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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

2002-05-30 ... 5:33 a.m.

Here's the translated text of the asher yatzar blessing, to be recited by observant Jews when leaving the bathroom: Blessed is He who has formed man in wisdom and created in him many orifices and many cavities. It is obvious and known before Your throne of glory that if one of them were ruptured or one of them blocked, it would be impossible for a man to survive and stand before You. Blessed are You that heals all flesh and does wonders.

Here's the existentialist blessing a friend sent me today, which I kind of prefer (but that's just me): May your individuality assert itself with utter boldness in this hostile and maybe even illusory universe.

Now I'm trying desperately to make some bathroom joke involving Jean-Paul Sartre but it's just not working. Maybe later.

Although I still have a personal policy of not posting pictures of myself here (not out of any stupid stalker fear, just out of a firm belief that it should make no damn difference to you what I look like), I recently took one that makes it almost tempting to change said policy, because I took it myself in the subway by holding the camera over my head and I look absolutely godawful, in the "Sleepless Junkie Poet" (New! From Mattel! Accessories sold separately) sense, with the black circles under my eyes clearly visible even with the lousy resolution, and my hair all falling out of a half-assed ponytail, and of course the griminess of the subway platform adding its quasi-Bukowski urban touch. In fact, I look so unattractive in this photo that were I currently searching for dates (pause to give thanks that I am not), it would probably be the photo I would send prospective dates, just on the theory that if you still want to meet me after that it means that at least you are not a totally shallow human.

From the bus yesterday I saw this sign: "Hablamos Espaņol and Polish." Hmmm.

Also, long bus rides, particularly on east-west routes like the #80 Irving Park, are great for observing a cross-section of humanity and noting with alarm just how unhealthy everyone looks.

Why did I take this long bus ride? To go to my violin lesson. (I need to stop updating every day. I'm sure you all are sick of this already.) Since I am already getting tired of narrative, a few highlights:

1. When I arrived at Paul's house, where he gives the lessons, the front door was open but no one answered the buzzer. I could hear some small violinist laboriously scraping away upstairs (Paul teaches both children and adults), so I cautiously entered, and then was immediately accosted by a tiny and extremely elderly woman who spoke to me at great length in Romanian, and then took my hand and led me to an overstuffed floral couch, all the while holding my hand and speaking nonstop in a language I don't know, as we waited for Paul to finish up his other lesson. I smiled a lot and said "okay" a lot. (Almost every language seems to have "okay.") I still am not sure what, if anything, I was agreeing to.

2. Paul is a very personable, talented, and engaging guy, with the unfortunate habit of wearing Birkenstocks with socks underneath. I guess you don't get to be a professional violinist by reading GQ all day. He has huge hands, as we discovered when he was trying to get me to play E on the A string in first position without picking up any other fingers. Not with my puny paws, mister.

3. Paul has got me all excited about studying violin again because he is hardcore. Not as in mean, but as in serious, particularly about fingering, intonation, and posture. All the left-hand stuff I desperately need to work on. (Contrary to my self-assessment, he was fairly pleased with my bowing.) I have books to buy and etudes to work on.

4. Which brings me to my next point: Paul has talked me into having a lesson every week (or mostly every week: I will have to miss a few due to other commitments), which was not my original plan. I'm not sure exactly when I will find the time to practice as much as a once-a-week lesson requires, unless I start sleeping even less and getting up at 3 am to work on pieces (and I don't think the neighbors would appreciate that too much). Also, once a week makes my little hobby a touch expensive; then again I probably would have just spent that $160/month on comic books, beer, and hookers anyway.

---mimi smartypants will not get any sleep until Brooklyn.


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