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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

2002-05-16 ... 1:21 p.m.

Remember when the links used to come at the end of the entry? Ah, those were the days.


Burying the sardine?

Tomato throwing?


And of course, someone always dies doing this. Thinning the gene pool, I'd say.

Let me know if you come across any other wacky Spanish festivals. Of course, here in the United States we tend to drink a lot during our festivals and then light explosives or play lawn darts. So I guess there's no monopoly on wacky dangerousness.

Thinking about lawn darts got me all nostalgic for other outdoor fun. It's been a long time since I've been part of a good sack race.



Speaking of motionlessness. Very little made me happier today than reading the phrase "the feral tangle of the self."

Overheard on the El: "I'm trying very hard to just be here now." Somehow "trying very hard" and "be here now" just don't go together for me.


The teeth of the lobster are in its stomach. This fact is from the Massachusetts Lobstermen's Association website. I was kind of hoping they would have a "Sexy Lobstermen Calendar" (I'm naked under these hip waders!) but no dice. Maybe they have morals and principles and refuse to be objectified like that, or maybe there aren't any sexy lobstermen.

That reminds me of a story: I knew a guy in college who was from Arizona, and had spent every summer since he was like ten years old cleaning pools for his dad's pool-cleaning service. Once he got to be a teenager, he drove the truck and had his own clients. Once I made some lighthearted joke about all the bored rich housewives who fuck their pool-cleaning guys (isn't this a standard trope in a certain type of porno?). He got really upset and swore that never happened. I apologized for objectifying his profession like that, whereupon he clarified that the reason he was upset is that it had never happened to him. Sort of like Freud claiming that anyone who performed oral sex was mentally and developmentally immature and backward. I think Freud was mostly upset that no one wanted to do it to Freud.


I have a minor, sick fascination with Cosmo magazine. My minor fascination is a geeky one, informed by my career in publishing: I am ever so intrigued by its freakish copyediting and writing style. It's all breathless, rhythmic excitement (Land That Man, Ace Your Job, Look Your Sexiest Ever! and Find His Moan Zones!) and is really obvious about the prescriptive-literature thing (the subtext to every article being Women: This Is How You Should Behave/Look/Dress/Feel! Upon Pain of Death And/Or Rejection!)

I always read Cosmo in the grocery store checkout line (or in Kat's bathroom, as her subscription is her Secret Shame, smart cookie that she is), and I particularly like the "sex tips." Each month Cosmo promises to let you in on some hitherto unknown sex secret, some astonishingly novel technique that will make your man's head fall off or his brain explode or force him to become your slave, buying you books and cleaning the house and baking you pie after pie after pie. (Whoops. Did I just betray my fantasy there?) Every month the so-called sex tip is exactly the same: blowjobs. Or some minor variation thereof. I like the thought of some cold, sterile sex-technique laboratory, near the editorial offices of Cosmo, with researchers working around the clock to try and come up with something new and different, and failing each time, just as the overworked production staff is screaming for the sex-column copy, and then the editorial director says, "Fuck it. Just go in the blowjob copy drawer and pull out some old article." Blowjobs never go out of style, apparently.

Also, the "health advice" column in each issue of Cosmo always contains some "reader" writing in asking to have some nasty down-under discharge explained. Gack. I guess they did some market research and identified "skanky hos" as their target audience.


Today may have shitty weather but it has brought good tidings: I received a check for $2500 from my mortgage company. I do not understand why (something to do with the arcane mysteries of the escrow account). However, I did not burden my brain with understanding why but instead headed straight to the bank.

---mimi smartypants is spreading the gospel (it's good on toast).


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