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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

2002-12-11 ... 8:50 p.m.

Some things are too minty. Have you ever had one of those Listerine Strips? I had my first one a while ago, and all I could say was, "Dude." They are too minty. They colonize your mouth and then there is nothing left but mint, which, yeah, that was the idea, but it all just happened so fast. And the worst bit, the bit that I do not enjoy at all, is that the strip just dissolves. Instead of any lovely oral-fixation sucking or biting or chewing, which are three of my very favorite activities (because here is the running commentary of my Id: food, liquor, candy, sex, food, candy, candy, sex, liquor, sex), the strip just dissolves, and you are left with nothing. Like somebody humping your leg but they won't let you hump their leg. Unfair. Screw you, Listerine Strips.

Also, this stuff. Some guy DRESSED AS A TUBE OF TOOTHPASTE (seriously, why do I never have my camera when I need it?) was giving out free samples of this gum in front of Walgreens this afternoon, so I gave it a try, and it is not too bad but the minty freshness was so extreme my eyeballs felt cold. At least you get to chew, though.

Oh, pants. Today. Today is no good. Here is why.

1. Today I managed to spill boiling water all over my foot. I was wearing an insulating shoe, so no injuries were sustained, but still. I have at my desk an Illegal Electric Teakettle (shhhh), which I am not supposed to have because my office building has some mistaken notion that I do not drink tea all day, and that every time I want to have some tea I also want to get up and go all the way down to the cafeteria. Because I have no outlets at human height in my office, the Illegal Electric Teakettle is way underneath my desk, on the floor (which I guess conveniently also helps to hide its illegality), and thus I have to crawl around on the floor to make tea. So very dignified, especially on important-meeting days when I am wearing a suit. Today I got all cocky first thing in the morning and thought I could just reach down to the floor and pour the boiling water into my teacup, only you know what? It helps a lot if you actually look and take note of where the teacup IS before you start to pour the boiling water, because then you might notice that you are about twelve inches away from the cup and you are, in fact, pouring boiling water on your shoe.

2. Today is also the day that proves I really am going deaf, or at least mishearing things in ever more creative ways, because I thought that my boss had just walked into my office and called me a "fascist twat." I was quite taken aback but it turned out to be some innocent work-related statement.

It is rather mysterious that I have this frowny-mouth fussy despair because today has really been a cakewalk, comparatively speaking: no work emergencies, no stressful phone calls, no pressing errands to run. Oh, there's that little matter of Christmas being in a scant two weeks, and I am probably expected to have finished shopping for it, in order to continue playing that strange cultural game where we pretend that affection is measured out in dress-shirt boxes and Amazon wishlists on one arbitrary day of the year, and I really do need to get right on that task but la la la, what? I can't hear you! I am in deep denial about the proximity of Christmas. Those lights? How pretty! That eggnog? Good for those winter colds! That group of statues gathered around some swaddled larva-esque baby in a makeshift crib is just an homage to the sanctity of family and motherhood! With some farm animals thrown in as an homage to the sanctity of...of family farms! Those candy canes are just to cover up the smell of our lunchtime bourbon! And that fat bearded guy in a red suit, with his nutsack hanging out of his pants, is just my Uncle Al! (Oh no. It really is my Uncle Al. Oh, the shame.)

I even got to go out last night and listen to music and drink cheap sleazy beer, in a sensible and grown-up fashion that made me all proud of myself. Count along with me:

1. There is no such thing as one beer. Well, maybe there is, if you are out with your parents for Indian food or something. But other than that, one beer does not exist.

2. Two beers. Two beers is what you say you had when you are LYING. "I only had two beers." Right. Of course you did. Liar.

3. Then we come to the paragon of righteousness, the guardian of your untroubled deep-REM sleep, Mr. Thirdbeer. Mr. Thirdbeer is a truly good citizen. With Mr. Thirdbeer you feel safe and protected. You have a proper little buzz on, but you can go home right now, have a nice conversation with your roommates, watch a little TV, drink a little water just for the hell of it, and climb into bed like the safe, sane, healthy, non-problem-drinker that you are. (Note: this is where I was at last night. Yay for me, all sensible on a Tuesday.)

4. Did you know that Mr. Thirdbeer has an evil twin? Not many people do. His name is Prince Plastered the Fourth. Welcoming this dark prince into your evening greatly increases the chances that you will hear the words "LAST CALL," and then you will be all making like David Byrne: "Well? How did I get here?"

5. Why? Because Prince Plastered the Fourth, being royalty, never travels alone. He has many courtiers and hangers-on, like Footman Fifthbeer and Little Lord Cuervo Shot.

(DISCLAIMER: You people know I am not really this nuts, right? You could hang out with me all night and I swear I would never once personify a beverage.)

DREAM YOU DID NOT NEED TO HEAR ABOUT: I dream that there is a Windows-Explorer-like tree structure for doubt. I am reading the manual about how to use it. All these little yellow folders and you put your doubts about love in this one, doubts about the limits of any particular discursive system as a standpoint to describe the world in that one, etc, and of course there are all these subfolders where you can put more specific doubts. If you have any doubts that are universal, and common to the human experience, they go in a share drive.


Am I an old fuddy-duddy for having seriously conflicting feelings about graffiti art? I think a lot of it looks cool. But I also think a lot of it looks like crap. Is the graffiti artist any better than the billboard advertiser, in deciding what I should look at? They have different purposes, but not opposite purposes, as the graffiti artist is a sort of advertiser too. Part of the aesthetic is writing your name: advertising yourself. I know, I know, lots of people have already decided what crap we should look at: city planners, advertisers, the people who own cell phone towers. But still, I am not convinced that the solution to the very real issue of disappearing public space is to put your name all over it, even if you do make your letters into interesting and eye-catching shapes.

---mimi smartypants wants to know who is going to get these dogs back in.


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