South Park Self

the endless narcissim of the gazelles

A brief vignette from an actual telephone conversation recently conducted:

(INT, administrative office. Desk cluttered with papers, cat pictures on the wall, steaming cup of Earl Grey desk right. EXTEMPORANEA discovered at desk, gazing at computer screen clogged with FEC rules, with furrowed brow).

PHONE: *rings*
ME: Hello, extemporanea speaking.
STUDENT (in slow, sleepy tones): Um, hello, I'm phoning to find out if you've received an email.
*Long pause. Further amplification is not forthcoming.*
ME (with commendable patience): I receive several dozen emails a day. What was it about, and when did you send it?
STUDENT (vaguely): About five minutes ago.
*Another long pause. Tumbleweeds.*
ME (patience clearly eroding): Which email are you referring to?
STUDENT: I sent it from my Gmail account.
ME (now thoroughly exasperated): Who am I speaking to?
STUDENT (with soul's-awakening realisation): Oh. Oh, yes. *gives actual name and details, stumbling over name as though it's actually an alias. I deal with his reasonably simple problem, put down phone, sigh.*

(INT. now features visible chew marks on the desk).

I still haven't received the actual email.

By way of distraction, this Nando's ad is making its way around my Twitter feed and environs, although actually I first saw it on nimnod's blog. It's pure, unadulterated comedy genius, and causes me to laugh unexpectedly every time I remember it, which given the tenor of my week (hideous) is a definite bonus.

  • Current Mood: busy good grief
  • Current Music: for some reason, "Alice's Restaurant" in my head.
I would be willing to bet that a better description of the student tone would be "stoned" rather than sleepy. damn stoners, get orf my lawn
Either "stoned", yes, or "profoundly psychologically disturbed". He's one of those disaster cases who is trying to resurrect a degree characterised by a long string of fails and exclusions.

I don't actually have a problem with dealing with stoned students, they're usually fairly amiable. The ones who are probably tik-ridden are far more freaky.
Obviously not hydroponic then (which is pretty much all you can easily get here)...paranoid much! Ah, for the simple sweet days of saffa stoner-dom…
Enjoyed the video! Not sure if you've seen this recent video of a dog's simple joy in Richmond Park. His owner was not as amused.

Alice's Restaurant is an American Thanksgiving song (nearly 40 Thanksgivings ago, that is, 40 years ago on Thanksgiving, now) and Thanksgiving is now - the third Thursday of November. So your subconcious is clearly tuned to the American aging hippie gestalt, when thousands of us played the song after eating far too much turkey and pie.
Clearly! Also, bonus points for "aging hippie gestalt", it's a lovely phrase. Having put up this post, of course, I then realised that one of the blogs on my friends page mentioned the song, which I suppose is simply a more direct and obvious transmission of the gestalt. I didn't actually know about its Thanksgiving connection. All becomes clear.

The Thanksgiving thing is fearsome, actually. Enough of my Twitter feed babbled about turkey stuffing all through yesterday that last night I found myself haplessly stuffing and roasting a chicken.