Hi everyone, I've been off-and-on contemplating what sort of compromises I would have to make to transition into a career as a male softball player. In this kind of job market and economic atmosphere, I don't think I can afford NOT to consider all my options, and at this point, breaking into any traditionally distaff sport looks like my best bet. I figure I can create some sort of either media frenzy or storm by portraying myself as a mysterious drifter who's gotten out of the game, but is now realizing that, for the sake of beer-gutted men everywhere who play at company picnics, it's time to cast aside any self-doubt and just roll the dice, etc. This way I can say things like "I'm just going to keep doing what I'm doing, and if people like it, well, that's a fucking bonus." during my inevitable interviews with Bryant Gumbel and Bob Costas and ESPN. Anyway though, I did want to mention, for those of you who are sedulously keeping track of all the personal details I reveal through my extremely standoff-ish and gruff email tone, that my family bought a new car. Without telling me. Again. Ok, so this wouldn't be such big news, I know, hardly a drop in the bucket of Sinister Big Time personal accomplishments, but here's the thing: it's a Pontiac Aztek (do you U.K.ers have these cars over there? If not, try to imagine an automobile designed by the bastard child of Frank Lloyd Wright, whose coalminer mother drank more than the recommended daily allowance of Nyquil during trimesters 1-3). My Mom apparently fell in love with it. It was not until I actually saw my Mom driving and enjoying this car that I realized that if there were such a thing as genetic Venn diagrams of aesthetic disposition, hers and mine would have a union of: null (which wouldn't that make an awesome greeting card?). So, yeah besides the shape of the car, notice the spelling of the name, with a 'k'. And plus the motto of Pontiac is (or was) "driving excitement". An odd thing to name a car after, that- the extinct indigenous peoples best known to me through the Julio Cortazar story "the Night Face Up", which freaked the juvenile shit out of me. But, perhaps the worst thing about this car is that it has an unattractive backside. You know what I mean- there are some cars that just have nice booty, and the Aztek is not one of them. It would take the Sir Mix-A-Lot of mechanics to appreciate the ass on the Aztek. So, maybe enough sexing of American vehicles for one post. I have to go respond to an email from one 'heinzyguc@lycos.de' who keeps writing to inform me of opportunities I might have to casually accost 'barely legal teen pink', which, when you think about it, that's some pretty impressive synecdoche for a porn mail. Sleep tight, Kevin +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+