|
|
||
|
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
|
From the Now You Will Think I Am Nuts files: I drink water all day at work, and today I was really getting into doing this weird thing where I would swig a small mouthful of room-temperature bottled water and then just hold it in the front of my mouth for a while, letting it warm up to mouth-temperature, and then sort of languidly twist my tongue through the water, while not letting the tongue touch any other mouth parts, and it was unbearably erotic. Am I having another sexkitty, horndog, lustbunny attack? Am I turning into a freak ho? Signs point to yes and, just as I am typing this, the seven-minute, one-riff, one-line, deep-jam monstrosity that is Flipper's "Sex Bomb" turned up on the playlist. I take it that media-player spirits approve of my wanton sensuality. ON THAT NOTE I don't want you to think it is Ass Week here at Smartypants Central or anything, but in the course of my job I just keep running across these rectum-related medical abstracts. First we have Anal Pain? Explore The Brain! And: ingested bones! My favorite parts of that are "simple digital rectal examination" (simple for YOU, maybe) and the phrase "deeper penetration of the bone" (oh MY), which gets ruined immediately by the next part, "abscess formation" (eeew). My office stinks. It smells of slackitude and unmotivation, mixed with a sort of frenetic aroma of deadline-time panic, and inhaling this combination all day makes me work in sporadic inspired bursts, where I whip through a stack of paper or jump ahead on a project in no time flat. (I love that phrase! Time! Flat! Like if IKEA stocked time, and you had to assemble the minutes and seconds with an Allen wrench!) My office also stinks of wallpaper paste, and it is making my throat feel funny in a possibly-psychosomatic chemical-burn kind of way. Building Services is busy wallpapering all the common areas (not my actual office, thank god) with a textured wallpaper that is a sort of old-document yellowy beige. If I had some weird job naming wallpaper colors and patterns, I might call it "Parchment." I think this is probably a (very slight) improvement over the previous gray-and-black speckled common-area corporate wallpaper (If I got to name it: "You Will Obey"). I think it was supposed to be soothing, or at least lowest-common-denominator inoffensive, but I never liked it because it looked like TV static and seemed like an awfully easy surface onto which to project hallucinations. Since I am prone to hallucinations this is not a good thing. On the way to the bathroom I had to skirt around all of the wallpaper man's things, brushes and rollers and dropcloths and a huge bucket of paste with the brand name ADHESIUM. Adhesium! A new element that adheres! When I was looking for adhesium online I found this website that sells things made with yak milk casein. Moo. Or rather grunt, since yaks are unable to moo. LT and I have a special fondness for yaks. Often he says that his love for me is like a great, shaggy yak, and I have no idea what that means but I like it anyway. When I was looking for adhesium online I also checked my e-mail. I check my e-mail a lot because how nice is that, a few kilobytes of words written just for you. Well, sometimes the words have also been written for a few thousand other people and say things like ~~DIRTY COLLEGE GIRLS SEXXX EACH OTHER~~, but sometimes e-mail is all for you and makes you feel like you just moved to Happytown. And here comes the Dirty College Girls Welcome Wagon to make you feel at home. So yay for e-mail but boo for Hotmail's homepage. I despise it and I do not see why I should have to look at their crap ads and "portal" "content." The topics can be summed up as follows: dating, dieting, weddings, dieting, dieting, dating, weddings, dieting. The dieting ads are particularly offensive, with their images of golden-brown disembodied stomachs and asses, like pieces of meat on a platter. I did giggle at one of the ads that said LOVE YOURSELF NAKED because I do! Often! With great enthusiasm! Oh damn there I go again. Please excuse my R-rated page today. And is it just me, or does the (relatively) recent emphasis on the tight flat toned stomach signify a push toward androgyny? Those "ideal" six-pack abs are awfully unisex, no? And not just unisex but really downright sexless, a denial of curves and grabbable female bits and fecundity, and also very "safe" in their focus on a not-particularly-erogenous zone. All this hardness and rigidity, so anti-sensual.
Yesterday evening I had one of those monthly wine/pasta outings with R, the sister-in-law, and we went to that strange and exotic locale known as Lincoln Park, the enclave of million-dollar greystones and terrifyingly thin women and not a single good bar for most of its confines (Delilah's being a notable exception, but Diversey and Lincoln is the outer edge). I was early to the restaurant. I am always early, and it is getting worse with age. Eventually I will start showing up to parties and such several days early, and you will have to put me up on the couch. I settled in, ordered wine, and took some notes (what if someday there is a pop quiz on Everything? I need to be prepared). The table next to me was two older guys and a young guy and they talked really loudly. This would have been great eavesdropping except that all they talked about was the glories of working for Merrill Lynch. It could not have been more boring. When the waitress came to describe the specials, the young guy actually asked her what pesto was. Maybe I am a big culinary snob but that kind of horrified me: how can you not have even heard of pesto? A helpful person informed me that my radio reading from June 24 is currently only available as a giant two-hour audio chunk. If you want to skip straight to the Mimi, it is at the one-hour-six-minute mark. Ha ha. Information design guru Edward Tufte's screed against Powerpoint, revised.
Hilarious. The Requiem for a Dream one (second page) rules my world. Four-dimensional chess. The log of the previous moves functions as a kind of fifth dimension. Now that I have blown my own mind, it is time to go lie down. ---mimi smartypants is void where prohibited. back/forward |
