Sunday, April 24, 2005

Posturing is half of doing

Inspired by the recent realizations that (a) I am brilliant, (b) I have a very poor memory, despite the fact that I have never smoked pot or huffed glue, and (c) many of my brilliant thoughts are forever lost in the recesses of my brain, never to be published or appreciated by a future audience of eager undergraduate students who cling to every word their brilliant (and attractive) professor Dr. R. Brown utters, I decided to purchase a quartet of handsome 3" X 5" spiral-bound notepads from the Cal Student Store today. Thus from here on out, whenever I am struck with insight, genius, verbal creativity, or a really good cock joke, I can lunge for my back pocket, whip out a Bic Roundstick, and capture my thoughts on paper.

Indeed, the three most creative and talented writers whom I consider my good friends (David, Sean, Matt) never leave home without their notepads. They also never leave home without their penises. This leads me to believe one of two things: either only men are capable of being excellent writers, or maybe I need a penis. Er, no. Maybe I need a notepad.

I figure that adopting all the behaviors of good writers will in turn make me a good writer. So in addition to my new notepads, I'll always be armed with a pencil tucked over my ear, an inquisitive furrow on my brow, and a tumbler of whiskey in my palm. Did I mention that David, Sean, and Matt all also drink a lot?

So as I hammer through the last forty pages of my thesis in the next seventeen days, look for me on campus dutifully scrawling in my little notepad while I walk through Sproul Plaza or sit through lecture. But please don't actually look at what I'm writing; it'll probably just be pictures of stick figures doing each other in the butt. Which is awesome.


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