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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

2002-05-02 ... 11:04 a.m.


The arm-attaching twin thing is a hoax. But it's such a snazzy hoax, and such a good read, that I don't really mind. Thanks to an e-mail buddy for pointing out its hoax-ness. I am still slightly surprised that BME would allow the page to stay up without splashing disclaimers all over it (I guess it was an April Fools' thing), since the people who frequent those pages are often kind of hardcore and humorless about things like body modification.

Which, by the way, it is one thing to defend your personal choice in terms of how things of that nature (tattooing, piercing, implants, transplants, branding, scarification) have changed your outlook on What Your Body Means To You (vessel for the soul? fantastic machine? integrated extension of the mind? decorative chick-magnet?) I think it's entirely something else to claim to be on a different spiritual plane because of it, or that no one who is not (scarred, branded, etc) will ever "get it," or even that your particular modification, be it major or minor, somehow marks you out from the rest of society. JUST STOP IT. (Tonight we have mixed baby greens with fresh goat cheese and a dressing made with balsamic vinegar, fresh herbs, and a dollop of "alternative" fascism. Can I get you something from the bar?)

YOU CAN SKIP THIS PARAGRAPH (dream, babbling about domestic crap)

I woke up from a good (for me) sleep at 3 am, having had a dream in which LT was yelling at me. (Do I even need to mention that this is somewhat out of character? Occasionally I get glowering silence and overly loud kitchen activity, occasionally I get sarcastic snarky remarks, but I never yet have gotten yelling.) In the dream I was dissatisfied about something and he got exasperated and started loudly listing all the advantages I have, one of which was "a liquor cabinet that is never locked." I woke up immediately after that phrase thinking (a) that's kind of a sad-ass thing to be happy about and (b) the liquor better not be locked up in my own damn house. We are right now in the (wide-awake) process of trying to get a bar/liquor cabinet/countertop area custom-built in the weird little antechamber to my kitchen----there used to be a china hutch thing there but it was destroyed in the rehab. So I think the mention of a liquor cabinet is a classic anxiety-dream, because I've never done or even contracted for any sort of home improvement on this scale (I've bought furniture and I've painted and that's about it).


Guess what! Everything you know is wrong!


I packed for San Diego last night, because although I don't leave until tomorrow afternoon I am going out drinking tonight, and I don't think I want to come home from the bar and pack. I am taking the hugest stupidest suitcase, like I am leaving for some eight-week ocean voyage instead of just a business trip to California for five nights. But I have to make remarks and run a meeting and have lunches and such, which makes me nervous. When I get nervous I change my clothes a lot (out of pure fashion anxiety. I don't sweat or pee on myself or anything). Thus I need to have options. And I need to bring snacks, and books, and paperwork, and various electronic devices. (For crying out loud, can I stop being so defensive today? First I explain my dumb dream to you then I justify my suitcase.)


The funniest thing I've read today.


Lions are depicted all over the place in ancient art. The Jews, the Spanish, the Greeks, the English, the Chinese: everyone loves a good lion. These lions never look anything like lions. Why? Because almost no one had ever seen one. It's like this giant medieval game of Telephone, only with visual art. The wealthy patron comes to you, the artist, and says, "I want a big sculpture of a lion." You say, "Um. Okay. A lion." He says, "Yeah, a lion. You know, they...have four feet? And are really fierce? Anyway, it's not my problem, just get busy. I'll be by to pick up the lion on Tuesday." So you call your friend, who calls his friend, whose brother has seen a lion; well, he thinks it was a lion. Eventually it becomes easier for each artist to just copy the fucked-up lion from last time, and then that becomes what lions look like to people, and it will take massive technological changes like shipbuilding and maps etc before anyone can get their ass over to Africa to see a proper lion.


Llama song.


Listen to a llama, and learn about its communal dung pile.

Llama brain.

How to tell someone you love about a llama without saying a word.

---mimi smartypants got bombed, got frozen, got finally off to a finally dozing.


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