

"Gospel choir should clap more."

Overheard in the Newsroom

 

"I just got my eyebrows did."

Overheard second floor of Case

 

"She's like super-Jewish, you know...one hundred percent."

Overheard at second floor of Dining Hall

 

"If you polish a turd, it's still a turd."

"Yeah...why would you ever be polishing a turd, though?"

Overheard in the Atrium

Rants of the Keyboard Buttons of My Macbook Pro

Posted by Sandy Zhang

Q: Finally! A hit! I look so similar to "O," but it gets significantly more attention than me. Those damn vowels. Sometimes I think of myself as a deformed twin of "O". Deformities make such a big difference. Appearances shouldn't matter so much - the superficiality of the society we live in makes me sick. I mean, it's just a tail really. I can hide it! What's worst is that I'm to the immediate right of tab and underneath 1 and 2. Their popularity makes me sick.

J: I get a surprising amount of touch for someone like me. It's only because my owner online shops at J. Crew like a WASP wanna-be. It might also be because she won't get up in the morning if there weren't any packages waiting for her at the post office.

X: "Xanax" is my favorite word. "Xerox" is the runner-up, but only because "Xanax" is profusely more popular.

F4: Who doesn't love using Exposé? It's so much classier than Dashboard. What a stupid name, this isn't a racecar.

F5: Let me put it this way: Dashboard serves enormously more functions than Exposé. It's a dictionary, calculator, calendar, weather channel and Post-It note all in one. And more. Just press that plus sign on the bottom left corner and voila! ESPN scores and Flight Tracker. How many functions does Exposé have?

F10 & F11: My owner is fidgety and picky and will never stop adjusting how loud her music is. That being said, we certainly don't mind the attention from her!

F1 & F12: She never knows how bright she wants her screen to be either. We have the same problem as F11 and F12. In fact, the four of us sometimes go on double dates and laugh at her indecisiveness.

Spacebar: I'M THE KING OF THE WORLD!!! (It bothers me when one half of my body receives more attention than the other, but what can you do? Thumbs are weird.)

Command: I am probably the most important key on this keyboard. Want to cut and paste quickly? You'll need me. Want to undo, redo and double-space? Me again. In fact, I am so significant, there are two of me.

Enter: This gig is not what I signed up for. Shift gets a bigger slice of the keyboard but bears less hits. Every time my owner starts a new paragraph or sends a Facebook Chat message or AOL Instant Message, she overworks me. (Who still uses AIM?) These conversations always last longer than they need to. How many times does she need to say "LMAO" and then follow it with "ROFL"? We get it, you are laughing.

What's more, ever since she became a writer for SkidNews, I have worked tirelessly. How many paragraphs does a news article need to have? I get ravished and left hanging, receiving nary a gentle touch from her.

Page up & Page down: We don't get used because one can drag two fingers up and down the silver trackpad to scroll. Multi-touch technology is the worst thing that ever happened. We wish Apple didn't buy-out FingerWorks.

T, H, E, G, R, E, A, T: We are burnt out because we form her password. What's worst is that she uses the same password for everything – from Gmail to World of Warcraft to PlentyofFish to HSBC Internet Banking.

S, A, N, D, Y, Z, H, A, N, G: Our owner is self-absorbed and a narcissist, which is why she uses us excessively every time she writes an email or a post on LiveJournal.

0-9: We can be either numbers or symbols. We are such busy sons of bitches that we don't even have the time or energy to rant.

This Week's Cat Horoscopes

Posted by Max Salat and Sam Richardson

Aries: Don't discount the ordinary. Even a phony mouse can have a heart of pure catnip.

Taurus: A leap through the kitchen window will open new frontiers, but beware of the outsiders.

Gemini: A nap on the top step may have dire consequences.

Cancer: Lick your friends clean and they'll do the same for you.

Leo: A pleasant surprise will scuttle blindly from the shower drain. Catch it and you will receive a handsome reward.

Virgo: Never look a gift horse in the mouth, unless the gift is not a dead animal, in which case you may disregard it entirely.

Libra: Keep the promises you've made, or expect to be locked in the shower

Scorpio: You will find luck in the form of soft stuffing beneath a treated leather exterior

Sagittarius: You may find your pain stems from sitting too close to a rocking chair

Capricorn: HEY WHAT DID YOU SEE THAT ON THAT WALL WHAT HEY

Aquarius: You will encounter more Kibbles than Bits this week. Plan ahead accordingly.

Pisces: Stay alert, you never know when you will find litter between your toes.

Stories I Never Quite Finished, Part 4

Posted by Kevin Kerrane

To refresh your memory on the third story I never quite finished, click here.

