Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Last night I dreamed that Jonathan Franzen was traveling around America doing presentations in the living rooms of suburban white people, at hosted affairs much like Tupperware(tm) parties. Franzen lay on his hosts' sofas and made a sales pitch for cake (sold by the slice) and ice cream (sold by the scoop), and possibly t-shirts as well. He took credit cards as well as cash. Franzen was unshaven, wore a dirty white undershirt, and had put on a considerable amount of weight. The cake looked really good, but the ice cream was melting all over the sofa.
Tags: classic literature