taking the passive out of passive-aggressive

Thursday, December 19, 2002

There's fog, but only over the street where I live, which makes me think it's part of that cloud flollowing me everywhere. Or it could be that it's Christmastime.

I just spent the afternoon at my office Christmas party which, since times aren't what they used to be, was held in the office. I managed quite well nonetheless, mostly by talking to my friend Julie, who always manages quite well, and by ignoring anyone who was wearing a sweater with a Christmas scene stitched into it. (OK, please explain the sweaters with the Christmas scenes. I love Christmas, and I would never wear such a thing.) Someone actually asked me, "How much do you weigh now?" which is not, under any circumstances, a polite question.

A man in a bunny suit sat in an office chair. They had a video with a fireplace scene playing in an endless loop. There was an enormous quantity of beer, and everyone was much older and less hip than I'd ever imagined an ad agency could be. We sat there and we drank and later, a bunch of us went to Brewer's Art where we drank some more, without joy.

Someone asked me what kind of account I'd never work on, and when I thought about it I realized there was no account I couldn't justify working on, and that's when I realized that this business was as corrupting as alcohol or cigarettes, or maybe as corrupting as myself, and I should just go to grad school and forget that I used to have this dream about making money. And I made money. And all it was, it was a guy in a bunny suit and an endless tape loop of a fireplace, and women in diorama sweaters, and I couldn't breathe, kind of like a dream.


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