I have tried writing fiction – everything from vignettes to the great American novel. But I have – fortunately, perhaps – been found lacking. This article is one in a series of several stories, of one type or another, that I never quite finished – usually because I had neither the energy nor the heart to do so. After each story a short criticism follows. The criticism is offered to me, but of course you may profit from it too.

You may notice, incidentally, that in some cases the criticism is longer than the actual story reprint. This conclusively proves what has been a major contention of mine for some time now: namely that critics make things grow. How? I think that any farmer knows what makes things grow.

My last attempt at writing fiction was at the age of 17, when I quit working on a short story entitled The Old Man, For Whom the Sun Also Rises or William Falkner Chews Bubble Gum:

He walked down the road. The road was dusty. It was hot. He was hot. The humidity was 92.7. A dog ran next to him. He talked to the dog. It is a literary technique.

‘Geez,' he said. ‘It's hot. It's humid, too. You know that, dog?'

‘Damn right,' the dog replied.

‘Might cool off later though.'

‘You can't tell,' the dog said. ‘Can't tell about anything in this rotten world. Sometimes it makes me sick. Sometimes I'd like to write a story about it, or maybe a book, or a play maybe. Geez!'

‘Why don't you?'

‘I can't. I…'

Criticism

In the last known work of this writer's career, there seems to be a certain amount of reliance on simplicity. In fact, I think it would be very difficult to find a more simple writer. There is notable regression back to the days of the writing of Sir Gawain, and probably even earlier. The author has come full circle, and then gone on a tangent.

I wonder why the dog can't write his book. Maybe he can't write. Maybe he can't spell. Maybe he can't type. Maybe he can write and spell and type, but can't proofread. Maybe he has a neurosis. It makes me pretty sick. Geez!

Stories I Never Quite Finished, Part 3

Posted by Kevin Kerrane

To refresh your memory on the second story I never quite finished, click here.

I have tried writing fiction – everything from vignettes to the great American novel. But I have – fortunately, perhaps – been found lacking. This article is one in a series of several stories, of one type or another, that I never quite finished – usually because I had neither the energy nor the heart to do so. After each story a short criticism follows. The criticism is offered to me, but of course you may profit from it too.

You may notice, incidentally, that in some cases the criticism is longer than the actual story reprint. This conclusively proves what has been a major contention of mine for some time now: namely that critics make things grow. How? I think that any farmer knows what makes things grow.

I wrote the third story that I never finished (I guess you've figured out by now that I've never finished any of them) when I was 15-3/4. It's a bawdy drama called Stogie Road, a play about the poor Southern sharecroppers.

Act III, scene 6:

Punky: Where aire ye, Pa?

Pa: Yo!

Punky: Hey, Pa!

Pa: Yo!

Punky: Ah wants ta ast ya sompin.

Pa: Yo!

Punky: You seen my yo-yo?

Pa: Yo-yo?

Punky: Yo!

(Both exit as audience throws rocks)

Criticism­

The fact that the first two acts and sense of the play are not extant and may, in fact have never been written might have something to do with the relative effectiveness of the scene. Perhaps Punky's yo-yo is some sort of Freudian symbol. Maybe it's the family heirloom. Then again, if we assume that yo means yes, yo-yo would mean yes-yes, and the sentence would read as You seen my yes-yes? How does that sound?

The author has, at least, progressed to the drama as a means of expression, but he may, as he approaches the burdensome age of 16, be taking somewhat of defeatist attitude in his stage instructions to the actors. Then again, it may be one of those Our Town type things where the audience gets into the act, so to speak. I wish I could remember.

Stories I Never Quite Finished, Part 2

Posted by Kevin Kerrane

To refresh your memory on the first story I never quite finished, click here.

I have tried writing fiction – everything from vignettes to the great American novel. But I have – fortunately, perhaps – been found lacking. This article is one in a series of several stories, of one type or another, that I never quite finished – usually because I had neither the energy nor the heart to do so. After each story a short criticism follows. The criticism is offered to me, but of course you may profit from it too.

You may notice, incidentally, that in some cases the criticism is longer than the actual story reprint. This conclusively proves what has been a major contention of mine for some time now: namely that critics make things grow. How? I think that any farmer knows what makes things grow.

 

 

I wrote the second story that I never finished when I was 14-1/2. It purports to be a detective novel, and its title is Sex, Murder, Violence and You Know What – A Shell Steel Mystery.

"I inadvertently pressed my left elbow against my left shoulder, and felt the slight bulge of the M-1 beneath my magenta sport coat. I lit a Lucky Strike, and then watched the match burn slowly down to my fingers. It hurt, but I could take it. My name's Shell Steel. I'm an ex-Marine. I'm tougher than a 10-cent steak. So watch out.

