|THE BLACK LIST: SEE ALL Y'ALL MOTHERFUCKERS IN TWO WEEKS.|
|By The Black Table|
It's gonna be a long summer, we can just tell. The heat is already oppressive -- we're not complaining, mind you; we just are afraid to leave the apartment, that's all -- and we're still three weeks away from the Fourth of July. For some reason, everybody we know is either moving to a new apartment, getting engaged or leaving town. Everything is happening really, really fast.
So we here at The Black Table are gonna take a couple weeks off. At the end of this week, we're going on a two-week vacation. Ostensibly, we're going to say it's to celebrate the birth of our country, but, honestly, we just need to get a tan and watch some baseball. We'll be back Tuesday, July 5, in full effect, brotha.
So, until then, enjoy the Black List (11 reviews this week), and submit your own pretty ones so we can have something to read over the break. And be safe out there. The sun will come out tomorrow, and in two weeks.
DITCHING ZOLOFT AND THE LONG, SLOW RETURN TO AN UNBEARABLE YOU: A brief definition of shyness, so far as I'm concerned: It's like ... walking a tightrope of fire every time you meet someone new. It's like ... eternally finding yourself at a party with people who are 10 times more successful than you, at a much younger age. It's like ... feeling that when God created you, he assigned you skin that fits just a little too tight, just enough so that you're greatly annoyed. And what makes it worse is that no one -- no one, not even you -- understands it. You don't know where the Shyness comes from. Which is, frankly, all the more terrifying. That said, I was on Zoloft for about nine months. And it was beautiful. I could talk to people and not care about what they thought of me. I sang in public, for God's sakes. But I recently stopped taking the wonder drug. Seriously, you get so happy on the stuff, and you get so wildly confident, you find yourself too blissfully distracted to realize just how deeply depressed you actually are. And that's bad. Because when you stop taking Zoloft, you start getting all nervous and start getting all John Kerry and start getting indecisive and nervous and jittery and again why I don't know but I'm so scared that I won't amount to anything as a writer especially because it displeased my parents and I'm smart and everything but I'm not living up to my potential and hold on, I'm hyperventilating. h.oollld on. oH myh god, thhhis is worse thad the othhersz. I can't believe I wrote this. I can't believe I thought I was funny. I can't believe And just who do you think you are anyway, huh?
...God Jerry, you embarrassed yourself again. Oh God, I'm pathetic. Oh God; Oh God; Oh God! I hate myself. I can't go back. But I have to. Because everything that's natural is good, right? Right? C. No wait, C- -- Jerry Abejo
FLAG DAY: Who gives a flying fuck? Ooh ooh, today is the birthday of the Star-Spangled Banner, let's all spill out into the streets waving our miniature Old Glories and sing Yankee Doodle Dandy. We just had Memorial Day. Three weeks from now is the Fourth of July; both days off, AND much better "flag" days. How stupid is this day? Back in 1914, Secretary of the Interior Franklin Lane delivered a Flag Day address pretending to be an American flag: "I am what you make me; nothing more. I swing before your eyes as a bright gleam of color, a symbol of yourself." Thanks, Franklin The Talking Flag. Did you know that singing Bill sitting on the steps of Capitol Hill? You should have been flunked out of government for plagiarizing some 3rd-grader's oral report. Fuck Flag Day. F -- hillmarky
GOING TO VICTORIA'S SECRET WITH YOUR IN-LAWS: My small-town-out-in-the-country-living-in-laws decided it was time to come to the Big City. When we told them we would walk around "downtown," the first words out of my Mom-in-law's mouth were: "Is there a Victoria's Secret here? I have a coupon for a free pair of panties." How did SHE get THAT?! So off we went. And Country Mom marched right in to claim her free panties. When the sales gal asked her what style she wanted, Ma didn't miss a beat: "Hi-rise-No thong!" Ma then proceeded to hijack me into a dressing room with her so she could try on bras (by the way, she's "partial to lace," I learned). I tried to respect her privacy and volunteered to wait outside, but she would have none of that. This would be our long overdue bonding moment. I was in over my head. A 70-year old woman working VS like a teenager: A. Having to browse the clearance panty bin with your father-in-law in tow: D -- SRS
CLIFF DWELLERS STUNNED: The headline read: Landslide victims stunned. How can you be anything but embarrassed by being stupid enough to build your house on the side of a cliff? Do you think there was a reason the lot was still available? These are the same people who are all chagrined when the Mississippi River (surprise!) floods their house. Again. And again. They look all forlorn, yet plucky and indomitable as Eyewitness News interviews them at the Red Cross shelter (which all look suspiciously like high school gyms). "Wehl, ah gess wee'll jus haf to start over again." An even more annoying where-you-live decision though, are the people who could live anywhere, but choose the suburbs and then bitch loudly about the commute. The problem is you. Crybaby Nation: C -- Roy Felipe
SUMMER BREAK AS A GROWNUP: I love my job. I get to do something I've always loved, and get paid for it. Plus, I have three months of the summer off. This is NOT as cool as it sounds. See, when I am getting paid, it isn't much, and now that I have all this free time to do everything cool my parents wouldn't let me do on break when I was a kid (yeah!), I have $37 in my bank account and bleak prospects of that amount increasing anytime soon. Please do not tell me that if you were in my shoes, you'd travel. Yes, if I had your trust fund, I would travel too. Instead, I will pray for July's rent to fall from the sky. I've had a week and a half off thus far...can't I just go back to work? Summer break as a (flat broke) adult: D -- Candace
