Once My Looks Go, I've Got Nothing

     I wrote this several years ago and submitted it to McSweeney's. They didn't publish it, but I got some pretty positive feedback on it. I figured I would share it with the world in the hopes that someone might derive some joy from reading it.         I’m sitting on a curb in the Vandelay Center mini-mall, the dark concrete shimmering and waving as though it’s about to warp out of reality or something.   The sun is perched above the earth in a perpetual explosion, making each breeze feel like it’s coming from a giant hair dryer.   My knees ache from 20 years of tedious plumbing jobs.   I’ve just exited Coldstone Creamery, and directly in my line of sight lies the big red and white sign with a cartoon ice cream cone, hanging above the brick edifice with its array of peculiarly smudge-free windows.   As I slowly run my tongue over my double scoop of mint chocolate chip, I observe the seemingly happy employees in white paper hats performing repetitive motions.   The t

Since I have been sitting in front of a computer for 95% of the past seven years (go ahead and do the math, Pointdexter!), I have become quite familiar with the various types of articles that online media websites like to post. One of my favorite sorts of article is the Power Rankings that websites such as ESPN.com will do. If you are unfamiliar with the concept, a Power Rankings article is basically a list of sports teams in order from best to worst or vice versa at a certain point in time, with an explanation for their placement. These rankings are arguable and often, especially for certain portions of the list, fairly arbitrary. Having said that, they are a hell of a lot of fun to read, so I thought I’d try my hand at one. The sports theme has been done to death, though, by writers far more knowledgeable in the field than I, so today we're trying something a little different. After a thorough investigation of what exactly constitutes my “wheelhouse,” I submit for your approva

     I'm not trying to brag, but I'm pretty good at Words With Friends. Or maybe I am trying to brag...it's been long enough since I felt pride that I can't really say for sure. Anyway, I'm not trying to pull an R. Kelly and say I'm the world's greatest or anything. Though I have in the past pulled an R. Kelly, by other meanings of the phrase.      I fear I'm starting to lose my point.      Oh yes, Words With Friends. So anyway, just like the rest of the country, I enjoy playing it. I mean, it's no Magic: The Gathering or anything, but in terms of free cell phone games it gets a hearty thumbs up from yours truly. Now, I understand that in order to play Words for free, I have to put up with advertisements inserted into the middle of my games. I'm completely OK with this, since Lord knows I'm in no position to pay money for anything. My dinner for the last three weeks has been plain white rice with sriracha sauce due to a case of what Ted N

“Damn it!” I exclaimed as I slammed my computer keyboard in frustration, sending up a thick cloud of Cool Ranch Dorito dust. I took one of the angriest sips of Red Bull in the history of man and threw myself backwards against my chair, which rocked haphazardly due to the sudden force. Stupid low-quality furniture I pick up off the sidewalk. But my angst this afternoon had nothing to do with the decomposing construct I called my chair. Rather, the object of my ire was a tad more abstract: the internet. Not the entire thing (I love me some porn and fast food reviews), but rather the fact that the internet has a certain galling way of perpetuating things I might wish myself and others to simply forget about. Examples of this include Rick Astley, Goatse and my own personal lapses in judgment. Well, maybe not Rick Astley. Anyway, I had just spent hours trying to erase a particularly grievous error of mine from several years ago, but I was at a loss. Forced to confront my o