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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


2001-12-14 ... 2:01 p.m.

Here's a cute, if simplistic, article about volcanoes and the center of the earth. According to this, humans have never dug deeper than five miles. This is unacceptable. With today's technology, we should be able to get all the way to the core! So what if it's dangerous! Just a little hole! Just a tiny peek at the magma, thatís all I ask!

This "peel the planet" site is even cooler. I love science books directed at children, full of touching, trembling-with-faith sentences starting with "Scientists know..." or "Science has found..." Remember when you had a science book? Not physics, not inorganic chemistry, just "science"? Those were the days. (Sort of.)

My interest in the earth's crust was inspired by a conversation I had last night, where I recalled that as a child I was constantly begging my parents to let me dig a hole. I used to fantasize about digging a deep, square hole, sort of like a root cellar, and then bringing a chair and books and a flashlight down there and reading. Some kids want a treehouse, I wanted a hole in the earth.

I'm still not jazzed about giving narrative accounts of my life, but I shall try. Wednesday I went drinking at Black Beetle with three female friends: dark and furtive me out on a date with three blonde girls. But we are alike in other, more important ways, so vodka was drunk and conversation was had, although I had a headache and was probably not at my social best, often drifting away and letting my eyes unfocus so that the neon and plastic-netting candles blurred into an improvement on the original. Group conversation, no matter how intelligent/witty the participants, is sometimes unsatisfying to me: threads get dropped or glossed over and it's all too easy to fall into conversational roles (you make the jokes, I'll be the moderator, etc). Anyway. Where did that come from?

There is some very good graffiti in the bathroom at Black Beetle. In one stall, someone has (with what looks like authentic vehemence) scratched these words into the wall paint: ENOUGH ALREADY.

Then last night I saw a program at the Gene Siskel Film Center (comfy seats, sparkly clean polished wood lobby): Thirteen Short Films About Animals. All thirteen were good in different ways, and some were really good. There was one film in particular that I think someone in particular (cough) would have liked a lot (in particular, ha), but I'm through forcing media on my friends: too many life-changing books and poems returned to me unread or with casual shrugs have made me wary of such recommendations. Books will still be discussed here, of course, but with an implied take-it-or-leave-it caveat. I promise nothing.

Join me in a list? Oh yes you will!

PLACES I'VE BEEN KICKED OUT OF (AND WHY)

1. The Hollywood Grill, Ashland and North Ave (for throwing toast)

2. Ten56, bar on Damen Ave (for gambling)

3. Medusaís, defunct all-ages dance club of song and legend, Belmont and Sheffield (for having liquor)

4. History class, freshman year of high school (for taking offense at homophobic jokes made by teacher and objecting, strenuously, to the general locker-room atmosphere)

5. curb in front of the Double Door, music venue (for swooning; the bouncer refused to believe that I had merely taken ill and kept saying "you can't sit here" and muttering something about the police and Quaaludes)

I just realized I did it wrong: instead of being kicked "to the curb" I was kicked "off the curb." Oh those crafty prepositions!

---mimi "restrictive clause" smartypants

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