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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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I kind of feel like giving you a Very Mundane! And Excessively Detailed! Rundown of what I did today. Because, you know, I try to be all things to all people. Some people like the meditative musings in an internet diary, and that happens here, sometimes. Some people like the links, which I also provide. Some enjoy cute and hilarious little tales of life, the forehead-slapping moments where we all chuckle and reflect how life is just so very, very, droll and just plain goofy. There's so much irony in this world! Oh, where to start? Like when you stay up for three nights in a row just drinking scotch and chain-smoking and staring at your reflection in the darkened window? Vowing through your clenched teeth that you will kill that bastard, you will just put your hands around his throat and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze? And then you finally gather up all your courage into one pint-sized flask and you drive over to that bastard's house, and you slip in through an unlocked window, and then you discover that someone ELSE has ALREADY killed that bastard! Yes! That bastard is dead in his easy chair with a large shotgun wound in his chest! Life sure takes some funny turns sometimes, I tell you what. Oh, and some people like very mundane, and excessively detailed, rundowns of what the internet diary person did that day. I don't know who likes this, exactly. Maybe Andy Warhol. So this entry is for the tiny little Andy Warhol inside of you. Can you feel him in there? Is his wig scratchy? TODAY 1. I worked. I really did. I got a lot done. I took a few breaks. One of my breaks was to practice reproducing the cursive "Swingline" on the top of my stapler. I am getting pretty good at it. If anyone needs a stapler forged (forged as in not authentic, not forged as in by a blacksmith), I just might be your woman. (Time out for some stapler sagacity: You don't buy a bicycle to car-pool the kids to soccer practice. But people buy the wrong stapler or punch all the time. Oh. So true.) 2. After work I went to have various bits of me waxed. My Wax Lady waxed me right up and made me look all professional and grown-up. All over. 3. You know how sometimes you feel all beaten down by this city? Even if you have lived here practically your whole life, and you relish the crunching of crack vials under your feet and the rampant mayor-for-life political corruption and the shittiest sports teams who ever put on specialized sports equipment. Here's my theory: Chicago is like an emotionally abusive boyfriend, who will put you down in public and be mysteriously cold to you in private. Chicago will suddenly snap at you for nothing at all when you are finally in a good mood for once. And Chicago will put all kinds of obstacles in your path, and have godawful weather, and fix it so you can't go two lousy days without being treated to the sight of some hobo flamboyantly vomiting off an El platform. This will go on for weeks. And then, in classic emotionally abusive fashion, Chicago will conspire to treat you right. Chicago will do some small unexpected nice thing for you. Like you will be leaving the Wax Lady and there is your express bus right there! And it will be just about totally empty and you will get a seat on the lake side so you can watch the water as you zoom up Lake Shore Drive. Just as the bus pulls up to Loyola and you cross the street, your east-west connection arrives, and that's empty too, and you are making unbelievable time and the sunset makes even Devon Avenue, one of the most garbagey streets in the city, look nice. God, I hate it when I get all second-person like that. It's so 1987. So then I (me me me myself and I) am on the Devon bus and at one point I am the last person on the bus. Two stops before mine there is a stoplight and the bus driver is just sitting there, filling out paperwork, and we go through two lights without him moving. I don't know what the deal is, or why my Bartleby the Bus Driver suddenly prefers not to, but it is becoming annoying so I get up to leave, thinking I will just walk the rest of the way. When I stand he jerks upright, startled, and says "Girl! You scared me! I didn't know anyone was still here! How long were you going to be quiet like that? You should have said something!" "I didn't want to be rude," I said. "I don't mind walking." "No way, uh-uh," he replied. "You are on a BUS. You are going to RIDE." I liked that. SOME MIXED-UP LINKS Ha ha ha. I don't like Harold Bloom. I cannot begin to explain to you how badly we all need pig catapults. Dude. That is like the best thing to come along since nipples. Look everybody it's Europa. SOME SAFETY LINKS Once again my friends it is National Elevator and Escalator Safety Week! November 10-17, 2002! Hip hip! Hooray! I propose you celebrate by being wildly unsafe on the escalator. Nothing succeeds like horseplay! It is only funny when somebody loses an eye! Stay Out [of abandoned mines], Stay Alive. Ah, if only it were that easy. Cawshus the Crow blows himself up with gasoline. Hypnotic, incantory model rocket safety code. As I travel through "Cyberspace" I should never take a break and have a snack. How to survive a big rig rollover. Maybe. MORE SELF-CONGRATULATORY POSTING OF DIALOGUE, MOSTLY BECAUSE I WANT TO HAVE AN EASIER PLACE TO LOCATE THIS mimi smartypants: Scene: you're driving cross-country w/Steve Albini and you only have a few radio stations that will come in properly. How long before he goes apeshit? *Christ on a crutch. There is. You can learn something new every day, unless you are eternally vigilant. ---mimi smartypants needs her head examined. back/forward |
