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the latest
waddle: good morning, wordpress - 10:36 a.m. , 2009-07-03 elaborate murder attempt - 2:56 p.m. , 2009-07-01 building a tractor in the basement - 10:42 a.m. , 2009-06-19 ask no questions tell just a few lies - 3:17 p.m. , 2009-06-09 my long lasting flavor really lasts long - 1:10 p.m. , 2009-06-04
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It is a cranky day. The universe is very anti-Mimi. First, I got sniped at about something at work that was not really my fault, and isn't that just a joy with performance reviews coming up soon. Instead of a raise or a bonus, I will probably get a plate of cold leftover macaroni and a hearty handshake. I was also all proud that I seem to have mostly gotten over my cold, except for a touch of the Sultry Frog voice, when this afternoon I was seized with a coughing fit that was like something a pack-a-day Kentucky coal miner might have near the end of his life, and of course helpful coworkers came over to offer assistance while my eyes watered and my face turned all pale with hectic Raggedy Anne cheeks and I made all kinds of unladylike wheezing noises. Get a clue, it does not do any good to hang around my office saying "Are you okay?" repeatedly like a moron while I choke and sputter; just let me get this chunk of lung up and I will be fine. Finally, earlier today there was a typo on Hotmail's home page: "Out fo work? Frustrated?" It is fixed now, and although my logical brain knows that is probably the handiwork of an alert employee, I like to think that my cranky e-mail, fired off to Hotmail headquarters the minute I opened that page this morning, had something to do with it. Call me a pedantic bitchypants, but I can't stand negligence like that. Enough crabbing. Good thing: I am wearing a greenish-brown velvety shirt that my mother got me for my birthday, and it feels so nice that I have been stroking myself all day. (Ahem.) She bought it from this catalog that she likes to buy things from, and another edition of the catalog arrived in the mail the other day. I was leafing through it and saw my shirt, and according to the catalog the color of this greenish-brown is called "kelp." Kelp! I had forgotten what a great word "kelp" is. I tried to talk about kelp as much as I possibly could today, which was not easy. BUT MAYBE ONE DAY IS NOT ENOUGH, so I declare it National Kelp-Mentioning Week. Mention kelp to all your loved ones this holiday season. "Kelp" actually is an evocative name for the color, instead of all those J. Crew-style abstract bullshit color names like "planet" and "sizzle" and "evening dew." I think I made those up. I hope I did, anyway, otherwise I will be horrified. J. Crew should come up with a color called "Caucasian." That would be most appropriate for J. Crew. (Whew. Even I am tired after that particular digression binge.) Another good thing: more inexplicable signs along Devon Avenue. I really, really should go out with my camera and take pictures of these, but it is always dark when I am coming home and I just couldn't wait to share. WE WATCH BATTERIES WHILE YOU WAIT MANGO PULP $5.99 FOR SIX CANS. NO DISCOUNT FOR ONE! NO DISCOUNT FOR SEVEN! MULTIPELS [sic] OF SIX ONLY! APARTMENT FOR RENT INQUIRE ABOVE GOAT STORE LUGGAGES AND HOUSEWARE A CHEER TO GO ALONG WITH MY LONG-AGO OBSESSION Mountain Dew! Vanilla Coke! LET US PRAY TO THE AVATAR OF HYPERTEXT If you Google "the death of love," oh Jesus Mary and ass-scratching Joseph do you ever get a lot of bad poetry. Walter Potter made amazing tableaux out of real dead animals. The kitten tea party will haunt my dreams. In a good way. My boner is screaming hello! I desperately need a suction-cup pole. Who is coming with me? The rings of Uranus. Stop your snickering or there will be no recess today. I totally think you should go for it. (Note: this link is particularly wonderful as it is quite high up on the Google returns for "constructing a self," as I search for more geeky consciousness links of the sort that interest me. See below.) Can I get strange for a moment, in the constructing-a-self sense? "What other people think of you" is a pretty flimsy shorthand way of building a self, if indeed you believe in the validity of such a concept, and I am not sure I do. But even flimsy shorthand might be nice sometimes, might be something you could have, something you could substitute in the meantime, or keep around for when you want the fallback, non-existentialist position. I imagine a room full of all the people I have ever known, boyfriends and girlfriends and grade-school teachers and college acquaintances and coworkers, and they each hand me a small lump of clay on which is written some of the adjectives or phrases or descriptions that spring to mind when my name is mentioned, and then I could squish those small lumps of clay together into a larger but still pocket-sized lump of clay, and bingo! Substitute Self. Uh. Sorry to get all heavy on you there. Here is Mr. T. Ignore the typo, focus on the T. And when I die? Use this caption as my eulogy. Thanks.
---mimi smartypants would like to buy a vowel. back/forward |
