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Friday, April 17, 2015

The Worst Segway Yet

We know the story. Young girl, known to be an overachiever. The one who has all the answers. One year at school she takes on more than she can handle. She resorts to an outside influence. Something that makes keeping up with her schedule possible. She keeps it a secret from her friends, but finally it's too much. Things begin to fall to pieces.

Hermione Granger and the Time-Turner, you say?
Hermione's immense workload finally seemed to be getting to her. Every night, without fail, Hermione was to be seen in a corner of the common room, several tables spread with books, Arithmancy charts, rune dictionaries, diagrams of Muggles lifting heavy objects, and file upon file of extensive notes; she barely spoke to anybody and snapped when she was interrupted.
No. Idiot. Obviously it's Jessie Spano.

Sometimes I think very fondly of you, hypothetical reader. And sometimes, let's be honest, you make me sick.

Also, Hermione takes Arithmancy seriously? It's just divination by numbers. She hates divination.

Maybe you also guessed that it was Jessie. Maybe you also watched several episodes of this tv show after school every day. Maybe, in other words, you were cool. Or at least you knew what cool looked like and wanted to be a part of a group of sociopaths who ruled their school while their despondent principal slowly watched his power degrade along with any semblance of self-esteem he once had.

Cool definitely looks like too-high Z Cavaricci jeans and very, very brightly colored geometrical shapes on your shirt, by the way. Or, in the case of one Lisa Turtle, a penchant for leopard prints. Listen. I don't make the dang rules.

You guys I am totally JK. This show was and is a living nightmare. Every adult involved with its creation should be punished. There is no statute of limitations on psychological trauma like this. As far as I'm concerned every dollar earned on this monstrosity is blood money. I am convinced that the cursed currency that touched the hands of its writers, producers, creators, directors, even camera operators went on to lead to the eventual Great Recession. Science has shown that every foreclosed house, every lost job, every 99 percenter who pooped in a bag outside of Wall Street there is one of these tainted ducats. This show was rubbish.

Eat a pile of garbage, Saved by the Bell. Just rotten garbage. The stuff that was created and thrown away in 1989 when you were created and for each subsequent year it aired, including but not limited the Miss Bliss years, College Years, and The New Class. Those half-eaten whoppers and big macs in their earth-unfriendly styrofoam clamshells. You eat it. Wallow in that garbage while you devour it. Fight every seagull that competes for the scraps. Sweep away the rats. Mmm-mm. How do you like it, Saved by the Bell? Now do you know what we suffered?

You do not. You do not know what we suffered because it was not enough. You have not yet even atoned for AC Slater's pants alone. I will need to think on this further.

Speaking of people who have names that are two initials followed by a last name, B.J. Novak wrote a book. You know. Ryan from The Office. I'm sure he likes to be called Ryan From the Office as much as Mark Paul Gosselaar likes to be called "Preppy."

"That was a pretty good segway, me," he said to himself, while addressing himself on a web page.

Do you want to click on a link that won't make your eyes and ears bleed? Click this one. That's an episode of This American Life where one of Novak's stories is dramatically read.

This was a very fun, funny, insightful book, it turns out. I don't seek out books written by comic actors/comedians often, but I'd heard good things. Now you are hearing good things because I'm telling them to you.
John Grisham exhaled, feeling his breath leave his body as he did, like his wife’s yoga instructor had taught him to do that one time. He never went back to that yoga instructor, but he still thought about that session sometimes.
Here's another funny one with swears. *WARNING, THERE ARE SWEARS*
What’s the difference between this school and a happy retirement community?” The room was silent again. “The difference is ’rithmetic! A retired person living by the ocean, just doing a little reading and writing till the end of their days—that’s the dream, right? ‘What do you do all day?’ ‘Some reading, a little writing.’ Sounds idyllic, right? And yet school sucks. Everybody hates it. What’s the difference? ’Rithmetic! It’s time somebody put their finger on this fucking obvious thing.
The swear was in the last sentence.