Plea to Matthew Yglesias’ Editors: Don’t Ever Let Him Outside Again

Quick piece of unsolicited advice for the editors of Slate‘s Matthew Yglesias: next time he pitches a story about eating lunch outside as opposed to eating sad salad at his desk, tell him to go enjoy his sad salad at his desk and leave it at that. Chain the doors shut if you have to.

Look, we know it’s August, times are tough and Weiner stories are coming to a trickle. But really, was this monstrosity of a story necessary?

The url was particularly fantastic in a horrible kind of way: It included the words “eating_lunch_outside_sucks_stay_inside.”

Seriously Slate. You allowed this?

Best (of the worst) sentences: “Outside proponents like to refer to this dirt as ‘grass’ but if you look at it you’ll see that the blades of grass are mostly just resting atop dirt. If you sit on the ‘grass’ for a while and then stand up, the parts of your body that were in contact will the grass will be covered in ‘dirt.'”

Worst (of the worst) sentences: “Inside has other crucial advantages. If someone wants to excuse themselves briefly to use the restroom, they can do so easily. Obviously in principle it’s possible to relieve oneself outdoors as well, but this is generally frowned upon in urban green spaces. There are also electrical outlets where you can charge your phone. If the breeze coming through the window gets to be unpleasant, you can close the window.”

Seriously, Slate. You allowed Yglesias to make the crucial point to the world that taking a leak or defecating outside is frowned upon and finding a toilet inside is rather easy?

His conclusion is something we “all know?” He writes, “Inside is great and humanity has struggled for tens of thousands of years to spend as much time as possible there.” Actually, Yglesias, inside is for nerds who can’t bear to be away from a charger for 30 minutes — don’t lump us all in there, it’s undignified.

And Slate editors, please return to our first sentence and crucial advice. Do not put us through this again unless you tell us you gave Yglesias a bag of weed and told him to write whatever he wants. Then, at least, this would make a lettuce shred of sense.