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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
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SETTLE DOWN THERE GIRLIE The beginning of a new month always makes restless and vaguely insane, as I become obsessed with looking ahead and trying to plan all sorts of Fun Things, but also try to balance that with a equal number of Nights At Home, where I cook and read and generally loaf about. The beginning of the months is when I get all ambitious about things. It's when I schedule home improvement projects and vow that I will make it to yoga class twice a week and decide that I will go to that weeknight show, because rock and roll is also good for your health, and I won't crap out after a hard day's work and cancel my plans. The beginning of the month is when I contact just about every friend and acquaintance I have and say Please come cause trouble with me. Some people I know are quite good about scheduling time for MimiTrouble, and other, more vexing friends are all about "being spontaneous," which is an absolutely ridiculous thing to say to someone with as many hyperorganized onetwothreefour let's-plan-this issues as I have. I suppose I like being spontaneous to a certain extent (eg, if you call me up and say, "Beer. Now.") but I also having like a full calendar. The pleasure of anticipation. This past weekend was a pretty good combination of the above conflicting instincts (Drunk Girl vs. Nesting Girl). Friday I went to Quimby's to see a compilation of bizarre videos. My favorite was the trailer, dubbed into fractured English, for a Japanese TV show called MONKEY! The word MONKEY! was all in that ridiculous "Oriental" font, and as far as I could tell it was about a guy who wears a strange helmet and has some kind of monkey powers. (What does that include? Jumping, beating off in public, the ability to throw your feces really far?) There is, surprisingly, a large amount of information available on the Web about this Monkey show, but I do not have the patience to sift through it all. My least favorite video was either the informercial for Jeff Stryker's brand of penis pumps (oh my god I would have given anything for him to stop saying "cock" in what he mistakenly thought was a sexy way), or the piss-poor Christian kids' video that featured a two-dimensional cutout sheep singing a one-chord ditty about how much it loved Jesus. If you want to indoctrinate your kids that is fine with me, but please learn some production values and a few notional principles of entertainment. Hey! Speaking of Jesus! Today I decided to use my lunch hour to visit the library, because books are more important than food. If books really were food, my library trip would have resembled a trip to one of those suburban chain-restaurants-slash-feeding-troughs, because I lurched out of there with a supersized portion of four novels plus some probably-depressing polemic about the World Bank. Unfortunately, at noon the trains back uptown are all slow and infrequent, so I was trapped in the dank underground Jackson station listening to Moaning Jesus Guy. Remember him? He was in fine form today, pounding out some kind of Extended Jesus Remix on his Casio keyboard. The best thing about Moaning Jesus Guy is that his "lyrics" consist mostly of "Jesus" followed by lots of semi-intelligible words, which leaves your brain free to try and impose syntax and meaning on them. Which is why I could have sworn that at one point the M.J.G. was repeatedly hooting "JESUS PLEASE DONKEY PUNCH ME, JEEEEEEESUS DONKEY PUNCH YEAH YEAH." After the videos on Friday, S. and I went to Beachwood for just hours and hours. Our original intent was to be Roving Drinkers and move ever onward and forward, like substance-abusing sharks, but then we decided we were addicted to our real estate. It is hard to give up the comfort of a large comfortable booth in a crowded bar. One particular Beachwood bartender always gives me big-brother-style shit when I purchase my first round, pretending to be all like "oh no not you again," and "what do you want?" and such, but after that we seem to become best buddies, and he takes my order even over the heads of trucker-hatted slumming hipsters who have been waiting much longer, which earned me some delightfully dirty looks that evening. My popularity is mysterious. I am a good tipper but not that good. Saturday my sister came over for dinner and we stayed up until all hours with the beer and the giggling. I made homemade mashed potatoes, for the first time over, and let me say this: never again. My puny pipe-cleaner forearms still hurt from all the mashing. Part of the problem is that the recipe totally lied about how long to roast the potatoes (Yeah. Roast instead of boil. Don't ask me.), and even though I left them in the oven twice as long as recommended there were still plenty of potato chunks, that wished to tenaciously cling to their cell-wall integrity. Ow. No more mash. Unless it is of the monster variety. MONDAY MAKES ME WEBLOGGY, LET'S SLURP UP SOME LINKS 1. File under S for So Fucking What: All the Pixies albums have been reissued, although they are exactly the same, no remastering, no new tracks, nothing. However, the news of the upcoming concert-footage DVD got me all excited, even though I don't have a DVD player. Oh, who am I kidding. I just wanted to link to this page because I think the subtitle, "You Fucking Buy," is a genius bit of Pixies in-joke-ism. There, I feel better after owning up to that. 2. This is why we don't drink Liquid Plumber. (Although their mini-cartoon of a clogged drain is strangely beautiful, I am all kinds of spleened by the official "plumr" spelling. Why did they do that? Because they thought that the image of a literal, shape-shifting "liquid plumber" was too disturbing? But he himself would be able to go down the drain and fix it! It would be great!)
3. Thing In A Jar! What a great hobby! LT once made a prank version of a Thing In A Jar. I forget exactly what it contained: I know there was tofu, and grenadine, and some mung bean sprouts, and styrofoam peanuts, and various other organic items. He was going to inter-campus mail it to a guy he didn't like, and he added more material to the Thing In A Jar over many weeks. It got progressively slimier and scarier and more disgusting, and we thought it was very funny indeed. Then one day it fell off the top of the refrigerator and broke. And LT had to clean up his own impressively foul Thing, No Longer In A Jar. To this day he considers it a lesson in karma.
4. Not for every POSSIBLE need. No.
5. Old Chinese posters make me happy. 6. You should buy the latest issue of Found magazine. It rules. Particularly this found list:
7. Fiendster. 8. Which Springer-Verlag Graduate Text in Mathematics Are You? 9. These people will call you. And play music. That's the kind of phone call I like. 10. With Google being my One True Religion and all, why is it that I have not heard of Googlefight until now? Even worse, why did I have to hear of Googlefight from William Safire's column in The New York Times? I mean, how unwired is that? And I call myself a modern girl. ---mimi smartypants is blissfully unaware. back/forward |
