Product placement
How are y'all?
I am fine.
We managed to clean up after the pandas and now we are busting ass trying to find a new roommate. One who isn't 78 baby panda bears, or, very sadly, Alice, who is going off to sail the seven seas with at-risk youth in an Outward Bound program this summer. We are ostensibly seeking a thirtyish woman, but I am secretly hoping for a strapping Italian lad of about twenty-five who likes to go shirtless and cook for me.
In other news, it's spring break time, here at the ranch. Last week was midterms--I got an A on my Spanish test and handed in my Southern Modernists term paper. Here's what my paper was called: Animal Husbandry and Doomed Mythic Marriage in William Faulkner’s The Hamlet . Fancy, no? I wrote about bestiality, sort of. In The Hamlet, a deeply retarded boy falls in love with a cow. Also another, non-retarded guy marries a human lady, but is himself continually described as horselike. Both romances, cow/man and horse/lady, end in tragedy. Why? CORROSIVE COMMERCIALISM AS EMBODIED BY THE SNOPESES! or something like that. So there you go. There's more to it, but I'm not gonna go into it here in public because it's FILTHY! (Not really. But it's ten pages long.)
So here's what I really wanna talk about:
The night before last I dreamt longingly about a can of Dr. Pepper. Yessir, I got me a can of Dr. Pepper outen th' icebox (sorry, Faulkner flashback)... and I couldn't've been happier. Then I woke up mad. Because: what the hell? Product placement in my effin' SUBCONSCIOUS?? You'd think after all this reading and writing I've been doing, I'd be dreaming more highbrow. Now, here's what I think: I think the Dr. pepper people owe me some money. I plan to e-mail them asking for fifteen dollars for having dreamt of their product. Perhaps I should offer the same service to other potential sponsors.
I told a friend of mine this, and she said "fifteen dollars, is that all? Do you hold your subconscious so cheap?"
Yes.
I am fine.
We managed to clean up after the pandas and now we are busting ass trying to find a new roommate. One who isn't 78 baby panda bears, or, very sadly, Alice, who is going off to sail the seven seas with at-risk youth in an Outward Bound program this summer. We are ostensibly seeking a thirtyish woman, but I am secretly hoping for a strapping Italian lad of about twenty-five who likes to go shirtless and cook for me.
In other news, it's spring break time, here at the ranch. Last week was midterms--I got an A on my Spanish test and handed in my Southern Modernists term paper. Here's what my paper was called: Animal Husbandry and Doomed Mythic Marriage in William Faulkner’s The Hamlet . Fancy, no? I wrote about bestiality, sort of. In The Hamlet, a deeply retarded boy falls in love with a cow. Also another, non-retarded guy marries a human lady, but is himself continually described as horselike. Both romances, cow/man and horse/lady, end in tragedy. Why? CORROSIVE COMMERCIALISM AS EMBODIED BY THE SNOPESES! or something like that. So there you go. There's more to it, but I'm not gonna go into it here in public because it's FILTHY! (Not really. But it's ten pages long.)
So here's what I really wanna talk about:
The night before last I dreamt longingly about a can of Dr. Pepper. Yessir, I got me a can of Dr. Pepper outen th' icebox (sorry, Faulkner flashback)... and I couldn't've been happier. Then I woke up mad. Because: what the hell? Product placement in my effin' SUBCONSCIOUS?? You'd think after all this reading and writing I've been doing, I'd be dreaming more highbrow. Now, here's what I think: I think the Dr. pepper people owe me some money. I plan to e-mail them asking for fifteen dollars for having dreamt of their product. Perhaps I should offer the same service to other potential sponsors.
I told a friend of mine this, and she said "fifteen dollars, is that all? Do you hold your subconscious so cheap?"
Yes.
posted by sarahfisch at
1:15 PM
3 Comments
