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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

2003-05-16 ... 1:18 p.m.


1. It's time for the Perfect Math-Related Cheer!

Tangent, secant, cosine, sine! 3.14159!

There is more but I forget. I love the nerdy chants. At the one football game I ever attended in college (my school, at least the way I remember it through the mists of time, was much more friendly to artsy types than jocks---we were like Division Z or something), my clearest memory is of the nerdy chants. My personal favorite was "IMPEDE! THEIR! PROGRESS!" instead of merely calling for "defense."

2. Although I have stumbled through this workweek blank and bland and feeling very dull, like a rusty knife used to make a mayonnaise-and-white-bread sandwich, which will be consumed by the members of the McLaughlin Group while watching C-SPAN,* I giggled this morning at the poster for the new Indian movie called BHOOT. Why is that so funny to me? BHOOT BHOOT BHOOT. I keep wanting to call it Das Boot, which leads me down yet another Garden Path Of Digression, to tell you a story about the summer in between my junior and senior years of high school when a friend and I were obsessed with garage sales. On days when we did not have to work he and I would plan our route and hit all the garage sales we could. He was looking for old records and I was looking for rotary telephones, super-8 cameras, and odd clothing. (And I still am.) At one garage sale, presided over by an extremely elderly man, we came across a stack of old Playboys. We started flipping through them, giggling with sixteen-year-old sexual nervousness, with the old man glaring at us from the shadows of his garage. I was getting a special kick out of the centerfold page, particularly the part where the centerfold tells you about herself. "Oh my god," I said, looking at the nude Miss August 1983 or whatever. "This girl's favorite movie is Das Boot." At that moment Sean, looking at a different centerfold, said, "No way. This girl's favorite movie is also Das Boot." It proves that those factoids about centerfold turn-ons and such are definitely not written by the centerfolds themselves (because I refuse to believe that two different naked models would list Das Boot as their favorite film. As a matter of fact, is Das Boot ANYONE'S favorite film?). However, the centerfold factoids are written by someone with a wicked sense of humor. Das Boot, for crying out loud. That fucking rules.

*Note to self: no need to pack so much into a simile. "Dull like a rusty knife" would have been fine.

3. This LiveJournal user may suggest, as he did recently in a nice and non-combative way, that I made up or embellished that anecdote, but I say to you (and to him): What would be the point of that? I can see online diarists maybe being tempted to make things up if they thought they had some sort of obligation to entertain, but I am mercifully free of any such thoughts. I am pleased all the way down to my skeleton if it turns out that you actually are entertained, but that is strictly a side effect. I write stuff down mostly because I want to remember it, and I make it public because it gets me e-mail. Well, there is quite a bit more to it than that, but who wants to get all philosophical? (That should be a game show. Who Wants To Get All Philosophical?)

That is a use of the web that does not get nearly enough play: the web as a place to store stuff. For instance, I use my Amazon wish list as a repository of books I want to read. I get stuff off the list from the library and if the book sucks I remove it from the wish list, and if it was good and needs to be purchased it stays on. I like paying bills and banking online not just for the convenience but for the nice history of my finances, and as far as I am concerned the paper bank statement is completely useless, as it is my money at a particular moment in time rather than the constantly-updated page. And of course, there is this Thing. The only time I ever read myself is when I am trying to remember something interesting that happened, and I have actually caught myself using Google to search my own memories, as it were, which sets up yet another graduate-thesis-in-waiting about the interplay of technology and self. Who Wants To Get All Philosophical?


Fascinating syllabus from the Dartmouth Electro-Acoustic Music Program.

My god this is disgusting. I'm warning you.

Barf gets things clean!

There are only five results on Google for "inflatable sandwich." I find this very disappointing. Please write something online about an inflatable sandwich and help me rectify this situation.

---mimi smartypants wants to go home.


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