RECENTLY JOINING FRIENDSTER: I joined Friendster a little while ago, only to find that most of my friends hardly ever check their accounts anymore. Bored, I started randomly searching for people I know. Here are my findings. 1) My ex-girlfriend signed up, created a half-assed profile and listed herself as single, and the last time she logged on was while we were dating. 2) I know very few people and like fewer. 3) I don't know the last names or e-mail addresses of people I would really like to contact. 4) Many people my age have real jobs and/or families and don't use the Internet to waste time, or maybe just for porn. 5) They don't have the Internet in Pennsylvania. I figure I'll ride this out for awhile and maybe create a MySpace account in '06. C- -- Scott Sand
MONOGOMY: Listen up, fellas. You're not the only ones whose eyes start wandering when the weather gets warm. Who came up with this monogamy thing, anyway? All these beautiful boys give me bedroom eyes now that it's hot enough for short skirts, and good lord, sometimes I'd really like to say yes. I'm still in love with my own man, you understand, but the sun shines down and I miss the sweet freedom of the days when I could just be easy. I don't want to betray someone I care about, but why can't I have my cake and eat it too? Finding somebody you love: A. Still wanting to sleep around: F -- nostalgic slut
THE CANDY SHOP THAT OPENED TWO FEET FROM MY APARTMENT: Often mocked for my sweet tooth, I now expect to be snickered at and elbowed by friends as we pass the sweet shop as we round the corner to get home. If my dentist were standing next to me, he'd be elbowing me and snickering about the cavities that are about to develop amid the insurance that I don't have. Loved ones to my left and right have chosen to humiliate me as I now eat at least one meal of pure candy a day. In the heat, sour gummy worms taste much better than food. Of course, I deserve all the humiliation I get for knowing that the minimum charge is $5.00. But do I deserve the blow this shop will do to my checking account? Wasn't there enough temptation at the grocery store just two feet the other way, where the variety was lacking (no Haribo) but the price was right? Novelty candy store: Still new, still an A -- Anna Jonsson
JONATHAN FRANZEN'S STORIES OF TRIUMPH IN THE NEW YORKER: It wasn't my fault. By the time I realized the Jonathan article in The New Yorker was by Franzen and not Lethem, it was too late. I'd already been sucked in, yet again, by his tale of dweeby outsider-ness. Last time it was the Peanuts hook that got me. But see, the thing about Franzen is, just when you think his maudlin a la recherche du temps perdu bullshit might bring his busted million dollar ass down to your own pathetic level, he pulls a switcheroo. In, Franzen's world, everything turns out okay. Franzen wins the spelling bee. Franzen gets chosen the leader of his youth group. But not before writing all about what it must feel like to be a loser. Fuck you, Franzen, you whiny, boring, trauma-aspiring sod. You ain't no Charlie Brown! For fronting like your childhood sucked so bad, you get a D. For still not being able to resist turning your made-up tale of woe into one of triumph, you get a royal F -- LKC
DIRECT TV'S CREDIT LIMIT VS. THIRD WORLD DEBT: When you lose your ATM card (yet again), the replacement comes with a new number and expiration date. The automatic charges to the account, though, are still on the old one. So when Direct TV tried to access the expired card, it got rejected, and I got a Past Due notice. Simple problem, simple fix? Ah, no. The ADD that derailed college several times has not yet abated, and when I went to their website to pay it, I entered the credit card number where the "amount paid" was supposed to go. They immediately sent back a notice, (in red, just in case): "The amount you entered: $40,000,000,000,000.00 is over the $100 limit we allow for credits on accounts." No kidding. If they didn't have that $100 limit, would VISA have increased my limit like they always do and just paid it? Scary thought. While it would be good to have something paid off for eternity, owing more money than has ever been printed would've put a big dent in my vacation plans. Thank you Direct TV for Comedy Central, NFL Sunday Ticket, great reception, solid albeit confusing multi-cultural service and keeping me from taking on the collective debt of Africa and South America. That was close. A -- Roy Felipe
BEING THE ONLY LESBIAN AMONG YOUR GAY DUDE FRIENDS: I love gay men. I really do. They're fun, up for anything and they drink like my dad did in Vietnam. I get to accompany them to establishments on a nightly basis full of drunk-ass people trying to get laid, without the pressure on myself -- I can wear whatever I want and say whatever I want. But sometimes it just ain't enough. They're your best friends, right? So who do you run to when you finally get laid after almost TWO YEARS? Yes, I made that mistake. After biweekly reports of anonymous sex, i.e. "I answered the door in my underwear and then he came on my face. It was hot," and "Sorry, I have to go to the bathroom again, after he blew me on the washing machine he fucked me really hard. It was hot," I, the only lesbian in the group, pipe up. "Hey, I finally got laid! Wanna hear about it?" Looks of disgust and "I'm getting another Mich Ultra, who wants?" I finally convince my best bud to listen, and it ends up in a lesson about female anatomy. "You mean your clit isn't inside your vag-thingy? Huh. Who knew?" or "How many holes do you have down there?" I learned my lesson. Though they may wear more makeup than I, a gay man is still a man. B- -- Kittens LeStax
Each and every week, Black Table readers like you write the Black List and get absolutely nothing in return. Ain't that some shit.