| Subject: Hot, Fat OUTTAKES |
| From: Karen Lancaster <lancaster.karen@gmail.com> |
| Date: 6/10/10, 09:38 |
| To: Barrett Brown <barriticus@gmail.com> |
Change page 14:
If one meets one's girlfriend's upper middle-class father in his den or study, and if this room is furnished with bookshelves filled with important-looking tomes, one will usually find a copy of either The World is Flat or The Lexus and the Olive Tree therein, as a testament to said fathers erudition.
Change page 15:
When I was 22 or thereabouts, I lost my longtime gig as a copywriter and found myself compelled to work six-day weeks as a furniture mover. Delete rest of paragraph: / for a Pentecostal church. When companies relocated, they would donate their discarded desks and chairs and whatnot to this church, the employees of which would pick it all up and store it in a warehouse until such time as individual pieces could be refurbished and sold off. Of course, the company paid no taxes on any of this, as the company was a churcha church that took free furniture and then sold it.
Each morning I would find myself sitting in the cab of an 18-wheeler with one of the ex-meth addicts with one of my ex-meth addict coworkers.. On one occasion, we were joined by this doughy, bearded, bespectacled, middle-aged Pentecostalist whose goal was to start his own internet-based ministry. This, incidentally, is the long-term plan of about a sixth of all middle-aged Pentecostals.
Change page 102:
Say only But most of these people are probably dead by now. And delete all of this:
But most of these people are either dead or living in San Miguel de Allende, and their modern counterparts have descended into even greater irrelevancy than even the dead ones, if not the ones who are residing in San Miguel.
I shall make a self-indulgent aside because there is no one here to stop me. My grandma used to live in San Miguel, and when I was 15 or so I made the acquaintance of several of these elderly and two-dimensional creatures. One of them explained to me over breakfast that the Aztecs knew perfectly well that Hernan Cortez was not actually some deity, but rather just a European operating on various proto-imperialist and early-stage capitalist paradigms, and that Montezuma was simply being nice when he allowed the Spaniard to seize control of the country and go up to big chunks of gold and lick them or whatever it was that you do with gold; the Aztecs as a whole, she asserted, simply felt sorry for these confused and evil Spaniards. Another trapped me in her apartment and told me about how she used to know Lenny Bruce, forced me to listen to recordings of Lenny Bruce, related to me anecdotes about Lenny Bruce, and gave me a sandwich which was in fact very good and which I did enjoy eating very much, so thanks, Benita. On another occasion, two of these obsolete old crones argued over whether or not one can find orange cats in Rome; one them claimed that Rome has no orange cats at all, and the other claimed to have owned one herself while living in that very city. One group of them eventually had another other group arrested over a dispute involving control of the local library. If only there were a metaphor in there somewhere. At any rate, I managed to steal a lot of pain pills in those days. I'll continue this anecdote in some other outlet ala Truman Capote because it sounds like some nonsense Truman Capote would have written if he had ever written more than six things.
Ooooh, take that, Truman Capote, who is dead!