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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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THE THREE AND ONLY THREE INSTANCES IN WHICH I WISH I WERE A MAN: (1) Gas station bathrooms. (2) When I want to have a drink by myself in a bar, because there's something nice about decompressing with a beer and a good book in a quiet neighborhood-y bar, and I think there must be something about being female and alone in a bar that makes everyone assume that you must be desperate to make conversation, so people like to interrupt you ("Hey, whatcha reading?") and if you don't smile pretty and answer politely answer they think to themselves "What a bitch," but if you do you're trapped talking to Joe Six-Pack who now thinks you are either (a) his buddy or (b) available. If a man walked into a bar (hey, sounds like a joke!), ordered a beer and started reading, people would either find him dashing and intellectual and mysterious or eggheady and weird, depending on the bar, but I guarantee no one would repeatedly bother him. (3) At formal events, because it would be so much easier just to throw on a suit or a tuxedo than to try and decipher the invitation like some kind of Rosetta stone: "Okay, formal. But how formal? Floor-length formal? Gloves formal? Dinner and dancing formal? And what sort of shoes? Fuck, I need to go shopping." I have received some e-mails asking me if I am attending this JournalCon thing, since it's apparently here in Chicago. Short answer: no. I feel guilty enough that I have a web page that's all about me, and now you propose that I also TALK about the web page that is all about me? That's heading into the danger zone, methinks. I'm not dissing the conference or anyone who's going, it's just not my bag. If you are going, however, and do not know Chicago well, and would like some ideas about great places to drink and interesting things to see, let me know. I always worry that tourists are going to get trapped downtown, with all its hotels and soul-crushing retail environments and mediocre restaurants, through no fault of their own, and never get to see anything cool. I worry. About you. So much worry have I. How are you doing on irrational worries? Want some of mine? As I just finished explaining to H, I worry about going to prison, through accidentally breaking an obscure law or through being framed or through some sort of clerical error. (Sound familiar? Did you know that Franz Kafka worked at an insurance company? A really good joke lurks in there somewhere.) Also in the worry department, I need some sort of notarized guarantee that I will not contract anthrax. Bioterrorism in the news + my hypochondriacal tendencies = A Very Special Episode of Mimi Smartypants' Anxiety Theater. But all will be well, because very-large-brained scientists in Denmark have invented a teleportation machine! Really, it's more of a replication machine. Either way, I'm excited. ---quantum mimi smartypants back/forward |
