Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Things I've Said Into Mirrors Recently

Friday, 7:30 a.m.
You are tenacious. You are smart. You are handsome. You are going to do this. You are going to make friends. You are not going to let people get you down. You are tired of having nothing to do on the weekend. You are going to invite Blake, Jeff, and the other guys from accounts out for drinks after work. You are going to be cool about it.

Friday, 4:30 p.m.
You did it. You are a likable person. You can do anything you set your mind to. You are going to go out for drinks with Blake, Jeff, and the other guys from accounts and you are going to have a great time. You are vivacious.

Friday, 8:00 p.m.
You are having a fun time. You seem to be hitting it off with Blake, Jeff, and the other guys from accounts. You are making conversation. You are a great guy. You’ve had a few too many but that’s O.K. You are thoughtful. You are generous. You are moderately proficient in French. You are not going to be phased by that girl Monica with the snaggletooth … or was it Monique? Whatever. Something with a ‘Mon.’ Anyway, you are hard working. You are a leader of men. You are not alarmed by the pill that Monique or Monica or whatever put in your drink. You are insightful. Hey, did the paper towel dispenser just say something to me?

Friday, 10:00 p.m.
You are a champion. You can’t lift your arms. You are successful. You are pretty sure you just vomited on a homeless man. You are inspiring. You are well read. You are not afraid for your well-being. You are not going to try and get a cab home. You are a fast learner. You are not going to pass out.

Friday, 11:30 p.m.
You passed out. You are interesting. You have a great singing voice. You are talking into a puddle of urine in the bathroom of a Ruby Tuesday’s. You are a philosopher king. Where is my wallet?

Saturday, 12:30 a.m.
You are having a great time. You have a nice smile. You are pretty confident that you are in the utility closet of a strip club called Zone D’Erotica. You tan quite well.

Saturday, 1:30 a.m.
You look great in stripes. You can do 45 minutes on the elliptical at the gym. You don’t remember taking the bus to Trenton but no matter, you’re meeting people and that’s just great. You have been told on several occasions that you faintly resemble John Stamos. You assemble puzzles quickly. You are not concerned that a dude named Bubblegum just invited you to go buy lottery tickets and whiskey. You placed first place in your forth grade spelling bee.

Saturday, 3:00 a.m.
You have a great head of hair. You got an A– in your Intro to Cinema Studies class at Cornell. You have memorized all of Third Eye Blind’s lyrics. You just noticed that someone has etched the words “DARK PLACES” in your arm with a knife. Where is my wallet? You can grow a full beard. You don’t mind that someone changed your iPhone background to a swastika. You once went skydiving. Am I in a van?

Saturday, 3:01 a.m.
You are in a van.

Saturday, 3:10 a.m.
You dunked a basketball one time. You have nice green eyes that Grandma used to compare to emeralds before her lymphoma metastasized. You need to find out where you are. You just asked the other people in the van where you are. You don’t understand what they are saying. You realize that everyone is speaking Korean. You can make a mean omelet.

Saturday, 9:00 a.m.
Your head hurts. You can juggle. Your upper thighs are heavily bruised. You are going to go out and grab life by the horns today. You don’t know why you have 47 missed calls but no matter. You have 7 new friends. You went to Universal Studies Florida one time and loved it. You are missing three fingers. Where is my wallet?

Saturday, 11:30 a.m.
Your head hurts. You are a man of rarefied taste. You are witty. You have 6000 songs on your iPhone. Your state senator is in lying face down in your living room. You are charming. You are going to keep calm. You are clever. You are unsure how to proceed. You are going to call your lawyer. You don’t have a lawyer. You need a lawyer. You wonder if the state senator was a lawyer. You are funny. You can say “hello” in ten languages. You got a call from Blake, Jeff, and the other guys from accounts, all saying they had a great time. You are a winner.

Eliot Nelson is an upstart writer in Washington D.C. and a native of New York City—although he prefers “Gypsy of the I-95 Corridor.” His work has appeared in McSweeney’s and other dark corners of the porn-box. Compliments, complaints, claims of paternity, and questions about his cheese-of-the-month side business can be sent to eliot.c.nelson@gmail.com.

Poets Appealing to College Students "I Wandered as High as a Cloud" by William Wordsworth, and more.
How To
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Quintus Masters, Apprehensive 19th-Century Whaler, Talks to Teenagers What calamitous folly! Surely the scant rations of fresh water, biscuits, and turtle meat stowed on board are insufficient for sustaining the crew on such a long and treacherous endeavor.

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