Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Wednesdays With Brando

I was doing up The IC* with TLB last night, and we got to talking about James Frey, the theory of "the 'M' in memoir stands for 'making shit up,'" and how said theory often translates into financial windfall for the liar author in question.

This segued into a conversation about what my memoirs would be called. I use the plural because I have such volumes of angst, neuroses, self-loathing, and unused one-liners that it would take a Britannica-sized set of memoirs, autobiographies, essays, and self-serving New Yorker pieces to catalog everything. Here are some titles I came up with that capture my life and could maybe help me muscle in on some of David Sedaris’s table scraps:

Two Sprained Wrists and a Smile

Rush Limbaugh...Naked...On a Pyramid of Butter...And Other Failed Experiments in Sexual Endurance

I Am the Champion: How I Won the Super Bowl, Killed All the Aliens, and Saved the Princess After My Wife Went to Bed

Aren’t You Going to Card Me? Reflections on the Aging Process

All Binge and No Purge: My Life in the Buffet Line

The Sweatiest Guy at the Gym

What Grown Man Would Travel 900 Miles to Go to a Rush Concert and Other Confessions

Where the Streets Have No Names Because I Was Too Busy Throwing Up on Them to Read the Signs

I Didn’t Know Hair Could Grow There: More Reflections on the Aging Process

What to Expect When You’re Not Expecting

I’ll Bet Jennifer Love Hewitt Has a Smelly Cooter
(Cultural Observations From My Couch Series, Vol. 1)

Don’t Laugh, It Only Encourages Him

Me n' TLB, the F. Scott to My Zelda

And if anyone from Harpo Productions is reading this, I swear every word would be true. Mostly. Most every word would be true. Many, many of the words would be true, except for the ones that aren't, but even those would be close to being true, unless the truth wasn't interesting and I make a few changes until I write how I can have sex longer than Sting....

*i.e. eating at Chili's and going to Target


Unknown said...

Eating Chilis and going to Target? For shame!

Brando said...

Hey now, don't go knocking Chili's. Sometimes a feller needs his Monterey Jack smothered, bacon accented chicken fajitas.

And most of my current exercise ensemble has been assembled at Tar-jay

Unknown said...

Target is about as bad as Wal-mart in the female contraception issue. No Target. No Target, unless you go there to buy condoms in an act of defiance.

Chilis! Nope, I can leave that with Applebees and Outback. Now, I admit, I need, I need 'The Hut!

Michelle Falkoff said...

laughed out loud. literally. embarrassing to do alone, very late at night.

Anonymous said...

That was hilarious ... !!

Anonymous said...

Rush Limbaugh naked and butter might work better for me than Maury Povich and butter. I kept thinking of Connie Chung and that threw me over the edge.