Back to Diaryland

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

2002-08-25 ... 1:58 p.m.


The octopus. Has eight arms. Changes color. Is always venomous to a certain extent. Has a beak and three hearts. (Because they have SO MUCH LOVE TO GIVE.) Can grow a new limb if necessary. Can escape almost any container if it puts its mind to it. Tires easily because it has such high blood pressure. (The three hearts thing again.) Is smart and trainable. Makes eye contact with you. Reaches for you. Longs for you.

I learned all that stuff here.

More octopus please.

Did you know that Jenny's telephone number (867-5309) in the Tommy Tutone song is a prime? Now I want to go drink a lot of green tea during a manic upswing and have my brain turn that into some kind of elaborate numerological conspiracy theory. Maybe involve the Masons somehow. All good conspiracy theories involve the Masons, or Skull and Bones, or the Trilateral Commission. You almost have to involve a semi-secret society if you want to cook up a good conspiracy theory. And if you can get Tommy Tutone and prime numbers in there, that's just gravy.

Speaking of gravy, they stole my idea! I know that's impossible to prove, and it's something that everyone says at one point in their lives, and it is really just a simple coincidence of goofy minds thinking similar goofy things at different goofy times. But still. I have been thinking about aerosol gravy for a long time. Now the experience (of thinking about aerosol gravy) will be ever so slightly tainted.

My Friday night was a six-hour talkfest with lots of cheap beer, gummi worms, and even a can of Play-Doh. (When we settle into a booth at the Beachwood, we really settle into a booth at the Beachwood.) At one point I offered the can of Play-Doh to this guy for a sniff and I was shocked we he turned me down. Who doesn't want to smell Play-Doh? Philistine. Saturday LT and I had to do family stuff (a dark cavernous Chinatown restaurant, tropical drinks, forced photo opportunities, and a gigantically fun menu: one dish was called "Crispy Pork Intestines" and the description read---wait for it---"deep-fried pork intestines"!). So we felt all listless and domestic after that and spent the evening reading and tidying up the house and drinking this strange Lithuanian beer. I think it may have been called Date Rape Ale and contained Rohypnol, since I only had one but I was all wavy-legged and stumblebrained for the rest of the night. As opposed to having, oh, let's just say several, beers on Friday night and being reasonably charming and coherent all the way through closing time. Mysterious.


What other news? I am a paragon of self-restraint. It may not always seem so, what with my constant tales of excess, but I really am. The short version of the story is that I received an e-mail about a recent entry from the artist whose painting I accidentally found while googling some of my favorite words. He asked me to remove the link, and said that while he "respected my opinion" my "ignorant" comments about his artwork should stay "behind closed doors or perhaps within my mouth." I guess an opinion is only respected if it remains unexpressed. But wait, back up even further: the thing is, if you read that entry, you might recall that I didn't even express an opinion about his work. If you don't like strawberries, that's not an opinion exactly. It's a preference. You just say, "I don't like strawberries." No one demands that you back that up with a set of carefully considered facts.

Anyway, I did take the link down, because it's not worth it to have this guy get angry every time he gets traffic from my page. (I believe in freedom, but not when the ramifications of said freedom start to piss me off and impinge on my time.) And I wrote him back asking him to clarify why he felt so offended. I was just curious and I do NOT use this page to attack anyone. Sadly, the e-mails degenerated quickly. It really does make me sad because I am the sort of person who can be persuaded by a logical point of view.

The REALLY adult thing to do would be just to ignore the whole incident and never mention it here. (I'm not a shit-starter and never have been.) However, this is a personal web page, about my personal life, and when interesting things happen that make me think, I write about them. Also, I still maintain that putting anything up on the (great, big, public) Web means that you have to expect comments on it, of all types, and that I was well within the bounds of friendliness and good manners, and that free speech equals free speech. Complaints like these have a tinge of "don't link to us" about them.

Enough. Can't we all just be friends? I promise, from now on, to skip over any artwork I find when ferreting out goofy stuff on the Web. Maybe I'm getting too comfortable in this forum, and I take the ubiquity of hyperlinks for granted, and I assume that everyone feels the same way. The end.


LT and I are officially Super Technology Nerds since we have purchased AN ELECTRIC CAT LITTER PAN. I am almost too embarrassed to mention it. Our cat, although we love her very much, has always had some bathroom issues. Basically, she demands a clean litter box but then she doesn't want to bury her poop but rather leave it on display for all to see and smell. So then, in order to maintain a blank slate when it comes to the sights and smells of cat shit in the house, I would have to bury it for her with the little scooper thing. Which is just sad, if you think about it. So when we were at the pet store we bought the automatic litter box as an experiment. I expressed doubts, and reservations, and worried that if it didn't work out, we'd be out a fairly large amount of beer-buying money, since I don't think the pet store would let you return a cat shit receptacle. (I wouldn't, anyway, if I were them.) And I worried what the cat would think. Imagine waking up from a nap to find that someone had totally remodeled YOUR bathroom...all new fixtures, new lighting, and some utterly foreign electronic toilet. The good news is that my cat is apparently no technophobe, she's a 21st-century high-tech cybercat, and she seems fairly pleased by the electric litter box and even somewhat fascinated by the electric rake that disposes of her leavings.

(By the way, you must check out the electronic litter box site. "Providing continually unprecedented innovative solutions for cat waste management." CAN THEY BE SERIOUS?)


In conclusion, I just would like to point out that I'm a cowboy, and on a steel horse I ride, and that there is a warrant for my arrest, dead or alive. Also that I have seen approximately a million faces and, believe it or not, rocked them all. Thank you.

---mimi smartypants wants to see you after class.


join my Notify List and get email when I update my site:
Powered by