Rejection 145
Peter Slapnicher
I received a lovely little sheet of paper from The Paris Review today, telling me they are not interested in what I sent them. I had never submitted to them before and decided it would be fun, kind of like the time I slept on the street outside the Holiday Inn with my friend, Kira, to wait in line to try out for the WB's Popstars Show (kind of like American Idol, but even worse). This was almost as satisfying and hilarious. It is hard to beat a white 17-year-old singing 30 seconds of "Say My Name" in earnest.