A good majority of my ideas for columns are too inappropriate to ever develop into full… A good majority of my ideas for columns are too inappropriate to ever develop into full pieces. Most of my time spent writing for this publication is devoted to siphoning out all my flights of fancy that are either too hopelessly obscure, shamefully tasteless or just generally disgraceful to my character.

However, as this is my last column as a weekly writer, I feel compelled to share with you all the little bits of refuse that never made it into print. Some are just headlines — anything more would be regrettable — while others are notes or entire paragraphs of ill-informed and unchaste prose. Without further ado, the chaff:

Obama sheds shirt, puritanical oppression of the body

‘Where Michel Foucault, Jean Genet and the Marquis de Sade have all failed, President Barack Obama has succeeded. Earlier this week, photos of a shirtless Obama began circulating on the Internet oft-accompanied by captions to the tune of ‘Fit to be the president’ and ‘Hail to the abs.’ While this may seem like everyday ogling, Obama’s brazen display and the public’s reaction may very well herald in a new age of sexual liberation.’

Stocks crash, world gets prettier

Compare the contour of November stock market crash charts with baroque landscapes. Fannie Mae had an ugly logo anyway. Compare and contrast Ben Bernanke and St. Paul in press photography/medieval art.

Take off your boots, Bono

U2 sucks.

An open letter to J.K. Rowling for an R-rating on the final Harry Potter film

Dear J.K., all your actors are 18 now, even that girl who plays Hermione.

Swift, Cyrus not girls, not yet women

‘When I was a wide-eyed youth, Britney Spears was little more than an unattainable ideal for my blossoming sexuality (No. Too flowery. Readers will never think I have kissed a girl before).

Britney Spears has always been older and hotter than me (Yes, much better).

Such is the model of celebrity: Even young starlets must appear to be more mature than their fan base. In this way, they preserve their unattainable aura, keeping their fans reaching. Even child actors such as Shirley Temple and Macaulay Culkin summoned a certain ageless beauty that set them apart from viewers.

New stars Miley Cyrus, nee Destiny Hope Cyrus, and Taylor Swift, however, are much younger than me and I am well aware of that fact. Whereas the immortal Temple could gracefully drift in and out of ambiguous objectification, Cyrus and Swift leave us with no choice other than to feel awkward.

Some might object that the difference is merely that I have gotten older. Rather, I propose that Swift and Cyrus are the bright-eyed bellwethers of a forthcoming cultural infantilism. We have to ask ourselves, ‘Why do we, as grown men, have full-sized posters of these 16-year-olds?”

‘Phil Spector no longer funny to joke about’

Three 6 Mafia channel Deleuze, Derrida

– ‘I got them rainbow colors in my cup.’ Is the indeterminacy of color (rainbow) a model for the indeterminacy of language/truth?

– ‘Chocolate Lolli / Cherry Lolli / Nilla Lolli Pink / Lolli Red Hot Red Hot Red Hot Hot’ The meaning-creating function of the nonsensical. Where does phoneme end and ‘word’ begin?

– ‘I’m ridin’ spinners / I’m ridin’ spinners / They don’t stop.’ Easy parallel with Nietzsche and the Eternal Return, circularity of repetition, etc.

‘Twitter reunifies a disconnected and disconsolate world’

‘Twitter may prove to be the mark of the beast yet’

‘Twitter jokes are officially played-out’

Girls should not have such high standards at parties

I have never been one to wear a tie, recite poetry or refrain from embarrassing a young lady with emphatic dancing and inappropriate humor.

Naan portions always too small

‘I have never tried to hide the fact that I love Indian food, as well as the entire range of vaguely non-Western, spicy restaurants that dot the streets of Oakland. Such locales provide arguably the perfect balance of atmosphere and student-friendly pricing. For about what I would pay for a $5 foot-long and six macadamia nut cookies at Subway, I can get a large paneer masala to dribble curry-infused oil all over my maw.’

However, all is not well in sub-continental paradise. While laden with rice, meat and vegetables, my Indian dishes never come with enough naan.

As I enjoy using the staple flatbread to shovel my dish into my mouth, one can imagine the problems caused by a naan shortage. Soon, I have to resort to utensils and the whole experience is ruined.

While lamenting this, though, I began to question my opinion. Whereas most would agree about the epidemic of impoverished naan portions ‘- compare the shortage to the heaping stacks of rolls served at Cracker Barrel ‘-‘ why did I care so much?

Clearly, my naan problem was symptomatic of a much larger condition: orientalism.’

On that ambiguous note, I bid my fond farewell to my readers. I hope you enjoyed the bottom of my barrel as much as I enjoyed scraping it.

E-mail Erik at [email protected].

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