Hot For Teacher
So I just finished my first "chat" for my Salon humor-writing course, which you all could have joined for only $395.00. But why buy the cow when, right?
Anyway, if this were two years ago this time, I'd be writing something "funny" about the Jeff Gannon controversy. Instead, I'm going to the next level and creating a new generation of satirical masters. I'll give nothing away about the content of the course, except to say that at one point tonight, I decided to try an "exercise" in which we'd all do a "satire" of a chat room, which was a briliant idea previously unthought of in the history of scholarship. Immediately, one guy started pretending to be the Pope, and the rest of us descended into sex talk within seconds. Such are the dangers of chat rooms. Fortunately, one of the students, an attorney in his 60s who has limited time left to engage in such tomfoolery, pulled us out of our reverie with a pointed question.
And then we proceeded.
Now I return to working on my memoir. I am currently trying to figure out a way to write about my "McSweeneys Years" without making myself sound too self-absorbed or special. As always, my fallback position will probably be drugs and vomit, which are, after all, the common denominators of my life.
Actually, when I said I'll return to working on my memoir, I meant that I will now drink a Scotch, eat a box of Junior Mints, and watch my rental DVD of the thrilling movie Cellular. Oh, excuse me for not renting I Heart Huckabees, you artfuck! Go watch Garden State for the 75th time and tell me about how it's a movie made just for you!
I really do need that drink.