We've all been there; killing time in some dingy airport while a storm blows over the Midwest or a cloud of volcanic ash settles over Europe.
Hours go by and there's nothing to do but obsessively check our iPhones, flip through the pages of that doorstop of a book we're never going to finish or settle into the cocktail lounge where at least the seats are cushioned.
What the hell kind of masochistic instinct sent us all rushing out to buy another book purporting to unveil the secrets of the derivatives market anyway?
What happened next was really Michael Lewis' fault when you think about it.
Anyway, the next thing you know we've started up a conversation with some guy we kind of know and he's kind of interesting, or at least more interesting than anything else we've got to do at the moment.
It turns out he's a good listener.
In hindsight, we recognize the sheer stupidity of it. But who among us has never unburdened themselves of a few grievances over cocktails with a correspondent for Rolling Stone?
Isn't anything off the record anymore? Christ. But while we can't unsay it, there's still a small window for damage control, a chance to reduce the fallout by offering some little bit of clarification, explanation, rationalization, justification or possibly just an old-fashioned mea culpa before the next issue hits the newstands.
Let's all come clean in the comments section, shall we?
CLARIFICATION: When I said that I would rather "live on Cheez-Whiz for a month than endure a week of family dinners" it was not my intention to disparage either my sister-in-law's nacho recipe or any particular element of Midwestern block party cuisine, which relies heavily on Cheez-Whiz as an additive. It was meant solely as a reflection on the excruciating experience of dining with my family.
Posted by: Suburban Kamikaze | June 26, 2010 at 04:15 PM
I thought and thought about what I have to come clean about and realized:
I have led a blameless life.
And whose fault is that, I ask you?
Posted by: Sue | June 28, 2010 at 09:28 AM
My guess is Stanley McChrystal has something to do with it. Or possibly Lady Gaga. Who frankly has set the ass bar a little too high in that picture.
Posted by: Suburban Kamikaze | June 28, 2010 at 11:59 AM
I cannot agree more about the family dinners.
Posted by: Meaux | July 01, 2010 at 06:12 PM
Clarification, when I said I would move to Chicago when you did it was my full, heartfelt intention to do so but with the express logical knowledge that you would not survive even one snowstorm, let alone three snowblind, lake effect winters. I even kept your coffee table for a few years just in case. What could go wrong I thought...when it hit the 70s at the annual Mother's Day Cubs game I saw you on TV, in the stands, under a wedding quilt,surrounded by drunken, ...belly painted Cubs fans
Posted by: nthnglsts | July 04, 2010 at 12:48 PM
NONDENIAL-DENIAL/STATEMENT OF REGRET: In the event I may have been indiscreet in sharing anyone's secret hopes, dreams or trysts with famous novelists, I would like to preemptively apologize/deny/claim it was off the record.
Posted by: Suburban Kamikaze | July 05, 2010 at 12:52 PM