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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

2005-05-18 ... 10:34 a.m.

I just ate most of a sleeve of graham crackers with my tea and I have no urge to masturbate! These things really work!

The graham crackers were a poor substitute for the teatime snack that I really wanted: a Tim Tam. I am so angry at my Australian acquaintance for getting me hooked on this unavailable-in-America chocolatey goodness. Apparently one can have Tim Tams delivered through the Internet, but I have a deep Puritan streak that will not allow me to do decadent things like shop for cookies online. Which is a problem of my own personal brain, and thus I should not bitch about it in public, you say? TOO LATE.


Nora and I were at the playground the other day---the nice playground, the one without all the broken glass and sullen highschoolers smoking pot at the top of the slide. This one is mostly frequented by Headscarf Mommies, Russian nanny/infant dyads, and hyperactive Orthodox kids, especially on Saturdays (post-services), when the climbing apparatus is often festooned with tiny abandoned black suitcoats. This particular day there was a super-shy toddler boy sitting on a bench with his babysitter. He never once got up to play, and if anyone looked at him he quickly looked away and seemed about to cry---once he even pulled off his yarmulke and put it over his face. Nora noticed him while digging in the sandbox and immediately ceased excavation, went over to his bench, and hauled herself up (this took some doing) to sit next to him, which just about made him dissolve with shyness. The babysitter was talking to her friend, and I stayed out of the way and watched. After a while Nora scooted over to Shy Boy and said, looking him in the eye, "It's windy outside." He didn't answer, of course, just crawled into his babysitter's lap, but hey Nora! Opening with the weather chitchat! Smooth!

After she got no response from the weather comment, Nora informed Shy Boy that he had a leaky nose, which was true but rather less smooth. But maybe she meant it in a friendly "got your back, buddy" sort of way. You never have to wonder if you have spinach in your teeth with Nora around.


This could very well get me kicked out of Diaryland, or at least ensure that no one wants to sit with me at lunch anymore, but yesterday I started to wonder why we wash our hands after going to the bathroom. I do it, you do it, most people do it, because our parents raised us right. But how is modern toileting any dirtier than any other activity? You don't touch anything in there other than toilet paper and flush-handle.* Now, it is undoubtedly a good idea to wash one's hands several times during the day, so even if we rip away the veil of social etiquette and expose post-elimination handwashing for the farce that it is, I have no plans to discontinue the practice. I just want us all to take a step back and mentally challenge the handwashing paradigm. Unless you routinely splash about in the bowl or pee on your fingers, I don't understand it.

*(Well, girls don't. Men, do you have to handle the johnson in order to pee? I am not familiar with Male Pee Procedures. But even if you do, presumably your schlong is not encrusted with microbes and filth.)


1. Speaking of unclean and unholy, how about that sodomizing demon?

2. While sitting on the toilet, Nora The Conversationalist observed, "Poop comes from your dupa, and pee-pee comes from your vagina." I let the inaccuracy go because, well, close enough. Although somewhere from the distant past I could hear my Women's Studies professors screaming.


Although I have never been a Metallica fan,* I recently watched, transfixed, the very long Metallica documentary Some Kind of Monster. Several days later, I am still saying What The Fuck. The desiccated, future-skin-cancer-victim, golf-shirted $40K-a-month shrink? The crap about making "aggressive music without negative energy"? The METALLICA MISSION STATEMENT? The movie was fascinating, and on some level I felt kind of bad for those guys---it must be hard to stay creative when you're Metallica (or Radiohead, or Sleater-Kinney, or any other band that is simultaneously loved by fans and revered by critics). On the other hand, render unto me a fucking break. This is rock?

*However, in college I became extremely attached to some overwrought lyrics from Metallica's song "One," which go like this:

Darkness! Imprisoning me! All that I see! Is absolute horror!

My friends and I had a habit of screaming this at every minor setback, such as a lack of Cinnamon Toast Crunch in the cafeteria.

At the end of the movie there is some footage of Metallica in concert, and after they play the last song Hetfield says, "Good night! Metallica loves you!" I found this eerily similar to the way Elmo ends the broadcast from his "World."

It's spring. Get out there and chase a big pink ball around. (Take that any way you like.)

---mimi smartypants cast the first stone.


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