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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


2001-12-07 ... 11:05 a.m.

I had high tea at the Drake Hotel with my mother a few days ago. I appreciate the Drake for its history and all, but it's very hard on the eyes. The chandeliers, the swirly patterned carpets. The gold leaf. The marble, the cherubs, the gilt. The trompe l'oeil ceiling effect. The frightening Chicago Mag Mile matrons who seriously must get up before dawn to begin applying their eye makeup. The Palm Court looks like Henry V and Liberace moved in together. (And what a wacky sitcom that would be!) I can see now why Saudi princes like to stay there; it reminds them of home.

The frightening Chicago Mag Mile matrons also seem to favor leather pants. I saw more women over 60 wearing leather pants than I ever care to see again. In case you needed further proof that leather pants are over, just take a stroll down Michigan Avenue.

Let's give it up for Friday. Hooray, Friday. At work, this week has been one narrowly averted publishing disaster after another. I did not literally have to yell "Stop the presses!" but it was really fucking close. I can't wait to go home and NOT have to read and edit a stack of technical articles about the gene predisposing to bowel cancer, or pacify an irate chief editor about some imaginary screw-up in last month's issue, or sweet-talk a hollow-eyed and harried page layout person into doing this super-rush job for me, ahead of everything else, please, just this once, I appreciate it so much.

Working in publishing is great if you enjoy an elastic sense of time. Just this morning I had a discussion with someone in which we kept referencing "last month": last month being December, for us. The good thing about this is that I absolutely never have problems writing the new year on checks and whatnot: for me, it's been 2002 since about mid-October.

But when I get stressed about deadlines, I just read this and it calms me right down. You think I'm kidding, but I'm not. Twenty-one days until my birthday, by the way, the only holiday worth counting toward. Christmas? Never heard of it. Hanukkah? Eid ul-Fitr? No. December 29 is where it's at. Can I get a fuck yeah? Fuck yeah! (It's sad that I have to respond to my own shout-out. So alone. So very alone.)

Last night was beer with Kat, and there were some illicit cigarettes as well (old habits die very hard) and of course I didn't eat dinner (wait, I thought beer WAS dinner), or breakfast, and now it's been so long since food was consumed that I've driven right past the hungry exit and am now barreling down the Fugue State Highway. Got a date for a Thai food lunch, though, and I'm sure the noodle aromas will revive me.

You've been looking a little down lately, are you okay? Maybe you’d like some old-timey underwear advertisements. I think that's an excellent idea, and it will also save me from having to come up with an entertaining entry in the midst of my dull dishwater life. Have at.

Because it's very important to "flood the body with air."

Oh yeah! Leapfrog is a MAN'S game! ("Absolute closed crotch.")

This, Bill, is called a "shuttlecock." More porn waiting to happen.

I'm really not sure what's going on here, but I like it.

Modern man followed by the ghost of his underwear.

---mimi smartypants be illin.

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