i think what it amounts to is i have too many men in my life. not possible, you say? well. clearly you didn’t have a chance to listen, starry-eyed, to aaron-fucking-mcgruder saturday night: unwilling prophet and [emphatically not a] social leader of my generation, graduate of umd (just like frank cho! man, they really churn them out over there), compelling, acidic speaker, and all-around articulate, bitter, talented, funny guy.
clearly the screenwriter responsible for steven spielberg’s last summer blockbuster didn’t just write you back, setting up a lunch date for this thursday.
clearly you don’t have a terrific boyfriend who continues to make you girlishly giddy, long after your relationship is due to have become blase.
i could keep listing, i guess — my father, my grandfather, my brothers, my various muses and friends, shakespeare, vonnegut, tom robbins, douglas adams, j. franzen, m. chabon, b. dylan, p.t. anderson, j. carrey, w. goldman, b. bragg, b. & sebastian, m. python, t. tykwer, m. brothers, m. miller (science/religion teacher from high skool. you don’t know him), e.e. cummings … o, and chaucer. this is no particular order. have i forgotten someone?