This is the intermission, which, when you're watching
some boring play or being forced to sit through a completely pointless
production of an opera written by some guy who's been dead for two hundred
years and you're sure was killed for writing just this particular
opera, is an opportunity to get up, stretch out all the kinks you've developed
trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in, and go to the bathroom.
In short, a break from drivel that pretends to be culture, that you only
went to so your friends would think you were smart and well educated and
have good taste, and they only went for the same reasons, and the only
reason that they said you should go is to torture you in the same way and
because they didn't want you to know that they hated it. So
all of this has been going on for hundreds of years. Morons keep
writing horrible operas (is there such a thing as a good one?) and stinking
plays, and poor idiots like us keep going to them so people wont think
we're stupid. Go figure.
Which brings me to this book. This book is
not really anything like those plays and operas. When you get bored
with this you can throw it away. Or at least put it down. It
also has other redeeming qualities. You can tear the pages out and
use them to start fires when you're stranded out in the wilderness, or,
if the emergency is very urgent, you can use it for toilet paper.
(It's better than tree bark, believe me.) You can take out the wire
for the binding (or is that plastic? In that case use it for a funky
hair ornament or barrette.) and use it for an antenna for your TV, if it's
broken, and the vinyl covers can be used to patch that awful 70's vintage
couch you have downstairs in the guest room after the cat scratched on
it. What the hell? It couldn't look any worse.
All this before you even open the front cover (I
didn't say when you get bored reading it.)
If you're willing to go to this extraordinary effort,
this book has even more to offer. Remember, you have to read a book
now and then, or your friends will think you're stupid, and the books with
that guy with the big yellow hat and the monkeys don't count. Inside,
this book has a number of humorous stories, a few real stupid ones, and
one or two that most people would find offensive. All of which puts
it in a class with all of those operas and plays.
Or at least you might think so. If
you didn't think that this kind of writing had some sort of socially redeeming
value, you wouldn't have read enough to get to this intermission.
Either that, or you're related to one of the contributors, in which case
you're reading this with that 'boy, this is weird but I can't tell them
that so I'll just say something like "It's different." or a blatant lie
like "This is really good!"' kind of attitude and you don't count.
(Or maybe you do count, because you might be the only people who actually
read this.)
But despite all of the culture and mental stimulation
this work has to offer, you still have to stretch those kinks and, yes,
go to the bathroom. Go on. I'll wait.
...Ya back? Feel better? Well, like
all intermissions, you got back early and this one is still going on.
Except, of course, those intermissions that are much too short. Those
are the ones that you run out to the "rest" rooms (have you ever wanted
to rest in one of them?) stand in line with fifty or sixty other
people who have the same bladder control problem you do for about 15 minutes,
hear the orchestra start to play again, give up, go back and sit down,
and hope you can hold it. Which really adds to the enjoyment of the
event.
At football games you get a half-time show.
This is so the players can rest, not you. They figure that you've
been sitting on your rump while these huge guys have been out on the field
hammering their heads together like a sex crazed heard of bighorn sheep,
so you don't need a break. Anyone who has spent long periods sitting
in the bleachers in Mile High Stadium would rather be butting heads.
One of my favorite ways to get through the half-time
show is to bring a lot to eat. Then I just sit and scarf while people
that are too far away to even distinguish whether or not they are male,
female, martian or amoebae (Come on, do you think I can afford better
seats?) dance and sing and partake in other un-understandable rituals on
the head butting field. That'll work here too, just don't drip any
on the book.
And then there's all of you who will be reading
this in bed. I've always found better things to do in bed (I meant
sleeping!! Where's your mind at?) but some people think it's the
perfect place to read, so this is the point in the book where you start
to doze off and pick up where you left off tomorrow night. Maybe
we should have had them print this page on orange paper so you wouldn't
need a book mark to find your place.
One more thing, a little more on (No, not a little
moron.) the serious side. I haven't read this book in its entirety
because I'm writing this to go in the book, so at the time I wrote this
the book hadn't been finished yet. But I have read a great many parts
of it. Some of them were even written in my humble presence.
I liked some more than others, especially the uvula episode, but all in
all I enjoyed them, and I hope you're enjoying them too. They may
or may not be great writers, but they are great guys, and if you look real
close read between the lines a little (OK a lot), I think you'll be able
to see that. Maybe it's even a little more obvious than that, but
like I said, I haven't read the book.
C.T.
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