The Dilettantes Read Online Free PDF Page A

the pre-existing clout that came with having successful branches installed in seven other Canadian cities. Let’s say a campus business wanted to get the word out about their product, but disagreed with a certain student-run paper’s occasional policy of running full-frontal male nudity beside all of the ads. So far they’d had no alternative. But the
Metro
staked its reputation on being wholesome, or at least some hall-of-mirrors facsimile thereof. It had been thoroughly market-tested and focus-grouped in all relevant demographics. It had two pages of soft local news, one page about the rest of the world, and forty about the latest in celebrity diets. It didn’t have any penis quotas, anyway, and sometimes that’s enough.
    The second problem was Sudoku. The
Metro
had it;
The Peak
didn’t.
    At that week’s editors’ meeting, this very issue was under discussion.
    “We could get it. We could totally get it. I know a guy.”
    “You don’t know anyone.”
    “Is someone taking minutes? We need to be writing all this down.”
    “And check this out, right? We’ll make it even harder. Bam. Instant victory. Beat them at their own game.”
    “Bam.”
    “Oof!”
    “You’ve got it all wrong. People don’t want it to be harder. They can barely be fucked as it is. They just want something to stare at on the bus—something to doodle on while they’re on the phone. Plus it’s already impossible. You ever try it?”
    “No. But then again I disagree with the whole idea on principle. Word searches and math have no business in bed together in my personal opinion.”
    “You mean in a dresser drawer together.”
    “Just sevens and ones all over the goddamned place.”
    “See, I can’t do anything past intermediate. There’s too much to juggle in your head. I get all dizzy.”
    “Because Sudoku is Japanese.”
    “Oh, the ones I do are scaled: one to five. My favourite is three. It’s okay. Totally doable.”
    “Do you buy the books? I saw the
New York Times
guy has his own line, but I don’t think his heart is really in it.”
    “Did anyone see that documentary about him?”
    “And Japanese people live in small houses.”
    “Hey! How about a crossword? That would be easier.”
    “Sure, why not.”
    “Will Shortz, motherfucker!”
    “The first obvious question is what the dimensions should be. With black spaces, or the more economic
Harper’s
model. Cryptic or standard. Are themes allowed? What do we think?”
    “Come on guys, seriously. This is important. The minutes …”
    “We should have someone look into potential ink savings re: no blacked-out units. Pull some quick data together. Venn diagrams.”
    “Hey. Everyone.
Hey:
I really don’t care about any of this.”
    “Me neither.”
    “I’m okay with that, as long as we don’t use any of those answers that keep getting recycled every other day. No
iota
, no
aorta
. Definitely no
eerie
. Or with just one e. Like the lake. Shameless vowel-grabs, the lot of them.”
    “It also works because you could keep a puzzle book in a drawer really easily. That’s like its house.”
    “Do you want to go outside and smoke until this is over?”
    “Yes. More than anything.”
    “Hi all. Sorry I’m late.”
    “Tracy, over here.”
    “What’d I miss?”
    “Not word fucking one, believe you me.”
    “Where would we even put a Sudoku? Like what section?”
    “I say humour.”
    “Yep.”
    “Definitely.”
    “Touchdown.”
    “Whoa, whoa. Hold on a minute. All of you can go right to hell. It’s the
humour
section—as in jokes only. Don’t dump your excess baggage on me just because I’m at the back with the classifieds. No word jumbles, no horoscopes. I’m not the
diversions
editor or whatever the fuck.”
    “Do you have a better idea?”
    “Sure. Yes. Sports. It’s a mental workout. Cerebral crunches. Chin-ups for the soul. Give it to Chip.”
    “Not a hope, chief. I’ll stonewall you.”
    “Or opinions. Give it its own column. Maybe It’s