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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

2002-07-16 ... 10:02 a.m.

Let's get one quick housekeeping item about this site out of the way: I have added a picture of myself to the profile. Sort of.

Ooooooooo....the floating volleyball head that visits you in the night.....bringing doooooooom....

My dreams were full of obviously fake, lame-o "special effects" like that. The volleyball with the face drawn on, the bats with the visible strings, the blood capsules, the monster suit with the zipper up the back. Ironic smirking dreams, with a separate track of meta-commentary from the brain about how stupid it all was.


1. Madonna is a lousy singer.
2. Someday, pi will end.
3. It is not necessary for humans to eat meat.
4. Old Style and Miller High Life are good crummy beers; Budweiser and Old Milwaukee are nasty crummy beers.
5. Friendship, respect, affection, and general compatibility are more important than delirious sexual attraction (over the long term).
6. There is absolutely no way I can play C# on the E-string without shifting into third position, no matter what my violin teacher thinks.
7. One of the most annoying phrases in the English language is "I'm not a feminist, but...."
8. Anything chicken-related is funny.

You must check these commercials out. Actually, the commercials are okay, but the screen test and the first blooper sequence are my absolute favorites.


Sing to me, O Muse, of animals that begin with the letter "A," in order from most mysterious to least mysterious, and of all the strange and unusual habits thereof; tell me about these things, O Daughter of Zeus, from whatsoever source you may know them.

FIRST, the aardvark, with the extensile tongue, most mysterious to mortals; he resides in sub-Saharan Africa and on the first page of the dictionary. O Aardvark, although I know how to spell you, that is about the extent of my knowledge, and most of the top Google hits for your name are not even about you, which hardly seems just. Shy and nocturnal, the only ungulate that exclusively eats insects, you probably donít mind.

SECOND, the anteater, with whom we have a few more cultural associations on which to hang our Athenian hats. Anteater! Eater of ants! Ants are like ambrosia to your long flexible snout! Even saying the word "ants" causes you to fall about in spasms of delight, as if stricken by the gods! In children's alphabet books you are sometimes used to illustrate the letter with which your name begins; thus, Anteater, short is your date but deathless your renown.

THUS I SPAKE. And then, you know, antelopes, apes, Australian cattle dogs, Apaloosas, etc.

(the end)

For a project/process that I am not yet ready to discuss here, I have to write a five- to seven-page autobiography, and it is supposed to answer the question of "how I became who I am today." Because of the way my mind works I am having some trouble coming up with serious, thoughtful answers to this question. Q: How did I become who I am today? A: Massive quantities of gin? A bite from a radioactive aardvark? I witnessed the horrible drowning of my entire family in a vat of custard and ever since I have been a shadowy vigilante against all sludgy pudding-like dessert substances? (Side note: What kind of outfit/toolbelt would such a vigilante have?) I was abused as a child by being locked in a closet and forced to listen to Hall and Oates' "Rich Girl" for hours at a time? (A song that, incidentally, you are pretty much guaranteed to hear more than once if you spend more than three Old Styles' worth of time at the Beachwood Inn.) (What an odd way I have of measuring time. Not coffee spoons but in curling damp peelings of beer labels.)

Anyway. The autobiography should be an interesting project, although I will have to take care to work on it only when I am in between the mood extremes of (1) jittery kangaroo rat, talking too much, head like a lightbulb and (2) feeling like a flattened greasy empty pizza box, wristbones aching, and spending most of the evening face down on the carpet mumbling "can't live this way, can't live this way."

I have to go read about chromosome rearrangement now. Out of my way or I'll rearrange your freaking chromosomes, beeyatch.

---mimi smartypants never calls shotgun, she prefers the way back.


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