Paul's friend C.Y. told me a great story the other night. (She is cloaked in anonymity here not so much to shield her but the friend the story is about. She has lost touch with him and no longer remembers his last name so we have no way of finding out if he would want this story told. However, "a former fellow student of an anonymous friend of a friend of a random yoyo in Columbia, SC" ought to be enough cutouts to protect him from ready identification, don't you think?)
Now that I've finished the Great American Parenthetical Statement, here's the story: Back in grad school in the '90s, a fellow student of C.Y.'s dropped out of the program. The reason? As a gay man, he found that he could make a fortune painting (rather, making paintings of) nude gay men and selling them to at least ostensibly straight men. His explanation? "Southern Yuppies want just a little bit of gay in their lives." This leads to the obvious question: where are these paintings hanging? The closet? Or does this give the phrase "man cave" a whole new meaning?
And in other news, the hung letter sign at every Wendy's trumpets "asiago ranch chicken club." I remember the good times back on Asiago Ranch and the fun we had in the chicken club. Boy those were the days!
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