The Many Wivee of LasagnaFarm.com

LasagnaFarm.com is no one's idea of a media frontrunner. We do not know the Gawker kids, but we have seen one of them at a bar once. We have not written a book, but our godfather wrote a how-to on applying monster makup so you'd look like a 1930's silent film beast.

That said, first we brought you news of Eggers' wife, and now a piece from Granta that uber-writer Jonathan Franzen's woman wrote.

IM Blockers

If you’re reading this then you waste a decent amount of work hours engaged in frivolous online pursuits. Good for you. (By definition, since I’m writing this I am wasting even more. Bad for me.) But I imagine you spend the majority of your time in that Instant Message window. It’s a devil alright, screaming red and blue obscenities in a yellow latex full bodysuit. In the course of the last year you’ve probably written what amounts to a novel in all that white space. Not a very good one I’m sure, but at least something on par with an Elizabeth Wurtzel effort.

You need to stop though. It’s hurting you and more importantly, it’s hurting me. Don’t get me wrong, I think you are fantastically witty and I’m LOLing all the way to the bathroom with your rapid-fire arsenal of one liners and ass-rape jokes. The problem is your friends. Be honest, all of them are not quite up to the task of deserving Buddy A-List placement. Still, they harass you like Bill O’Reilly on the dais. You could block the more annoying acquaintances but those types are so insecure they usually have another IM name registered and they’ll figure out your ruse in no time. (Full disclosure: I have 10 names but this is what I do for a living so back the fuck off.) Anyway, the real trick is to pull the ol’ switcho - get them to block you!

One of the great (or worst) things about IM is the huge opportunity for misunderstanding. You type something and the tone in your head is playful sarcasm but the desired outcome could be completely different. Your friends can’t possibly understand those humiliating remarks about their ridiculous drunk behavior the night before are actually compliments. That’s their fault of course, don’t apologize for their ignorance. You’re on your way to getting blocked and that’s the point right? So here’s a list of helpful replies you can work into almost any IM conversation that will turn your useless friends into wordless ghosts. Trust me, these have endured rigorous real-time testing and you’ll be blocked quicker than Charlie Suisman at a DailyCandy party.

"you're a big fat whore, go back to ohio."

"but your problems are so stupid and imaginary. mine are REAL!"

"please get it over with and just move to fuckin L.A. right now. it is plastic-perfect for you and you can start rotting in hell immediately."

"you really have nothing intelligent to say, do you? i simply don't care about your co-worker's bathroom habits. i am sick of wasting my A-game IM material on you. you're benched."

"stop, stop, stop! you're like a monkey with a chronic masturbation problem."

"oh my gawd, i ate too much for lunch too!! settle down, i hear what you're saying (how could i not? you're like a broken record) but may i suggest some form of exercise besides pilates and yoga? try a fuckin treadmill you hog."

"of course you'll date again. when jonathon franzen eats dogshit off delancey street."

"you dont understand, you dont live in new york. of course your town is full of assholes too but everyone is so fuckin dumb there they dont know any better."

"why? ohhh, i'm sorry! wrong button, i didn't mean to warn you. that was supposed to be a smiley face to indicate how clever i think you are...oops, sorry again."

"i can't take this anymore, you're splitting my head like a 10-person dinner check. and you don't the goddamn difference between shit and schiller's liquor bar."

"oh great, is this where you go on and on and on about how you can't get laid? please excuse me while i put the auto-fellatio-response on now."

Open Letter to Sofia Coppola
RE: The Coppola Smart Mob, New York Times Magazine


Ms. Coppola,

LasagnaFarm is writing in the hope you will consider us for your network of smart, young associates, recently depicted in the New York Times Magazine.

While we are not particularly successful, or smart, our collective panache, savoir faire, and je suis maladroit, we believe, remunerates our failings in other areas. If you are seeking someone who can conjure kaleidoscopic non-sequiturs at will, whip up fluffy egg-white omelets, carry a large number of unnecessary electronic devices, shoot pellet guns, and stalk second-tier literary figures, we wish to cast our ironically tilted fedoras into the ring, as it were.

Like you and those in your network, such as director Wes Anderson, LasagnaFarm has impeccable taste. Our interests lie mainly in port wine, muscle cars, funnel cakes, the Catskills, calamata olives, iPods, Walter Matthau movies, Reingold beer, the Shaggs, the scientific method, and Asian straight perms. Oh, the conversations we will have over kangaroo sausage at Sunburnt Cow. Our minds reel in anticipation.

Moreover, our skills in the area of diplomacy are second to none. Say you were to encounter a particularly trenchant actor on a set -- Geoffrey Rush, maybe, or Bob Balaban -- who disregarded your screen direction. You could call us, day or evening, and we would offer our sage counsel. “Sof,” we’d say, “tell that shithead we’ve got pictures of his mother in Hef’s Grotto sucking off Don Rickels.” For damn sure he will come over to your side after that.

Most of all, like others in your network, according to the Times, LasagnaFarm will keep you from harm. If we were in your network, it would be as if harm was orbiting Pluto in an empty soda can and you were roasting marshmallows at the earth’s core. That’s how far away from it you will be. Forget harm, seriously.

We are available to meet with you, at your earliest convenience, to further discuss how our skills and experience will enhance the efficacy or your network.

Ciao, Bella
LasagnaFarm.com