Pynchon feature for new online mag?

[Mark Kohut]

No, you get it for The Wall Street Journal reference. Smile.

--- On Sat, 3/6/10, Joe Allonby <joeallonby at gmail.com> wrote:

> From: Joe Allonby <joeallonby at gmail.com>
> Subject: Re: Pynchon feature for new online mag?
> To: "Carvill John" <johncarvill at hotmail.com>
> Cc: fqmorris at gmail.com, pynchon-l at waste.org
> Date: Saturday, March 6, 2010, 11:46 AM
> Do I get extra credit for the
> Alistair MacLean reference?
> 
> On Sat, Mar 6, 2010 at 11:43 AM, Carvill John <johncarvill at hotmail.com>
> wrote:
> >
> > Y'see? Like that.
> >
> > ----------------------------------------
> >> Date: Sat, 6 Mar 2010 10:51:10 -0500
> >> Subject: Re: Pynchon feature for new online mag?
> >> From: joeallonby
> >> To: johncarvill at hotmail.com
> >> CC: pynchon-l at waste.org
> >>
> >> Round about 1980, I was a student at a small East
> Coast elitist
> >> liberal arts university learning to hate America
> and Jesus. Nearly
> >> every waking hour was spent doing drugs or having
> sex or contemplating
> >> either or with myself and others. I was blind. Not
> literally. It's
> >> just a figure of speech. I am partially color
> blind though. I have
> >> trouble with blue and green. Yellow might as well
> be green. I have no
> >> idea what the fuck purple is. I was also
> left-handed and prone to
> >> digression. In some circles it is accepted thought
> that both of those
> >> conditions are ongoing.Hey! It's sunny out! Let's
> play baseball!
> >>
> >> I was interning (is that a word?) at Boston's
> stuffiest publishing
> >> house. These people published books and magazines
> that made the Wall
> >> Street Journal read like Alistair MacLean. Even
> Simon and Schuster
> >> wouldn't play with them. They did have a marketing
> department though.
> >> And copywriters. Something called "product
> managers". And, of course,
> >> advertising salesmen, most of whom could be seen
> emerging from the
> >> anus of a giant jackass on any given Friday
> afternoon holding a
> >> pre-loaded martini. Or sneaking down in the
> freight elevator with the
> >> guys from shipping and receiving, one of whom had
> a brother who lived
> >> in Hawaii and grew the world's most outrageous
> marijuana which he
> >> shipped via UPS to his brother in Quincy, reeking
> and seeping cartons
> >> of vulvate sensimilla with punta roja. Friday
> afternoons were for
> >> office parties in Pre-Reagan America. It was all
> part of the creeping
> >> malaise.
> >>
> >> This was how I discovered Thomas Pynchon. Hiding
> under a desk in the
> >> advertising department during a Friday afternoon
> office party, lurking
> >> in the conversation of bored and stoned young
> publishing execs who
> >> were all not so secretly convinced that they were
> much, much better
> >> than this.
> >>
> >> I needed to know this book that they were talking
> about. Why would
> >> gravity have a rainbow and who was Roger Mexico?
> Why was the
> >> visitation white and Enzian black? Can you really
> inject wine?
> >> Fermented mare's milk? Isn't Rocketman just a song
> by a gay English
> >> guy in high heels and glasses? WHAT IN GOD'S
> UNHOLY FUCKING NAME ARE
> >> YOU FUCKING PEOPLE FUCKING TALKING ABOUT?
> >>
> >> The next day one of them dropped the book off at
> my desk. Three days
> >> later, bloodshot-eyed and unsteady on my feet, I
> gave it back to him.
> >>
> >> "Couldn't handle it, huh?"
> >>
> >> "No. I read the whole thing. I've done nothing
> else. I haven't slept.
> >> Give me more."
> >>
> >>
> >
> >
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