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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

2002-05-26 ... 4:10 p.m.

Woe is me, for I am afflicted with the theme from Sanford and Son. It will not leave my brain. It is undeniably funky, but now I grow weary of said funk. Did you know that song was written by Quincy Jones? (I learned this fact online, when I went searching around for Sanford and Son trivia in an effort to exorcise the song from my mind. The only way for me to deal with unwanted obsessions is to turn them inside out like socks.) (Socks don't often get a chance to show up in analogies, so I thought I'd give them a chance to shine there, misguided though it may have been. Poor socks.)

I don't think I have ever even seen an episode of Sanford and Son.

Today is Sunday. Memorial Day weekend. I wish that celebrating Memorial Day meant hanging out drinking too much tea and smoking marijuana and talking about memory and narrative and the colonization of mental space. That is what it should mean. Just as Labor Day should mean that everyone switches jobs for a day, you pull one out of a hat (it would have to be a pretty big hat) and then you get to go work as a neurosurgeon or ditchdigger or the manager of a Denny's. But instead Memorial Day is about dead people, mostly people who died in wars but also dead people in general. It is also about grilling out and drinking beer. Some of that should happen today, I am having some people over for grilled vegetables and beer and I am making a dessert that I am very excited about. Only I think I'm going to use (real) vanilla instead of cinnamon. So there. (Sometimes I like to remind people of the domestic-goddess side of me. It's not all swanning around in silk pajamas, drinking martinis, and paying the cleaning lady, you know.)

This entry was written in two parts, which is unusual for me (because this page is nothing if not slapdash). The writing of it was split by an Emergency Nap. I don't know if you have the same violent mood-swing issues that I do, but I was bustling around the house feeling very useful and good, and then I was sitting here computering for a while, and suddenly it was like a giant butterfly net scooped me up and threw me into an old mayonnaise jar, and didn't poke any holes in the top of the jar, and everything started to look cheap and two-dimensional and relentlessly ugly and pointless, and I could feel my shoulders creeping up around my ears and my brow starting to furrow, and thus I literally had to drop everything and with a firm sense of purpose did not pass Go, did not collect any warm human feelings, but went straight to the bedroom and crawl under the blankets. Ninety minutes later I was a much nicer person.

You may enjoy the Wankersynth 2000. I did.

More stuff about alphabets, another stupid obsession of mine.

This made me laugh.

---mimi smartypants swears that the dog really did eat her homework.


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