(no subject)
Rishi Patel, Sidhant Mehra, and I have formed a sort of support group devoted to coping with the 'societal burden' of living in central new jersey during summer, surrounded by sweaty baffoons.
If we call you, it means you are not a sweaty baffoon.
If we ask you out to dinner or some such, it means you've made the 'list'.
This list consists of people who are worth our collective time.
If you are physically and emotionally able to do so, please except our odd and most likely Edwardian invitation.
You will find yourself intellectually and philosophically stimulated
and most importantly, glad that you did.
Now let me share with you a brief passage from 'Candide, or Optimism', a novella written in 1759 by Francois-Marie Arouet, or 'Voltaire', an enduring though very deceased friend of mine, and translated by Theo Cuffe, the only man for the job.
'There goes another one,' said Cunegonde. 'There will be no pardon now; we are excommunicate, our final hour is at hand. What on Earth has got into you, who were born so gentle, to do away with a Jew and a prelate in the space of two minutes?'
-'My dear young lady,' replied Candide,'when you are in love, and jealous, and have been flogged by the inquisition, there's no knowing what you may do.'
Listen-
Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt.
If we call you, it means you are not a sweaty baffoon.
If we ask you out to dinner or some such, it means you've made the 'list'.
This list consists of people who are worth our collective time.
If you are physically and emotionally able to do so, please except our odd and most likely Edwardian invitation.
You will find yourself intellectually and philosophically stimulated
and most importantly, glad that you did.
Now let me share with you a brief passage from 'Candide, or Optimism', a novella written in 1759 by Francois-Marie Arouet, or 'Voltaire', an enduring though very deceased friend of mine, and translated by Theo Cuffe, the only man for the job.
'There goes another one,' said Cunegonde. 'There will be no pardon now; we are excommunicate, our final hour is at hand. What on Earth has got into you, who were born so gentle, to do away with a Jew and a prelate in the space of two minutes?'
-'My dear young lady,' replied Candide,'when you are in love, and jealous, and have been flogged by the inquisition, there's no knowing what you may do.'
Listen-
Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt.