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Now, I've tried saying this to people when I've meant, "Not interested, not at all, not in a million years, I loathe and pity you," and it didn't work. But when it is in fact the case, like say you're into someone but you can't do it for whatever cinematic reason, keep that speech in mind. 67. There was another story this same guy told me. He was a TA and this girl student came to him the second week of class and professed her affection. He said, "Well, hmm. Do this: wait until the end of class and I'll tell you how I feel." So class went on, she wrote engaged papers and tingled with anticipation, and so on, until on the final day when she came to him, and he said, "Ah, nothing doing." 68. Don't ever write a note like this, "I'm off to work now—just wanted to let you know that I would most definitely be interested in more activities of that nature. With you. And stuff." Either allude to, or preferably don't, all the dirty stuff that went on, but don't under any circumstances describe it with a State College honors dorm word like "activities." (Don't say "beverage" either.) But, primarily, don't make your writing voice sound like that of some wide-eyed corn-fed musical dreamer from Menudo or Idaho. I know all about what you're like (remember?), so that whole "Um, uh" business makes you sound schizoid at best. Also, I hate to say it, but spare me the letter of intent. 69. Don't worry about balding. I know it may be weird to lose your hair, but, as it's not something that happens to girls, it really doesn't even phase us at all. If you're gay, I guess you should worry. 70. There's always some don't about, "Don't put your hands on the girl's head when she's doing the you-know-what." I guess that is a good rule of thumb, but whenever I read that… well, draw your own conclusions. 71. Don't correct anyone's grammar ever. 72. In general, just don't correct people. If the guy at the antique store tells you all about the "terracotta cord" on the toaster, you don't need to tell him he means—whatever the word is for that old fashioned rubber material. Not Bekelite. It sounds like terracotta. 73. If you can afford bespoke suits and shirts and those little handkerchiefs in one pocket, and you wear cufflinks, and you teach ancient Greek and Latin and play piano and review music for the Hoo-hoo and so on, don't describe yourself as "eccentric." You might try narcissistic boy genius stalking insane "I have cancer" liar, but "eccentric" doesn't really cover it. This one applies to all of us. 74. Is it always this way with you? Would it kill you to eat a salad? Would it kill you if you did your dishes right after? 75. This is so familiar and tired: Don't spray air freshener everywhere after you poop at work. I'm not going to trot out the business about shit and roses (which is exactly what it does smell like) but I do wonder, bone-thin girl who works up front, why does your shit smell like dust? 76. Would it kill you to not live like depressing Satan? Pedestal ashtrays piled with butts and a roommate named Andy who lives in a diaper he folded out of his curtain are totally unacceptable. 77. If you offer something to someone, like all your leftover Vicodin from the ghetto dentist or $20 for yelling "Mexico," you have to give it, even though you don't want to, even though you don't know why you offered it to begin with. 78. If you're able to eat gracefully and say hello politely and make pleasant small talk, by all means do so. You're living the dream. Do you think we act like savages on purpose? Yeah, and black people would shake hands that way if they were able to do it normally. Come on. 79. If you've been planning for weeks to ask someone out on a date, at least have the decency not to try to act like it all came up at random. "You were mentioning, a moment ago, how you like to treat yourself. Speaking of treating oneself, would you allow me to treat you to dinner?" Oh my god, and this really happened. 80. Once you have the person sitting across from you at a bistro you like to treat yourself at, please don't start talking about how writing is a liberating exercise. Also, don't drop your fork on the floor several times. 81. Don't go around the streets like happy-go-lucky all is right with the world brow lifted weird ocular "beaming" muscle engaged, light in the tip of your toes, hey look at him, hey look at me: I'm a fucking fraud leprechaun. 82. Hey, Mr. Famous Author: How about we shut up about how criticizing books is bad. Failing that, let's take this whole line of argument to its logical conclusion and replace the nation's editors with a one-eyed, one-armed geriatric in a wheelchair. His job will be he points. Yours will be you publish the manuscripts he points to. 83. You really can't beat that chummy ironic Nabokovian mien. The guy who gave me my root canal was like that, and I swear to you I loved him. I came out of there, face swollen, trembling from that numbing stuff, cotton wadded in my cheeks to absorb the blood, giggling and beaming. 84. A week ago, I was buying iced coffee. I buy it from this abandoned gourmet deli, the type with all the different sorts of cheese, but it's odd, because it, the deli, is sort of in the middle of a black area, and so seems under-shopped. The man who works the deli counter resembles an older, more Italian singer from Blues Traveler. So, the other day, while he was over getting my coffee, he started singing. My first thought was that he had a beautiful voice. I wondered if he sang in jazz clubs one night a week. I got a picture of him at some sort of jazz club, wearing a Mexican wedding shirt, singing. I then started to think, I don't know, that I should get some salmon. I drifted off, and when I snapped to, I noticed he was still singing. It was just he and I in there, and he was several phrases (as in stanzas) into a song now. There was something self-conscious and oppressive in it, because it continued, on and on, he was really singing it, really giving it his all. I don't know how long he sang, but it was so long, I felt I was going to vomit. I felt like I was being molested. When you are trying to seduce someone, say this to yourself: I have the subtlety of that man from that deli. 85. Don't tell people about how the guy on whom Charles Swann was based is your cousin seven times removed. Do you hear that? Look at yourself. 86. Do say "asshole" when you mean "jackass." 87. Do imitate your family members for me, even though I've never met them. 88. Do be good at giving massages, but not creepily, complicatedly, I-read-books-about-this-in-high-school good. If you've already read those books, just conceal that knowledge. 89. Do grab the butts of strange attractive ghetto creatures in such away that it appears your quiet overweight friend Robert did it. 90. If you should earn the nickname "Butt Grabber [your name here]" and you are a girl, then you have done well. 91. Do smile at women on the street if you're a woman, or if you're a man, sure, but nothing warms my heart like a girl my age who smiles at me first. 92. Do call Mattress Mac of Gallery Furniture in Houston, TX. (713) 694-5570. Ask for Mac. He's this recovered coke addict who runs this discount furniture store in Texas. When I was growing up and he was on cocaine, his commercials had him jumping around like a maniac waving handfuls of hundred-dollar bills in the air. Now they have him slowly easing out of one of those old-guy mechanical-assistance-getting-out-of-your-chair chairs, murmuring about savings. 93. Do be the type where, if you're forced to go to a stupid puppet show and people are paying too much attention to the puppets, you break your shin afterwards showing everyone how you can jump over a stick better than the puppet did. 94. Don't take pride in your shitty work. You're like that Curlis Cue redhead my mom was dating who gave me a Curlis Cue toothbrush and windily explained how the curled bristles stimulate the gums. 95. Do, if you're going to be a psychologist at a women's college, wear one of those drugstore foam neck braces for an entire year. This will save countless women from entrusting you with their mental health. 96. Do, if you're a big turtle-shaped Russian man who just had heart surgery, stop strangers on the street to explain the whole process. Bonus points if you gesture with your hand up your left arm to your heart and say, "They go through like this." 97. Hey, picture a burro. Those little horses. OK. Sorry. I thought something would come. 98. Is this too urbane, I can't tell: describing a magazine as more read than respected? I like the reversal. More read than respected. Oh, funny stuff, funny stuff. 99. Don't read like, say, Nabokov on Literature and then come around parroting him and acting like you had the brains on your own to recognize Crime and Punishment as a potboiler. Besides, that's not even true. 100. Do go look up the word "poshlost" in Nabokov's book on Gogol. Sorry, but it's worth it, honestly, and I'd just make a hash of it here.