Words, Words, Words
a.k.a.,
the stuff inside
Nirvana and noodles in aisle nine
Scary but true tales from the toilet
Would the real Erica please stand up?
Diary of a slave to New Jersey Transit
The best import since the Camry
Solitaire only looks sweet and innocent
Seen and heard: Nifty stuff in the news
Stuff that rocks just like Lenny Kravits
I would have finished
this darn zine weeks ago if it wasn't for the solitaire game installed
on my laptop (it's kind of an old laptop which is why I don't have any
games that are more interesting than solitaire). I would un-install it,
if I knew how to do it. But my computer literacy is limited to getting
changing fonts, not fiddling with anything on the hard drive.
I spend hours playing solitaire and listening to my sister's CD collection. I tell myself that this is how I think about things and I have to get myself psyched up to work on my wonderful Monstress. But I think the truth of the matter is that I need solitaire so that I don't think. Working on a zine or writing anything longer than a check is really very difficult work. Anybody who says it isn't, is a pretentious liar and has a day job at Kinko's, but claims to work in publishing.
When I was in college, I had techniques to keep myself from playing too much solitaire. I would tell myself that I would only play until I won one game (or two) or if I had more time to complete a paper, only one CD (usually the longest playing one I could find). But since I have left college and there are few deadlines on my free time, I can spend hours and hours on end staring at rows of cards.
I should be proud of my solitaire skills since it is part of the family legacy. My grandparents spent their retirement sitting in their living room playing solitaire. They each had their own worn chair and a board that sat on the armrests that was the right size for a game of solitaire. Day after day, Grandma and Grandpa would play cards and smoke cigarettes. Eventually, the cards were tattered and light brown circles appeared on the ceiling above their respective perches. That is until Grandma couldn't remember how to play anymore.
My father has continued that proud tradition. When I was just a little girl, he sat in his office, a spare room in the basement, grading papers from school, playing cards and smoking his pipe. Recently, he joined the information age and bought a Gateway computer so he could surf the Internet, but true to Vonderheid form, he probably spends most of his time playing games. He claims he plays hearts, but I know what his true first love is.
As I mentioned before, I tell myself that playing solitaire helps me think. The only thought I came up with this lovely Sunday morning while I spent about 45 minutes (not bad) playing solitaire, is that the Bare Naked Ladies are going to be the true poets of our time. You wouldn't think that of a band who probably took their name from a peep show, but they really are very sensitive. Someday, 3,000 years from now, archeologists will uncover Canada and find their Stunt CD. Next thing you know, college professors will be lecturing on the symbolism of the Leann Rimes lyric in "One Week."
I've heard that corporations had to remove solitaire from PCs. I believe it. It's not the Internet that's the time sucker in offices, it's solitaire. The Internet is at least generating income for somebody out there. Solitaire doesn't. Just think about how much more we could be getting done in this country if it weren't for solitaire. I would have written a novel by now or at least finally read Pride and Prejudice which I've been meaning to do for at least three years.
There should be a 12-step program for solitaire junkies. But nobody would come to the meetings because those who needed it the most had to play just one more game.