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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

2002-04-30 ... 9:32 p.m.

Nothing I have read in the past few months comes close to the sadness that is every other page of The Journals of John Cheever. I am starting to use it almost as a kind of melancholy stichomancy (say that three times fast). Here's what I got just now from opening it at random:

What we take for grief or sorrow seems, often, to be our inability to put ourselves into a viable relationship to the world; to this nearly lost paradise. Sometimes we see the reasons for this and sometimes we do not. Sometimes we wake up to find the lens that magnifies the excellence of the world and its people broken. Saturday was such a day.

And again:

By lewdness I mean just that: raised petticoats in kitchens and back stairs and long afternoons in bed when the sheets smell like the lagoons of Venice; but if my hands tremble with desire they tremble likewise when I reach for the chalice on Sunday, and if lust makes me run and caper it is not stronger a force than that which brings me to my knees to say thanksgivings and litanies. What can this capricious skin be but a blessing?

Perhaps I wouldn't mind being an alcoholic guilt-tortured bisexual suburban man trapped in a loveless marriage, if the tradeoff is to write such a crammed-full-of-goodness personal journal. Perhaps.


The other night, I had dinner with my sister-in-law, wine and pasta and wine, and then we went to a nearby bar to continue the fun. At one point I look down the bar's length and there is this guy I went to college with, sitting there. We have never been friends, but we don't have any particular reason to hate each other, except there is a bit of interpersonal awkwardness regarding a romantic split between one of his friends and one of my friends (but who cares, right? None of our beeswax.) When he saw me, he froze, gave me a dirty look, and very pointedly turned on his little heel and flounced out of the bar. This simultaneously does and does not bother me. It does bother me because good grief: my very presence caused someone to FLEE THE AREA, and it also does because, as stated above, what's with all the drama we barely know each other. It does not bother me because he's always been kind of overwrought and queeny like that, and he really is not a very nice person, and he has not historically been part of my life anyway. So c'est la vie. C'est la motherfucking vie.


I am all moved into my new office. Here is my office window view of the Hancock Building.

Here is a pleasant cow, who lives on my desk. Moo, she says pleasantly.

Here is a bit of my physical person. I don't know if you can tell, but my earrings are in the shape of tiny double-edged razor blades. Too goth to be professional, too professional to be goth, that is me.

(Wow, look at all these razors and scalpels. Damn.)

Grapefruit juice. I bought it yesterday and didn't drink it, so it sat out unrefrigerated, and then I had some today. I haven't died yet.

Here is a photographic representation of my inner life. This is the way I feel all the time.

The move went almost smoothly. Someone did not shut down my computer correctly before moving it, with the result that there was a VERY SCARY message when I tried to power it on again, as in "your entire hard drive is gone." I called one IT guy, who was all mopey and hopeless, and kept saying nope, all that stuff is gone. Oh, and it's "not mission-critical" so they will rebuild me a computer "in a day or two." File under N for Not Acceptable. At that point I was willing to concede (albeit with a small cold leaden feeling inside) that I had lost files. But a day or two before I can work again? I think not, Mr Pocket Protector. I contacted someone else, who had the drive swapped out and my files recovered in but a few hours. Note to self: either network it or back it up, from now on. Not sure why I was living on the edge with that in the first place.

I want a cowgirl outfit. I have a vision (almost religious in its intensity and clarity) of me wearing a fancy red cowgirl outfit with white fringe on the sleeves and across the chest. I want a red cowgirl hat and red cowboy boots to go with it. Sort of a Patsy Cline thing. Where does one purchase gaudy red cowgirl outfits these days?

---mimi smartypants has been half in love with easeful Death.


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