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March 10, 2014 / Brittany Hendrick

I swooned, I sweated, I felt awash with incontinence

Source: Wikipedia Commons

One of my former co-workers.

Every time I say I’m going to write more often, something important pops up — like a new, career-worthy job. Yes, FINALLY, after over two years of social media marketing hell  (i.e. the first semi-decent job I took only to officially end my over-two-years of unemployment), at a hellacious hell run by a group of incompetent morons I called the Cabal of Clowns, I am back in the corporate-but-casual game. No, not music industry — health care! No, not pharma or equipment sales — a certain, popular website people use to self-diagnose themselves into the worst-case-scenario corner of cancer or death.

The new job started in October 2013.  I went to the UK for two weeks in November. Christmas. New Year’s. Presidents’ Day. So, sorry, I’ve been a LITTLE busy concentrating on “figuring out what the fuck it is I’m holding in my hands” (™Merck Mercuriadis 4EVR!). Not much time for writing…

…so when Michael K. at DListed, my favorite celebrity-hating/make-funning website, publicly pleaded a few months ago for a couple part-time helper writers, I didn’t bother trying out for the job. When would I find the time? What if I can’t cough up the humor on command? I haven’t written satire in ages — I’m too out of practice. Am I in the same league as Michael K? The guy is absolutely brilliant, hysterical and clever — and it takes a lot for me to compliment a writer; you have to be good in my world. Yes, I am that literary asshole grump. Also, there may be something wrong with me.

For instance, while most people slobber over the latest New York Times bestseller, by today’s It Author who will never be canonized, the most recent book I bought was Edith Wharton’s The Age of Innocence. No, I’m not in college.

Once, I joined a book club, in a concerted effort to read and discuss contemporary literature among friends and peers. Ugh, some of those books were painful to get through. When it was my turn to pick the book, I chose Hermann Hesse’s Demian: a time-considerate, short read that employs skillful writing, characterization, a touch of what-the-fuckness, and depth. Conclusion: no one read that shit. I pretty much kicked myself out of book club over that one.

So, I really mean what I say about Michael K.

But, instead of metaphorically taking off my clothes for Mr. K. (he happens to be very attractive, by the way… and gay), I’ve been throwing sometimes-effort into a new catalog, ’90s but Not Forgotten. It’s a marriage of my extensive memory and knowledge of ’90s music that has been buried in the past, or too obscure for the majority of people to remember. Since the theme centers around music and not writing quality, the blog is a manageable outlet for me. Except, as with the Demian debacle, no one I know reads that shit. Probably because my artistic contributions aren’t “cool” enough (Not  long ago, someone in my social group actually told me he felt “sorry” for me because I’ve never played in a band. So, yeah.). Or maybe I’m a shitty writer. Still, I march to the beat of my own drummer.

One artist who came to mind, whom I wanted to cover on ’90s but Not Forgotten, is a British guy named Duke. He had a dance club (not radio) hit in 1997, called “So In Love With You.” I was 18 years old at the time and thought the song was a genuine oldie, a nod to Marvin Gaye’s “Got to Give It Up” — just like Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines” is. I got really excited about this one, and figured Duke would be a good fit for DListed’s daily segment, Hot Slut of the Day.

For the hell of it, I sent Michael K. an email with my HSOTD suggestion, written in true Brittany creative-writing fashion. I don’t even know if he takes suggestions — he never solicits any — but I did it anyway. And, in true Brittany justifying-that-English-degree fashion, I enumerated the reasons why Duke should be HSOTD. Because I’m that literary asshole grump who approaches each life situation like it’s an argumentative essay assignment and offers supporting statements… on everything.

Michael K. must receive a healthy batch of emails per day, so I didn’t expect anything to happen. If my suggestion were to be picked up, that would’ve been good enough for me — I simply give the idea; Michael K. works his magic.

a duke

Duke: Artiste, Esquire, Hot Slut of the Day

Not only did Michael K. crown Duke Hot Slut of the Day for Sunday, March 9, 2014, he credited me with the idea and quoted part of my email to him!!!! Holy shit! I was floored. Is this unprecedented? I don’t recall him ever doing something like this. I squealed, I broke into a sweat, I got a little embarrassed all over myself (no, not that kind of embarrassed all over myself), I skipped around the house, I pogoed. My words… laid out for thousands of people to read… I can’t even look at the post! Aaahhhyyyeeeeeeahhh!!

And the readers’ comments! Oh, that’s the best part! Comments range from “I have no idea who this guy is/never heard the song” to “This is the jam! I danced to this in the club!” A couple people think I should be “punished” for comparing Duke to Marvin Gaye (*sigh* Falsetto Gaye, people.), and so I must be a “bastard Kardassian [sic] child.” Hey, I’ll take that. At least I’m not accused of being tone deaf. I have tonal memory and/(or?) relative pitch — so it would really hurt my feelings if someone called me tone deaf.

Michael K. (why am I still typing the “K”?), THANK YOU! To copy-paste that shit as-is… is a compliment of the highest order. I want to sob out of gratitude. I also want to sob because, had I known I’d be included in HSOTD, I would’ve spent more time on my email and made it even funnier.

I believe it’s now proven — in the proofiest way of proving proofs under all science, mathematics and philosophy disciplines — that I’m not a shitty writer. I’m my own Hot Slut of the Day! Or, as Mr. K. would put it, I’m having a “Chico’s kind of day,” which sounds even better.

And to whichever members of my social group who think what I do isn’t worthy or funny, or isn’t cool, in whatever category you classify it because it disrupts your myopic world, because you’re not a >10,000-hours writer and don’t recognize wordsmithing as an art form equal to music, painting, photography, etc… I feel sorry for you.

It’s not like they read this shit anyway.

Photo: Unknown Chinese Maker– Tin Wind Up – Clown Drummer – Front/D J Shin/CC-BY-SA-3.0



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