Beating the Winter
(or other season) Blues
If you're at all like me (and let's hope you're not – I was hoping to hit you up for a couple bucks) then sometimes you get pretty depressed about the state of the so-called Western civilization.
TV will do it to me faster than anything but the paper works pretty well as does riding a bus. Basically any observation of human behavior can be pretty depressing. It often seems like we're not progressing very much and that DEVO might have been right after all (although their careers recently would seem to indicate otherwise).
But there are ways to conquer these feelings of depression and hopelessness. One can, for instance, concentrate on the marvelous advances made in the areas of science and technology in the last ten years or so. You know what I'm talking about. I'm talking about instant pudding.
When I was a kid, instant pudding (as we laughingly called it) was not ready in an instant. It came in a jello-like box (I mean a box like the box that jello comes in not a box made of some jello-like substance. That's a ridiculous notion and quite frankly I'm surprised at you for thinking it).
In order to make this "instant" pudding, you had to add water and milk, maybe an egg (I don't really remember), cornstarch, and I think possibly molasses or something like molasses (whatever that would be).
Anyhoo, you had to add stuff and stir it and then it had to be heated in a pot which you of course had to clean later and then it had to be chilled (the pudding not the dirty pot). The cooling was done in something we called a "refrigerator" or "fridge". This often took upwards of four, count 'em, four hours. Which I think we can all agree is hardly instant.
But now, in this enlightened and technologically advanced age, I can reach into the cupboard, pull out a little plastic cup, peel back the foil cover and dig into delicious chocolate pudding right away. And when I've sated my pudding desire I just fire the little cup in the trash and wipe the spoon on my pants. See, things aren't so bad. Cheer up!
Hugh Briss
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Her Love Was Like...
He thought that her love was like bad medicine but it was altogether possible that bad medicine was what he wanted. He was unsure.
Probably it would be better if he didn't think about for a while but only one thing could make him forget and that was red, red wine. Sadly he didn't have any. So he remembered.
But it was Saturday, after all, and a nice day for a white wedding. Or really even a non-white one. It was quite a suitable day for starting again. But he couldn't. He felt strange.
He guessed that she was back in the atmosphere. Which was to expected from someone who talked like spring. Clearly not thinking about her wasn't working.
He wanted to take her by the hand and somehow persuade her to do a high headstand but he knew that his dancehall days were clearly finished and besides he was pretty sure that amethysts presented a choking hazard.
He was tired of chasing waterfalls. For sure now his pants were quite wet (and it was not an inside job). He tried to walk away and he stumbled. When she wasn't there his world crumbled. Or at least it got a little ratty around the edges.
After all she might be right, he might be crazy. But wasn't it a lunatic she was looking for? And it was possible that she might be wrong. Conversely she might be right.
He remembered back to when they met. She was sixteen, beautiful and his. And ooh when they kissed he couldn't stop. But he did eventually, of course, because his lips went numb.
Now day after day he was more confused. If only someone would give him a beat so he could get lost in some rock and roll and drift away.
No one he knew had any beat. If only he possessed Belinda Carlisle's number. But he didn't.
Elrose Watermuldar
Clearly one shouldn't have the Weather Channel on while writing. - [Ed.]
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January 24, 2008
The usual audience for anything whatsoever contains, so medical authorities have guessed, a minimum of one out of ten who are certifiably insane. Scattered among the non-certifiable are shoplifters, well-poisoners, voyeurs, stock brokers, and plain, everyday goofs. It takes a big man to bless ‘em all.
Henry Morgan
Weird Definition
cellarage: noun
1the area of a cellar.
2 a charge for storing goods in a cellar.
COLLINS Paperback Dictionary
PERSIFLAGE
is updated on Thursdays.
Classifieds
Are you a dumbass looking to upgrade to smartass? If so then come on down to Uncle Larry's House of Wisecracks. We'll get you up and wisecracking inside of a week or your money back. Not!
For sale: one classified ad, barely used. Box 1.
For sale: novelty buttons. Will not stay in a buttonhole. Hilarious! $4/button. Box 330.
For sale: one and a half litres of ivory latex paint. Currently covering the walls of my room. $33 only but you must come and take it away. Box #FFFFF0.
Cold weather getting you down? Sick of going to work and coming home in the dark? Did you realize this isn't a problem if you live in Ecuador? Come to Ecuador! Our motto is: It's Warm Here!
There will be a meeting of the Xavier Cugat Society on February 23rd on the stairway between the first and second floors of 290 McDermot at 6:58pm. If you like Coogie and feel he never got his due join us!
January 29th, 2008 marks the one year anniversary of January 29th, 2007 so get out there and celebrate!
Email us using this address: persiflagemag@hotmail.com
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