Let’s Make Out

It’s a cruel irony. Crimeds spend innumerable hours together. Nevertheless, we have so fantastically little game that we can’t even keep it in the family. Aside from a few saucy escapades on the Imagesetter, we’re like kids in Catholic school.

The sexual frustration of Crimeds has led to unfortunately skewed coverage: for example, the recent News story “Elisa New and Lawrence Summers Wed: This Definitely Means That They’re In a ‘Physical’ Relationship.”

Recently, FM execs A. Haven “Is A Place On Earth” Thompson ‘07 and Meghan M. “Mmmmm” Dolan ‘06 set up two sexy but severely frustrated Crimeds on a blind date.

The two hopefuls already spent approximately 1,387 hours a week eating glo-bears and drinking Diet Coke together. This time they’ll drink 40s, and if all goes well, do some hand-holding. Mutual ‘hand’-holding.

Elizabeth W. Green ’06, Magazine Chair: Hey—oh god this is so awkward—how are you?

Evan R. Johnson ’06, Magazine Publisher: Hi, I’m Evan, hello, um, er, E-lisssaaa-beeeet.

EWG: Evan—it’s Elizabeth. We work together on FM, you know.

ERJ: I know. I have some trouble spelling—it stems from a problem I have with my hearing. That’s WHY sometIMES I TALK REALLY LOUD. [Editor’s note: Truefax.]

EWG: Well, at least we know each other really well! So, what house do you live in?

ERJ: I’d like to get to know you better.

EWG: You already do, Evan. Um, so what’s your concentration?

ERJ: We BOTH HAVE E names...isn’t that a coincidence? Elizabeth is such an unusual name—is it in the family??

[The conversation halts after this question. It’s like the Memorial Day moment of silence for their sexual peaks, both since passed. Elizabeth stares around the room, vacantly. Evan navel gazes. Shit gets mad awkward.]

EWG: Evan, let’s just go edit some articles.

ERJ: Nah. I mean, we’re all dressed up. Want some bread, gorgeous?

EWG: Er, I’m gluten-intolerant. I can’t eat bread.

ERJ: Pasta?

EWG: Nope.

ERJ: GNOCCHI!?

EWG: No—the gluten. Please don’t shout.

ERJ: Moving on. So, Elis-aaa-bet. Do you want to be a journalist?

EWG: Maybe. I’ve gotten a lot of experience working on FM—you know, the magazine that we’ve been making together for the past year—and so I may give it a shot. How about you?

ERJ: Well, I’m doing FM.

EWG: Evan, we’re outgoing execs, we can’t do it next year.

ERJ: Moving on. So, Elizabeth, that’s a really nice top you’re wearing.

EWG: Evan, stop undressing me with your eyes. What’s wrong with you?

ERJ: We’re on a blind date, Eliz. I’m seeing you with all new eyes, like a blind man who has been woken up from his coma.

EWG: Blind people aren’t in comas.

ERJ: How about a beer?

EWG: No—the gluten! I’m allergic!

ERJ: I’m allergic to sitting so far AWAY FROM YOU.

EWG: Worst line I’ve ever heard. You do look nice in that 4-piece suit, though.

ERJ: IT’S my BLOck mate’s. He has eczema

EWG: Oh my sweet Jesus. Let’s just go edit, Evan, seriously. We can just leave a tip for the waiter.

ERJ: ALLOW ME MY LADY FRIEND!

EWG: Oh, no, seriously, Evan…I’ll pay half. Of the two dollars. Or whatever.

ERJ: WHY?

EWG: I guess, I mean, I’m sort of a feminist.

ERJ: [Lasciviously staring] YEAH YOU ARE.

EWG: That doesn’t even mean anything.