July 30, 2004

I’m in Love with You,

I’m in Love with You, Crack Young Staff, or A Way with the Ladies

As the whole World-Wide Web must know by now, dear reader, one of the most popular features of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” is surely its Official Advice Column. Over the past few months, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” have helped manifold (i.e., three) readers of our humble “weblog” with a variety of quandaries that have vexed them.

Recently, however, we received a particularly appealing e-mail from a delightful female who gave herself the clever pseudonym A. Nother Distressed Lover. Normally, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” offer abbreviated versions of our readers’ queries, for the purposes of euphony. But there is something so, in a word, charming about this particular e-missive that we have decided to reprint it essentially in full.

Sure, it’s a bit long. But, man, is it ever great. It reads:

Dear Crack Young Staff,

I am not above attempting to flatter you by telling you that I have not written to any other advice columns, either in the lower 48 states, or even Canada. Why, you ask? Because you, Crack Young Staff, are the only ones who can help me.

I’m in love, Crack Young Staff. But, alas, it’s not a simple crush on the pimply teenager next door, the cute R.A. on my brother’s floor, the guitar player from some popular band, or even the start football player on my college campus. No, Crack Young Staff...I’m in love with you [!].

To be more precise, I’m in love with the roughly 53% of your Crack Young Staff that is male. Which of you in particular has stolen my heart, you ask? I’m not really sure; due to the joint nature of your posts on this “weblog,” it’s difficult to say. In any case, you’ve collectively won my undying affection.

Everytime I type the beautiful “URL” to your humble “weblog” into my browser, my breath catches in anticipation as I wait for the page to load. I can’t help but immerse myself daily in your witty lucubrations. When you don’t update, I read your archives. I embarrass myself by laughing aloud in my place of work when reading your “weblog” over lunch break.

You are clever, you are funny, and, what’s more, you are just plain right about things. Opinionated-ness qua opinionated-ness isn’t always attractive, dear Crack Young Staff. But opinionated-ness when you’re right—that’s very appealing.

In desperation brought on by True Love, I even thought of applying for your internship position this summer, but the fear of rejection held me back.

My imagination runs away with me, and I picture myself as the girlfriend of one of the (male) members of the Crack Young Staff [!]. You sit and type your daily entry in your humble “weblog,” and I sit beside you, unable to tear my adoring eyes from the movements of your fingers on the keyboard [!!]. As your forehead furrows in concentration, I tenderly offer you a glass of water and a white handkerchief to wipe your brow [!!!].

Just sitting beside you makes me the happiest women on earth. (Doing your laundry and washing your dishes both come in a close second.)

I have often dreamed about telling you of my undying affection, but the many obstacles lying between you and myself have always made me hesitate. You are no doubt older than I, and you live somewhere far from both my hometown and college. I know that I am not your equal in intelligence, wit, charm, vocabulary, age, or maturity, and probably not in anything else, either. In fact, I am your inferior in perhaps every way [!].

(There is another possible obstacle that I have not mentioned, as I can hardly bring myself to entertain the thought…but could it be possible that each of you is already in the midst of a relationship? It is too terrible; my heart breaks even to think about it.)

I know that I am condemned to suffer from unrequited love [!]. But too long I have suffered in silence…at last, I write you with a humble plea. Not a plea for this love to be returned, as I know that can never be, but a plea for help…for your advice. Help me, please, “Hatemonger’s Quarterly.” Whatever shall I do?

With utmost love and devotion,
A. Nother Distressed Lover

Great horny toads! We know that this e-mail was a tad lengthy, but, frankly, we could read that kind of stuff all day!

Before we furrow our collective brows and answer this gorgeous co-ed’s epistle, let us first make a couple of niggling points. We don’t, naturally, endeavor to upset this lovely young woman at all, but we can tell that she is a very careful reader of our humble “weblog,” and we want to set her straight on a couple of matters.

To begin with, Ms. Lover, around 47 percent of the crack young staff is male. Approximately 47 percent of the staff is female, and the remaining members are what the academic community calls “transgender,” and the rest of the world calls “freaks.” So, if you are only interested in the males on staff, you are talking about roughly 47 percent of us—give or take. Still, Ms. Lover, there’s a lot of us to go around! (Hint, hint.)

In addition, we were distressed to find that you did not mention our Clement Greenberg good looks. Frankly, they’ve never failed us before.

But enough of these trifles. You’ve sent us a beautifully composed love letter, and we, like a pack of boorish pedants, have merely attempted some nugatory corrections. Let us get to the heart of the matter, Ms. Lover.

Frankly, Ms. Lover, you sound heavenly. Although we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” got involved in this whole “weblog” enterprise for the big bucks, we also hoped it would serve as a social lubricant, if you will. And, given that our collection of Robert Rauschenberg yuks have drawn a creature such as yourself into our clutches, it is clear that our plans have come to fruition.

In fact, Ms. Lover, the male members of our staff have poured over your touching missive with such aplomb that the females at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” have become faintly jealous.

As we speak, Ms. Lover, a few staff members have dimmed the lights at our headquarters, put some Barry White on the office sound system, poured themselves some spirits, and eagerly await your arrival.

So, Ms. Lover, we suppose this answers your query. We sincerely hope that you will drop by our state-of-the-art facilities, in order to meet the swashbuckling stallions who work at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly.” Although they are the type of relentless aesthetes who normally eschew such quotidian concerns as women, they’ll make an exception in your fine case.

Well, dear reader, there you have it: Another query solved by the wily wiles of the lady-killing crack young staff. If you have a hankering for advice, or need to get some flattery off of your chest, feel free to click the “Contact Us” link at the top right-hand corner of your computer screen, and drop us a line.

Tom Jones, eat your heart out.

Posted at July 30, 2004 12:01 AM | TrackBack