Mostly pics, some items of note. Monday G&T night.
I attended there in Autumn 85-Spring 86, and did so in such a way that I was asked politely but firmly to depart. It was a harder party school a year before then it was in 1987, but it was no slouch that year. Halloween in Carbondale drew literally thousands of people from all over the midwest – it was an autumn party break. Every fraternity and sorority house was jammed with visitors, the dorms awash in residents’ little brothers, little sisters and their idiot friends. You weren’t allowed to buy alcohol in bottles for a solid week before the big street parties, and people went absolutely nuts. I got married in 1988 and my wife and I would still go down for Halloween as late as 1990-1991, but it was getting so dangerous – fights, rapes, assaults – that it just became too much and we stopped going.
True Carbondale story: I mentioned before that I was asked to leave after the slow sucking demise of what would have (for a normal person) freshman year; perversely irritated by this (upon reflection) completely foreseeable series of self-caused events, I decided to swipe my little dormroom rental mini-fridge and take it with me, lodged firmly in the hatchback of my ’85 teal blue Pontiac Firebird alongside my duffel of flannels and jorts, a banker’s box of drugstore novels, one incredibly ratty faux-bearskin coverlet (don’t ask) and possible a half ounce of not very good Columbian.
I got to the St. Louis suburbs and my life changed. Got a job, an apartment, a dog AND a cat (and an albino racoon named Phyllis, that’s a whole other story for a whole other time). Met a girl. Slowly got my shit together. And time went on. Perhaps eight years later, I’m married, went back to school and got a degree, then another, and working in a decent field. One day, I get a call: it’s the refrigerator company. They tracked me down! “You owe us $80 for the fridge you stole in 1987.” I was busted.
I paid them the $80. What could I do? They had me cold. I kept the fridge, used it for literally decades after. It only died like three years ago! As crappy stolen dorm fridges go, that damn thing was a Rolls.
There is SO MUCH going on in the ad! First, the entire idea that Excel is some sort of standup video game at heart is just so wild and insane that it hits me in areas generally reserved for trying to sort out the pithier parts of the series Hannibal. We have to take it piece by piece:
The girl – the GIRL. Reminiscent of that goth girl from NCIS that drove all the frat-boy a-holes crazy in the early 90s, this woman has it all: hipster pre-pixie dream girl haircut, mega-attitude, librarian glasses, and you JUST KNOW she blasts through pivot tables and VLOOKUPs like she blasts through overconfident gasbags who buy suits off the rack and own exactly two. Pleated skirt; Argyle socks; absolutely murderous.
The douchebags: a quartet of corporates emitting goatish laughter and general fuckery. What the Girl does, they take credit for. You can almost see her wishing she had a grenade… and you are there, aching to hand her one.
She has books. Thick ones. The bindings (and therefore the titles) are obscured, but one imagines (a) Caesar’s history of a Gallic Wars, and (b) some sort of insane comic novel that only the coolest of cool kids even know about.
The cabinet has exactly one button: FUNCTION. *shudders*
What does the left side up-down-left-right controller even do?? I have forgotten everything I once knew about Excel.
The cabinet has coin returns. Microsoft has never, to my knowledge, returned any money to anyone. What comes out of those slots? Coins? Tokens? Or something… evil?
Does Excel = Excitement? Missed that part. I feel like I’ve missed some sort of party.
Spreadsheet action, intense pie charts and (aaaaahhhh) mind-boggling formulas? HOLY SHITSNACKS.
That’s all for tonight. here’s Metallica’s Master of Puppets to reset your brain: