There is a month-old copy of The New York Times on my desk. I’ve yet to dispose of it because the front page features a pensive-looking John Abizaid, my new favorite Cutout of Handsome Figures and Grand Master Orator Exemplar. I’ve since realized that any feelings I secretly harvest in the dark, unchartered chasm of my heart have been reserved—as if by some cruel, quiet force of predestination—for books, expensive cameras, CNN chief international correspondents, and married military men thirty years my senior.
It seems my lot in life has been enthusiastically peppered with a word that begins with a “u” and ends with “nrequited.” If my mother had the creativity and kindness to name me Andromache or Penelope, I may then actively participate in a Greek epic poem of my own, wherein my Hector/Odysseus would be represented by any of the following: McSweeney’s, a Canon XL H1, Nic Robertson, John Abizaid, or a darling (albeit strange) combination of all four.
Actually, if my life is anywhere as thrilling as a Greek tragedy, I’d be far too busy invoking the muse, or making melodramatic monologues of anguish and woe for He Whose Fate Is Doomed By Hubris. Or copulating with relatives. Or pining for husbands and lovers lost at sea, and eventually committing suicide because the heartbreak is unbearable (but not before having hot, bawdy sex with a lusty god at the foot of Mount Olympus in exchange for said lover’s safety).
In other news, I made a blatant reference to incest, said ‘copulating,’ ‘husbands,’ ‘lovers,’ ‘hot,’ ‘bawdy,’ ’sex,’ and ‘lusty’ in one paragraph — on a weblog formerly known as Filthy Word Porno. Hmm. As apt as that may seem, it also serves as a testament to the degenerative state of this weblog; you can almost hear the scornful bells of retirement toll their sad song for me.
Posted on December 17th, 2006 by Antiguit
