Ah. The big city. There’s no place like it, amirite?!
I’m currently working on a theory that seeks to explain the vast breadth of experiences found in the big city right down to the smallest nooks and crannies. I think I’ve found a model that does just that.
We decided to leave our house. We piled into the car. Seven turns and six miles later we were at Powell’s Books. We left our car in a truly frightening multi-level parking garage and made our way inside. An elevator whisked us up to the third floor. I shuffled over to the farthest corner and stood in front of books about architecture. I pretended to be interested. Suddenly, invading my space, someone crowded in. Yes, I was attempting to physically exist in the sole location in the Cosmos where they wanted to be. I was bad.
Which came first? Bad polling or Donald Trump? Perhaps that’s a question best left for philosophers and besides, this isn’t a post about He Who Must Not Be Named. (I can’t promise he won’t come up again, though.)
Actually, this post is about polls themselves. As a little piggy who built a house out of straw, I feel I am eminently qualified to discuss and conduct polls of my own. I find the arcane craft of polling science to be an art form.
What is a poll? It’s basically just a fancy word for asking a lot of jerk faces about their opinions.
On an episode of Seinfeld, a comedian wakes up in the middle of the night and laughs. He’s thought of a joke. He scribbles it down on the handy notepad he happens to keep on his nightstand. The gag, of course, is that the next day, he can’t read the note and can’t remember the joke.
Yes, this is Tom’s second Star Wars post in less than a year. According to our sources, he also once wore Star Wars shirts every day for an entire year. Try not to humor him. -Ed
When I heard that Disney was purchasing Star Wars for $4.05 billion, I paused for a contemplative moment of reflection:
Incidentally, that’s remarkably similar to my reaction when I learned that George Lucas decided to go back and “improve” the original movies.
And, as a special treat for any completists out there — and let’s be honest, if we’re talking about Star Wars there’s a veritable bantha’s dozen of you — here’s how I responded to the shock and awe that there would be a sequel trilogy, and that the first of them would be directed by storyteller sock puppet J. J. Abrams.
Writer’s workshop: I wasn’t sure of the proper spelling and grammar of the word “no” here. In the end, I went with 16 cheery O’s and three exclamation points. And scene.