Keeping AfloatBy Akshay Patil
Dear Positive Sinking,
Do you have your own harem of groupies or floozies due to your enormous popularity and worldwide influence? If not, why not? If so, what are you complaining about all the time? You have floozies, for Pete’s sake!!!
In fact, I don’t have “groupies” or “floozies.” I think I’d rather have “floozies,” even though I don’t know what they are -- they must be better than middle-aged former flower children who follow me around when I’m going “on tour.”
In fact, I probably have very little use for groupies, since I don’t really need them to tune my, uhm, computer. I guess they could set things up for my awesome jam sessions -- you know, fluff my couch cushions, warm up my laptop, open up a text-editor and my inbox, and so on. But I don’t think it’d be very rewarding for them. And I have to admit, I’m a bit of a disappointment if you’ve ever seen me perform live.
According to Merriam-Webster, a floozy is “a usually young woman of loose morals.”
Nope, none of those. Not that I don’t try, but I just don’t have the stage presence to attract that kind of crowd, I guess.
Alright Akshay, ya got me. Its 20 minutes before my next class and I don’t have a dollar to my name right now, otherwise I would be putting this time to much better use, like eating. Instead I find myself smack dab in the middle of an Athena cluster, checking my e-mail and reading your god awful column.
Actually, it’s not that bad, a lot better than most of us engineers here at this school could probably muster, myself included. So as I skim over your column, I’m inevitably drawn to the final italicized paragraph where you plead shamelessly with your readers to show some interest and shoot you a letter. Kinda reminds me of dating in high school now that I think of it.
Hmm, I’ve got two dollars in my pocket, so I guess we’re in the same boat. A small boat without a sail on a turbulent ocean with large waves that pound relentlessly on our small craft as we desperately cling to our seats trying to hang on and not get blown away by the hostile winds of the future howling over the unforgiving sea of financial insecurity.
Thanks for the praise. I think you’re rather mistaken when you say my god awful column is a lot better than what most of you could muster up. Why, I bet if you put your mind up to it, you could muster up a much better column than I usually do, when I muster things... especially things with mayonnaise.
I’m not quite sure how the “dating” parallel fits in, unless you had a terribly advanced high school whose newspaper had a “personals” section to it. My high school newspaper was not so blessed. I wonder how well that sort of thing would work at MIT. Do you think The Tech should start running a “personals” section? Or would it just be filled with items like:
Single Male Indian Computer Science Major (SMICSM), seeking Exceedingly Hot Girl Of Any Major With A Sense Of Humor (EHGOAMWASOH) to exchange comedic yet uncomfortable e-mail and instant message conversations until he finally works up the courage to casually mention that maybe they should go out for a bite to eat or some other pseudo-date activity which can then leave them both incredibly perplexed as to whether or not its really a date but they both sort of dress slightly better than usual just in case it counts and the guy can worry about it being too forward to pay for both during the excursion and at the end of the night they can have a really awkward parting which will convince him that he really isn’t good at this dating thing and continues to spend most of his time talking to said EHGOAMWASOH online like the true geek he is.
Because frankly, I don’t think many EHGOAMWASOH would respond to these desperate cries for love. Those poor, poor SMICSMs.
This Valentine’s Day, “Positive Sinking” will be fleeing the state, but you’re more than welcome, in fact encouraged, to send e-mail to firstname.lastname@example.org so as to provide fodder for further inane ramblings about nothing in general or something on occasion. And if you read the word “fodder” and remarked to yourself, “you know, ‘fodder’ sounds a lot like ‘udder,’” well then you, sir/madam, are a pervert. Or a thirsty individual who grew up on a farm.