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I just finished copy-editing a story about alternative currencies, and as I was sending it back to my editor, I was trying to think of something to put in the email (rather than leaving it blank as usual) to express how I felt about the story (basically, "It's really good"). But the only thing I could think of was this variant on an old meme:

"I've got an alternative currency ... in my pants!"

I decided to leave that out of the email, but was still turning the phrase over in my head ("Huh, actually, that's frighteningly true") as I opened up the next document to be copy-edited ... which turned out to be a story about prostitution on the riverfront.

Ahh, sweet, disquieting synchronicity.

Edit: Upon emailing this tale to a couple coworkers, one wrote back, "Just as you were doing all that, I was keying in notes about a guy I'm profiling having a Victorian dark purple velvet sofa from a brothel in his living room!"

And several minutes later, a small earthquake took place in northern Arkansas.

- - -

"Rosie and Miss Rayon, they're busy waiting for her booster, who just got back from Carolina. She said she didn't like the weather. They're busy waiting for her sailor, who's big and dressed in pink and leather. He's just here from Alabama; he wants to know a way to earn a dollar. I'm searching for my mainer ... I said I couldn't hit it sideways ... I couldn't hit it sideways ... Aw just like Sister Ray said."
—Velvet Underground, "Sister Ray"

1:58 pm, December 04, 2008 :: harlotry

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