"While I was pondering this (and watching my fingers burn slowly down to my palm), I happened to look at the knees of my baggy pants. There, in the shiny reflection of my leather knee patches. I saw a man standing in front of me. He had a .22 caliber Browning semi-automatic rifle ($69.50 retail) pointed directly at my right eyebrow.

"I took a long drag off of my Lucky. ‘Hi,' I said. Then very deftly, I…"

Criticism

It must be noted in passing that the constant emphasis on detail promotes even more vividness than before, though the dialogue is a little weak. There is, in the first sentence, possible ignorance of biology shown. This piece shows the writer's obvious desire at 14 to be a gun-toting, deft, one-fisted detective (and/or Marine), and a cigarette smoker (the only ambition which has since materialized).

There seems to be a mercenary aspect to the writer's character. He has progressed to the use of the first person, though, and a certain element of suspense is present. But let's face it–there's something wrong with the darn thing!

Come back next week to peruse my attempted drama.

Stories I Never Quite Finished, Part 1

Posted by Kevin Kerrane

I suppose that there's a bit of the writer in every reader. This is at least true in my own case, where an all but overwhelming desire to write is very nicely balanced by an utter inability to produce any really readable fiction.

This is really too bad, you know, because I'm sure that creating characters (albeit paper ones), and making them do what I want them to do, would give me that tremendous feelings of gross power which I so sincerely desire, desperately need, and richly deserve.

At any rate, I have tried writing fiction – everything from vignettes to the great American novel. But I have – fortunately, perhaps – been found lacking. This article contains several stories, of one type or another, that I never quite finished – usually because I had neither the energy nor the heart to do so. After each story a short criticism follows. The criticism is offered to me, but of course you may profit from it too.

You may notice, incidentally, that in some cases the criticism is longer than the actual story reprint. This conclusively proves what has been a major contention of mine for some time now: namely that critics make things grow. How? I think that any farmer knows what makes things grow.

The first story that I never quite finished was written at the tender age of 13. It was, I think, intended to be an Anglo-Saxon epic. It is called "Sir Gawain Rides Again" or "Carousel." It runs as follows:

"Geez," said Sir Gawain, as the poisoned lance pierced his armor, entered his chest, and poked one hell of a hole in his back. "The dirty red…"

Criticism

This manuscript, found recently, reveals several writing faults, some of which border on the sadistic. First of all, the plot has become somewhat limited in scope (and length) due to the probable early demise of the protagonist. The story poses some interesting questions:

  1. Is this some kind of sequel?
  2. If so, what happened when Sir Gawain rode before he rode again?
  3. Is this a suicide attempt?
  4. Does the use of the word "Geez" denote Stoicism?
  5. What is the reference to dirty red in the incomplete sentence?
  6. Does it attempt to describe Sir Gawain's blood? His socks? The fact that he was a communist?
  7. What in the name of God was I like at 13?

The whole thing, however, does have its good points. To deny that it is vivid would be like saying that Margaret Sanger was a fan of the Dionnes. It must also be admitted that this is not the idealistic stuff that one would expect from the "average" child. Since the writer seems to arouse some interest, next week we'll examine another one of his works.

A modest proposal

Posted by Anonymous

Dear Editors,

The over-crowding of freshmen into triples has caused rampant problems on campus. It has become unsafe to walk in Northwoods for fear of being trampled by eager freshmen stampeding to find private space for knoodling. Cases of hypothermia have reached alarming rates as freshmen continue to sit on the green well into the frigid nights to avoid their cramped rooms.

Many students have noticed that, in a recent expansion of the new Game Room, the administration has built a human-sized checkers board outside the Arthur Zankel Music Center. To ensure its functionality even in rainy or snowy weather, a large tent has been erected above it. Such brilliance, such forethought!

In the spirit of "Creative Thought," I have devised the following modest proposal. In an effort to bring freshmen out of their over-crowded triples, they should be used as human checkers pieces in this facility.

When one is "jumped," they would be quickly and (relatively) painlessly executed. Their remains would be added to the compost piles in Northwoods this compost would be used to fertilize the Skidmore garden, and we as an institution could more fully realize our goal of sustainability.

Those who were "king-ed" would actually carry their peers on their backs. This would provide us with more able-bodied prospects for our sports programs.

President Glotzbach could spend his sabbatical reigning over these games, ordering freshmen around with despotic privilege. He could challenge (and invariably defeat) visiting presidents from Williams, Hobart and Union Colleges. In this way, he would take full advantage of his year off by helping bolster Skidmore's reputation of excellence.

Need I even mention that there would no longer exist the need to stuff freshmen into triples? De-tripling and "Dingles" (now standing for "death-single," rather than the antiquated "double-single") would become the norm.

This is the way of Skidmore's future, and I applaud the administration for taking the important first step of creating this giant checkers board.

Sincerely,

Anonymous