Back to Diaryland

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

2002-09-13 ... 3:38 p.m.

Vanity Fair is a very strange magazine. LT had some deal where his business could subscribe to a bunch of different magazines for free, and after he got done subscribing to yawners like Visual Studio and .Net, he left the field wide open for me to pick some.

I had trouble. Many "women's" magazines (like the ever-slutty Cosmopolitan with their perpetual blowjob tips and their fifth-grade-reading-level exclamation-pointed alliterative phrases) are fun to flip through but do I really want them coming to my house every month? That seems like a soul-crushing proposition, and if there's one thing I don't need it's more soul-crushing. I already subscribe to wordy things like The New Yorker (which is kind of going downhill, I have to be honest) and Harper's (which has good stuff but a supremely irritating layout: what is with those margins?). All the other options were crazy-specific hobbyist things: Affluent Golfer (this is a real magazine), Needlepoint Now (so is this), and Chutney Enthusiast (this is not). I remembered that Vanity Fair occasionally ran cranky gossipy articles about scandals in the publishing industry and, embarrassingly, I like to read cranky gossipy articles about scandals in the publishing industry. Remember (why must I humiliate myself further?), I'm the girl who tried Marmite solely because an editor I admire said it kept her going during her day. How that ended: Marmite is totally vile. I have tasted many foods that I did not enjoy, and about which I thought "yuck, I will never eat that again." I have never tasted a food that made me literally gag with revulsion. Until Marmite, that is. Never again will my editor hero-worship extend to putting spreadable yeast extracts in my mouth. The end.

Wait! I was going to talk about Vanity Fair and how strange it is, but now I seem to have run out of sunlight or other fuel with which to photosynthesize my words and thoughts. Need...gummi...worms...and tequila...and crystal meth... Ah, screw it. My Vanity Fair observations are neither piquant nor interesting. I subscribed, my first issue came, I had a ReadyMadeRant floating around in my head about what a weird magazine it is, all about rich people, with the fluffy celebrity interviews that always make a big deal about what the interviewee is wearing. It would be fascinating to get ahold of Vanity Fair's mission statements and marketing materials and find out who exactly they think their readership is. I would assume it would not be the appallingly rich movers and shakers themselves, but the next tier down: the people who can almost afford that private jet, that second home, etc, and secretly feel that they need to bone up on WASP-y goings on.* This magazine is certainly not meant for the likes of me, the occasional cranky gossipy article about scandals in the publishing industry notwithstanding, because I really couldn't care less about these people, and I've always been puzzled as to why people like Dominick Dunne are famous. But it's fun to look at, and there are some truly bewildering high-fashion ads (like one for Prada where a scruffy-looking guy looks like he's trying to pour bottled water on his head but missing and getting his shoulder all wet), and the price is right (free). So overall I guess I don't mind getting Vanity Fair in the mail, but you do, and you probably wish that I wouldn't, because it leads to incredibly pointless online rambling of the sort that I am indulging in here.

*Googling "WASP," because I was looking for honky jokes, led to these lyrics. They are so funny. I don't think they were meant to be, but oh man, I'm dying here. How many times can you use "horror," "kill," and "die" in one song? A lot.

Remember, it could be worse.

Here's the thing. I want lobster hands. Not forever, just for fun. I want to pretend that I have lobster hands instead of regular human hands, and thus, yea verily, I have been searching in vain for lobster prostheses I can wear, but whenever you try to look up "lobster mittens" you just get outdoorsy crap like this. I think I shall have to make my own lobster hands, but how? Those of you who are more artistically and craftily inclined, what material would you use, if you were me and you wanted to sculpt some big lobster hands to wear over your regular hands? I think paper-mache would be too heavy and awkward. Help.

Some employees here have received new kick-ass task chairs. YOUR CORRESPONDENT MIMI SMARTYPANTS IS NOT ONE OF THEM. I sat in one of these new chairs briefly and did not want to get up and go back to my crummy spinebreaking chair, that's how nice it was. So I called Building Services and sweetly inquired as to where my new kick-ass task chair might be, and I was informed that I will not receive one until the "January 2003 rollout." I don't really understand why the task chairs have to be released in waves: do the other employees have beta versions of the chair or something? Ever since that conversation I have been plotting ways to get my new chair earlier, so that the spinebreaking will end earlier. The most dramatic and effective way I have come up with is to set my current task chair on fire and then roll it down the hallway. Oh dear! I don't know how that could have happened.

---mimi smartypants has been released on her own recognizance.


join my Notify List and get email when I update my site:
Powered by