2003-12-12 11:05![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
digitaldiscipline
digitaldiscipline[an open letter to Michelle Richmond, of salon.com, for article today.
Lady, where the fuck were you in July, when it was nothing but sweat and machetes?
Perhaps I should back up. You see, those perfect evergreen cones you folks put up aren't the free-range wonders you're infatuated with. That lovely cone is just the world's shoddiest topiary, brusquely hacked by those self-same Christmas Tree Boys in June and July - real trees, pruned to mimic the perfection of the faux Firs.
You know why we're gruff and wiry? You spend nine hours a day, stripped to the waist, sweating into your bandana, workboots, and industrial shin guards, and whatever tact or erudition you had going in gets slapped out of you pretty quickly. High-school dropouts and collegiate English majors alike look and sound the same at knocking-off time - reeking of sap and endurance and underpaid frustration.
Proficiency with a three foot machete isn't something that really has much place on a resume, you see.
There are no Christmas Tree Girls, no matter how fervently we'd hope.
Conjure up your archetypical loner, and throw him in a bucket of sawdust and Pine Sol - that was the reality. Not the kind of guy with a sock-hop debutante or dimpled cheerleader waiting with a cup of cocoa or an iced tea.
I'll bring my tree over to show you sometime. It's a tomato cage with a couple of bondage ornaments and Halloween garland.
I -hate- trees.
Lady, where the fuck were you in July, when it was nothing but sweat and machetes?
Perhaps I should back up. You see, those perfect evergreen cones you folks put up aren't the free-range wonders you're infatuated with. That lovely cone is just the world's shoddiest topiary, brusquely hacked by those self-same Christmas Tree Boys in June and July - real trees, pruned to mimic the perfection of the faux Firs.
You know why we're gruff and wiry? You spend nine hours a day, stripped to the waist, sweating into your bandana, workboots, and industrial shin guards, and whatever tact or erudition you had going in gets slapped out of you pretty quickly. High-school dropouts and collegiate English majors alike look and sound the same at knocking-off time - reeking of sap and endurance and underpaid frustration.
Proficiency with a three foot machete isn't something that really has much place on a resume, you see.
There are no Christmas Tree Girls, no matter how fervently we'd hope.
Conjure up your archetypical loner, and throw him in a bucket of sawdust and Pine Sol - that was the reality. Not the kind of guy with a sock-hop debutante or dimpled cheerleader waiting with a cup of cocoa or an iced tea.
I'll bring my tree over to show you sometime. It's a tomato cage with a couple of bondage ornaments and Halloween garland.
I -hate- trees.
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i remember trees being sold by pimply cub scouts or bored guys in trailers who smelled like cigarette smoke and had red noses.
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i am sick and bloody tired of doing the hard work to get some undeserving fuck laid - in the goth clubs it was bad enough, but to now learn, years later, that my six-dollars-an-hour, sap-encrusted exertions were to fuel the libido of some urbanite trollop over some ill-dressed moron, when all i got to go home to was a shower and some aloe for the sunburn. . . yeah, that torques me off.
and, frankly, i like my self-righteous indignation, and wanted to make sure i could still pull it off. *grin*
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Actually, I went to college and worked with one in the dorm maintenance shop. Yeah, she was a 6' bruiser, but she was really quite sweet, and cute and straight, even.
Hey, I resemble that remark....
I don't think I had any chicks lusting after me, though. Ok, ok - I could bet 3 major organs and my first-born on me getting exactly zero lustful thoughts directed at me and be safe.
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I found the article pretty damn sickening, but that was most likely due to the fact that she wasn't talking about my idea of prime choice manmeat. :P
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