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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

2003-02-21 ... 3:31 p.m.


1. Bert. Undecided. He seems a bit rigid to really be good friends with, but I can see hanging with Bert and playing Scrabble on a rainy day. Verdict: Maybe.

2. Big Bird. Is a painfully immature dork. You can't just ride on being seven feet tall, you have to develop some sort of personality. Dig? Verdict: No.

3. Cookie Monster. I am a little scared of this guy. He is pure id. He is crazy. You never know what he is going to do next. I mean, check out his wildly rolling pupils, his tendency to devour both food and non-food items, his inability to use the "I" pronoun. Cookie Monster is the guy that you can't not invite to the party, because he is such a long-time part of your scene, but you assign one of your friends to kind of keep an eye on him. Verdict: A qualified yes.

4. The Count. Although the constantly-counting thing would get old fast, part of it appeals to the OCD freak in me, plus: he's a vampire! What self-respecting former goth wouldn't hang out with The Count? I can even see myself dating The Count, if only briefly. It's the cape. And the sash with the mysterious vaguely Eastern European medallion on it. And the fact that his head is a lovely shade of lilac. Verdict: Yes.

5. Elmo. Elmo ruined Sesame Street. Who cares about Elmo's World? He has the baby helium voice and seemingly no interests. Elmo is whiny, demanding, and his need to be the center of attention would drive me bonkers. Get him away from me. Verdict: No.

6. Ernie. I don't like Ernie. Verdict: No.

7. Grover. Best Friends Forever! Grover is my favorite. First, Grover is the only Muppet with a job. He is a waiter, and maybe he is not a very good waiter (certainly that blue guy with the mouth that opens like a drawbridge does not think so), but it is probably just a day job and Grover goes home and paints or plays drums in a noise band. Grover is more or less slender with just that hint of a belly---the body type of a monster who enjoys his beer and one that is kind of sexy (in the manner of Madonna in the "Lucky Star" video being way sexier than her later six-pack worked-out incarnations). Grover has a flair for the dramatic (Super-Grover, the near and far thing, the blues songs). Verdict: Yes yes yes.

8. Kermit. No doubt about it, this is one Renaissance frog. He rides a bike, he plays a banjo, he is a reporter for Muppet News Network, he runs the show, he looks good doing it, and he is humble and friendly and even gets depressed sometimes (eg, "Not Easy Being Green"), and anyone who doesn't like Kermit is just a hater and obviously envious of his amphibious green cool. Verdict: Yes.

9. Oscar the Grouch. Now we're talking. Me and Oscar, getting all kinds of punk rock fucked-up on amphetamines and malt liquor. We would watch skateboard videos on TV and then we'd get bored and kick in the TV screen and roll around in the shards a la Iggy Pop. It matters not because Oscar's got a whole closet full of motherfucking TVs. And a whole closet full of firearms. And a whole closet full of malt liquor. Later we have a Silly String fight, go for a ride on his elephant, generally trash his place. ROCK! Verdict: Yes.


I am reading Sheila Fitzpatrickís Everyday Stalinism and she cites this 1936 advertisement from the Soviet magazine Ogonek: "Do you know what KETCHUP is? In America a bottle of KETCHUP stands on every restaurant table and in the pantry of every housewife. KETCHUP is the best, sharp, aromatic relish for meat, fish, vegetables and other dishes. Ask for KETCHUP from the factories of Chief Canned Goods Trust in the stores of Union Canned Goods Distribution Syndicate and other food stores."

Another Soviet ad: You won't find better nipple, I'm ready to suck until I'm old. Well, right on.


I almost don't want to update this thing because I am at five hundred sixty-five entries and do you know how nice that looks? It looks like this: 565. Nice. Also, I have updated every day this week for some reason. If quantity challenged quality to a fistfight, who do you think would win? My money is on quantity. Quantity would just keep landing those devastating body blows and dancing around before quality could get its quality punch in. Then quality would be all like, "Whatever, this is lame, I don't like fistfighting anyway" and it would go do something much more highbrow, and quantity would win by default. I am all restless and antsy today, so at around 11 am I snuck out of my office and walked all the way down to the library to return some books, then walked all the way back instead of getting on the bus, just to get some damn exercise and enjoy the lovely weather (false spring---Iím sure it will be shitty all weekend) and the Loop architecture. My walk was long and leisurely (in its own way---I have been told that my "leisurely" is other people's "too fast"), and I took great pleasure in thinking about people back at work stopping by my office, looking in, and shrugging, thinking I must be in a meeting or something, when really I am out here bopping along in my swingy lighter coat and no gloves, going tra la la. (I did not really go tra la la, and I bet my coworkers did not really look in my office and shrug. I just chose those two cinematic gestures to make things all nice and vivid for you, because I am a sensitive narrator.) On the way back it was a lunchy sort of time and I was passing a pizza place, the very same pizza place that LT, when he worked down at Franklin and Madison, named "The Yell-At-You Pizza Place With The Really Fat Guy." I went, and although I did not see the really fat guy, they did kind of yell at me. Not meanly but just in a "we are always busy" way. While it wasn't the best pizza slice I have ever had it sure was huge and floppy in that nice New York fashion, and it was only four dollars with a free beverage. That works for me. The place is hideous---pastel pink molded-plastic booths and maroon accents everywhere---and it is full of stockbrokers, but sometimes I like the quick anonymous triangular lunch. It was a little weird to be reading about Soviet deprivation and famine while eating my giant pizza slice, though.

I made it back to my office before anyone missed me, even after passing multiple down-at-heel scruffy Loop bars that were all insidiously whispering my name. Some of them had signs advertising things that seemed downright bizarre: one promised "JEOPARDY" EVERY NIGHT and another proclaimed MICHELOB ON TAP! When was the last time anyone got excited about Michelob? And yes, Jeopardy is on every night.

Boy, "Michelob" and "jeopardy" sure are some strangely-spelled words.

I had a great dream last night about a friend of mine, who THIS VERY NIGHT is coming over with his wife to eat LT's cooking and get drunk with us. Me and this friend, let's call him Patrick, had decided to get married. LT knew all about this plan. We were a little worried about the bigamy laws but not really. After the wedding I was talking to LT and then suddenly I was all horny and we started making out and it turns out that the whole reason I got married to Patrick was to have an affair with LT, it was this weird wife-swapping deal we were into. We got married just for the adultery. (Also, there was a nitrous tank at our wedding reception. Damn.) Later in the dream I went outside and saw a sign that said NO PARKING and I realized that I had posterboard and markers with me, so I made two more signs that said PORN KING and ORGAN PINK and put them up as well. Then I woke up and thought oh christ now I am doing anagrams in my dreams.

---ms. patty animism


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