This being my first contribution to this fine commune of voices, I would just like to state outright that I am not a pimp. Or at least not by choice. I have never purchased a cane without a disability to necessitate it (I haven't purchased one at all, but specificity is sometimes necessary). I do not wear a ring, let alone several rings beset with glamorous stones such as opal. I have a one o'clock curfew, and as such my ability to work the streets is severally mitigated. No, ladies and gentleman, it was never in my aspirations to be the panoptacon eyes on some poor woman who has not, yet, payed me my money.
However, recent events have led me to believe, that much like those born presupposed to athleticism, emotional instability, or the ability to fix a fax machine without slamming it repeatedly with their fists, I have the preternatural ability to draw to me Emilys from all walks of life. Or rather two Emilys, each baring differences, but from mostly the same upper middle class walk of life. I live in the suburbs; too much diversity cannot be expected.
The first Emily is blond, athletic and frequents the New Jersey coast. The second is darkhaired, brilliant and shares my taste in literature (we swap books, it's cute). Both want to be biochemists, which is eerie because no one wants to be a biochemist. I mean, obviously some people do, but not many. Certainly not enough for 100% percent of the Emily population in my life to seek the profession.
Anyway.
Recently both of these maidens have besieged me with request for my affection. As a man who, as I have explained, is not used to the pimping way of life, this shocked me. It always does. The beautiful, intellectual woman who show interest in me always mystify me. I am wirey, pimply and excessively inarticulate. Generally I can accept the affections of one girl as something of a romantic anomaly. I figure, after all, a fair percentage of the population certainly seems to be deranged, at least I end up with the cute ones. However, when it becomes so unlikely as to two girls of the same name and the same career aspiration take to me simultaneously, I am forced into a state of amazement that prevents me from reacting to the situation in any sensible way. Sometimes, you play the game. But sometimes there is so much game, you just don't know what you're playing anymore. And in my case, the mere presence of game is enough to set me out for the season.
So, in resolving the internal war that my feelings toward both Emilys were waging (tune in next week, for when this war is chronicled in the style of the Iliad) I came to the realization that perhaps the similarities of their names was no coincidence. Perhaps indeed it was to be a calling of mine, a gift from birth that had waited until now to unearth itself, to romance all the Emilys of the world. Not for indulgences sake, but for the sake of science. Yes, this was an epiphany. An inspiration of near biblical magnitude.
Therefore, I am withdrawing a loan with which to establish an institution for testing the romantic similarities (and dissimilarities) of all Emilys in the world. Particularly those with biochemical positions or aspirations. Contact information will be released shortly after establishment.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
On a Duet of Dueling Emilys
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You've already heard me sing (many times), so clearly you know how talented I am. And yet, I'm still not in your band!
Final offer, I'll give you a pimp cane and one of those hats with a really long feather if you let me join.
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