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

2003-03-20 ... 9:07 p.m.


Dream: LT and I were kidnapped. Back in Bahrain, in our old neighborhood, kidnapped by a bunch of dirty guys in dirty ghutras, with guns, and they wanted us to go to a certain restaurant where, I guess, they would kidnap us further. Or murder us. Or something. They allowed us to drive our own car and just meet them there (oh yeah, real great kidnappers) and LT made this totally daring escape, like Rockford Files fancy driving, where he cut across the median with tires squealing and got on the highway. We drove to the airport and got in line to board a flight to Norway, and as I showed my passport and boarding pass (which was pasted on the outside of a takeout coffee cup) to the guy at the podium, I whispered, "I need to speak to you. We are being kidnapped." The guy got angry with me and said, "Your stupid American individuality won't save you now," and I said, "Please, just talk to us in private." He led us to an office where it turned out he was one of the kidnappers posing as an airline official, oh ho ho what an O. Henry twist we are screwed. We were taken to a compound to live out the rest of our lives and there was no torture but the kidnappers seemed to be trying to bore us to death. There were lectures every day on Bahraini history and they wanted me to play violin for them, but only the Vivaldi A Minor Concerto, which every student plays ad infinitum in like eighth grade.

My other dream was that my cousin Mike was an alcoholic and he was fond of a liquor called "wiquor," which, as he explained to me, was "a kind of wireless whiskey."


I just got a message here at work that a certain printer has been repaired and is now "fully functional." I cannot hear the words "fully functional" without thinking about a traumatic experience I had in college where this girl asked me to read a short story of hers.

First off, unless I have already read the person's stuff and know that it is good or at least intriguing and enjoyable, that request makes cold slimy fear go squishing up into my throat area. Because---and at least a third of you are going to close your browsers in disgust as soon as I say this---the statistical likelihood is that their story (or poem, or play) sucks. I know, I know, I am too cynical but these are the facts. There is much more bad writing in the world than good writing. It's worse than the slush pile, because at least with those anonymous manuscripts you can all have a good laugh about how horrible certain stories are, but this is your friend here. And no one wants to hear the truth if they are asking you as a friend, no matter how much they insist yes, please, give it to me straight, I want your honest opinion blah blah. If they are asking you as an editor or as a workshop participant, that is a different story, but a friend? No.

Uh. I lost the thread and it was not all that interesting to start with. The point was that this girl's short story, when I finally settled down in the coffeeshop to read it, turned out to be X-rated slash fiction about Lt. Commander Data and the title was, you guessed it, "Fully Functional." Eeeeeww. So now I can't even hear those words without thinking of cyborg genitalia. (Cyborg Genitalia! Live! One night only! Tickets go on sale noon Saturday!)

Other work e-mails about printers have historically been a source of amusement around here in general, even when they do not indirectly refer to cyborg genitalia. There was one a while ago about a temperamental printer and the sender suggested that everyone "be very gentle with the paper tray," and that when taking it out we "wiggle rather than yank." This resulted in a flurry of mocking and naughty e-mails about wiggling vs. yanking, and about stroking the printer's case while murmuring softly into wherever its ear might be, and now whenever I do add more paper to the paper tray (after much gentle wiggling), I feel like I need a cigarette afterwards.


My boss was out today and around half an hour before official quitting time I just felt like I was done. My brain was being psychically invaded by messages from the Realm Of Leisure. Visions of elastic-waist pajama pants danced before my eyes. I spent about five minutes putting the desk in order, making to-do lists, sending e-mails, and generally performing a little song-and-dance to convince my superego that enough work had been done for one day. Then I took off into the watery mud-smelling spring day, the whole five minutes of spring that we are likely to get in Chicago, because in typical Midwestern fashion the weather will probably go from frozen solid to sweating-under-the-french-fry-lamp sun any second now. But it was a delight to take the empty train at four in the afternoon, everyone else either a construction worker getting off some odd shift or a student or just plain old unemployed. At Sheridan I noticed that there are already buds on the trees. This should not be much of a surprise as today is the vernal equinox, but it startles me every year how the trees go from black twisty and branchy, arterial, mathematical, decidedly non-random, like after you have eaten all the grapes off the stems, to total green leafy chaos. At least I noticed the in-between stage this time. I am learning.


I am one of the few who didn't salivate all over The End of Alice. However, I think this new A. M. Homes book rocks the party that rocks the body. I think I want to buy it so I can read certain stories again and again, and that is a major recommendation from me.

Another view on reasons to invade, take it or leave it. No, of course it's not the reason, nor do I believe it is Bush's reason. The question is whether or not that makes it an invalid reason. Talk amongst yourselves, I am officially abstaining on the majority of wartalk.

Completely amazing tattoo. I don't know if I LIKE it or not, but it is amazing.

---mimi smartypants is up here in the cabinets, banging on some pots and pans.


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