Monday, July 16, 2007


So being super white (read: pasty) like I am, I'm pretty used to severe sunburns in the summertime. The one I got this weekend are on the outside of my thighs, and look like a toddler attacked me with a small paint roller drenched in magenta Benjamin Moore.

As I walked down the street to the train I became aware of looks of horror and concern from all the non-white and not-quite-as-white folks around me. At the corner of 31st and 30av and old Greek man, himself tanned to a beautiful shade of umber, glanced at my legs and shouted "Oh my good God!"

I realized that to them, I have third degree burns and should be shuttled quickly to Beth Isreal for a skin graft.

But we super pasty people, we have no need for such foolishness. We board the N train and make people horribly uncomfortable all the way to 34th St and then peel our dead skin off infront of our co-workers.

Thats how we roll.

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