"Who’s going to want to talk to me — a guy who isn’t slurring his words, who respectfully listens to other people’s opinions, and who, worst of all, is wearing a shirt? I’m humiliated just imagining how much I won’t be embarrassing myself. No yelling, no fighting, no flirting with your girlfriend. No spilling, no rambling, no drinking your beverage when you’re in the bathroom. I’m going to look like such an ass. And I just don’t know how I’ll ever be able to make that up to you. Maybe I could finally replace that vase of yours that I broke a few months ago while performing my smash-hit party trick of turning anything into a hat? The one that everyone kept calling an 'earn?'"
From "Sorry for Not Partying," by Alex Watt.
June 6, 2015
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16 comments:
Ugh, another New Yorker piece. If the guy doesn't want to swig a few beers or socialize with the hip crowd, or can't afford to do either, then he should simply stay home, read a good book - and stop writing bland essays for the New Yorker, jeez.
Sheesh, I'll bet that guy is fun at parties....oh...wait...
Don't you know everything New Yorkers do is cooler, better, and waaaay more fabulous than anything, anyone, anywhere does? And they have to write about so they can feel good about how fabulous they are even when they are boring. But, their kind of boring is even better than anyone else's. Put simply:SHUT UP ALREADY!
Reads like someone who can't handle his no-alcohol.
I am Laslo.
The New Yorker is great. Deal with it.
Ay Chihuaha! "The New Yorker is great. Deal with it." is one of the, how shall I put this, dumbest things I've heard our host say.
"Ay Chihuaha! "The New Yorker is great. Deal with it." is one of the, how shall I put this, dumbest things I've heard our host say."
Nah. She was just pulling your chain.
It was tongue in cheek. I'm sure. Had to be.
(It was, wasn't it?)
He's definitely not a Navy carrier pilot.
It sounds to me like this poor guy has finally realized that he has a problem with alcohol and he's trying to come to terms with sobriety in a humorous way.
No yelling, no fighting, no flirting with your girlfriend.
So what are you going to do when I'm flirting with yours, bozo?
The New Yorker is great.
Yes it is.
"Ann Althouse said...
The New Yorker is great. Deal with it."
The sad thing is, it really used to be.
Or is that just me getting old?
I'm just relieved my partying days tapered off before cell phones and the internet got big.
And so you all should be.
Bay Area Guy: READ?! What, are you from Ohio or someplace?
My father-in-law was a non-drinker and AA member after his time in WWII. He was the life of most parties. One New Years Eve, I remember he was dancing with Eydie Gorme who had called for volunteers from the audience at a big party. He usually had a soft drink and never let on that it wasn't alcohol. I suspect that many did not realize he did not drink.
I would not line bird cages with the New Yorker. I use the LA Times for bird cages.
This guy's missing the best part: throwing up in one your bros shoes.
(I find it indicative of the decline of civilization that my tablet's autocorrect thought "bros" was just fine).
kzookitty
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