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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

2003-03-17 ... 9:04 p.m.


1. My CD "collection" (that phrase always sounds so pretentious to me) is starting to occupy much more real estate than it should, and that is not at all because it is vast, but rather because it is sprawling. Stupid jewel cases are in the living room, in the study, at my office, on one of the bookcases (where they really should be), and so on. This morning I threw a homemade compilation in my bookbag to take to work, and then settled down for my well-deserved coffee break and Slacking Time, in which I planned to type this entry up with the headphones on, and discovered that the CD itself was not in the case but probably languishing at home on my desk. I need to buy some sort of portable mp3 player already, this lugging around of approximately-5-inch-square hinged pieces of plastic is old news. I think this one is kind of neat-looking, and I will admit I am attracted to the name, particularly if it is indeed pronounced "groovestick." I WILL HIT YOU WITH MY GROOVESTICK SUCKA.

2. I am really behind at work. All the interviewing plus my general slackitude have taken their toll. You know it is bad when you start making floorpiles because you have run out of room on the desk.

3. And let us not even speak of my housekeeping of the past few weeks. First, I have a really bad habit of taking off my clothes the minute I walk through the door and sort of leaving underthings everywhere. Second: beer bottles. Third: cat hair. Those are the major problems, and there are lots of smaller ones that boil down to simple sad-ass laziness, such as the heap of masking tape on top of my dresser, where I pull the strip off the lint roller every morning to get rid of the aforementioned cat hair, but then instead of walking two feet to the garbage can to throw it out I just stick it to the previous day's masking-tape strip. Hey, maybe if the lint-roller masking-tape ball gets big enough LT can build a shed for it out back and we can get on Letterman or something.


Although I vowed to be a big old hermit on this Weekend of Savage Stupidity, it ended up not working out that way. (Digression on my own digression, because I just thought of another reason to hate Saint Patrick's Day: Can you think of another holiday that encourages face-painting to a similar degree? Yuck.) Friday I managed the hermitty thing just fine. LT worked on coding some web page all night, so we ordered in Thai and had beer. Even though I only had TWO LOUSY BEERS I think one of them was a Date Rape Ale, or maybe the sinus medicine I had taken earlier did not mesh well with it. Because soon I became very woozy and rubber-legged and eventually gave up trying to follow the plot of the movie I was half-heartedly watching, opting instead to lie on the floor listening to music and periodically yelling at the ceiling to not get any funny ideas. Don't get smart with me, Ceiling! I'm warning you! The Cat seemed concerned about my lying on the floor and kept coming over and poking me in the chest with her paw, like she was trying to take my pulse, which I guess is reassuring in case I ever really do keel over or OD.

Saturday I med up with my comrade at Delilah’s quite early, around six, and getting off the Brown Line at Diversey even at that early hour was insane. It was like running a gauntlet of sweaty green-shirted drunken hooting nitwits, was like Tailhook without the touching, was like something out of Hieronymus Bosch, was something that could practically make you long for the Taliban to take over Lincoln Park and sober it up a bit. And believe me, I am not an advocate of sobriety---in fact the first thing I did at Delilah's was bond with the bartender over the sheer hellish miasma of Saint Patrick's Day and join him in a shot of tequila, the most un-Irish liquor we could think of---but seriously, when exactly did these men start drinking in order to be so unpleasantly fucked up before the sun had set? After my comrade and I finished our pre-drinks it was off to the Brian Costello show, featuring Brian Costello, which was extremely enjoyable. I shot some grainy digital video of Mr. Costello serenading a young lass with "More Than A Feeling" (you kind of had to be there), and it came out fairly well except there is an embarrassing bit where you can clearly hear me singing backup during the chorus, because after a few cans of Schlitz or Pabst or whatever the fuck was two dollars that night there is pretty much no way I am NOT going to sing backup vocals on "More Than A Feeling," given the opportunity. I also won a bottle of aspirin (relabeled "Kirchsner's Penis Enlargement Pills---LookAtItGrow!") for correctly identifying what was on the Illinois quarter. At some point I talked to a young man from Centralia, Illinois, and I hope I didn't make too many redneck jokes in his presence, but my face is intact today so I guess I behaved, and at some other point someone suggested dancing at the Hideout. The DJ there was playing some sort of twitchy electroclashy stuff and since I am TOTALLY OBSESSED with the band Adult Intentional Period lately (this album rules my world), it made me very happy. A very nice girl drove me home and I misplaced her e-mail, so if you are a very nice girl who drove me home, big shout-out to you.

Sunday was mostly about recuperation. Weird aches in my dancing muscles. Slight headache. A feeling that to be conscious for one more minute would cause me to either die or go insane, and the feeling that either one would be sweet blessed relief, combined with the inability to nap, which leads to very dangerous self-destructive impulses and the need to stay away from sharp objects. Why can't I get regular physical hangovers instead of all the mental anguish? Why can't I just vomit or something like everybody else? Anyway. LT took me out in the fresh air, to the park, and we played many games of bocce and saw many romping dogs and little kids flying kites. That helped.


But I got it out of the way at least. Now I can focus on the coming week and ratcheting up the acerbity that is so cool and refreshing. When your sense of dignity is sunburned, I will be your Noxzema. Yes I will.

---mimi smartypants qualified for the semifinals.


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