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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

2002-06-20 ... 11:00 a.m.


A lot of office buildings around here are enamored of these summertime outdoor concerts, and said concerts are always, without fail, one of the following: (a) yawn-inducing electric Chicago-style blues (sorry but that stuff does not move me in the slightest and never has); (b) noodling white-guy smoooooooooth jazz; or (c) your basic string quartet, maybe with a minor instrumentation variation (flute, French horn) thrown in, playing boring Pachelbel's Canon garbage or Four Seasons or whatever. How do you get that lunchtime gig? It would be fun to audition as a nice safe version of one of the bands above, and then morph into something else entirely when the performance day came. Like a really screechy violent noise band featuring hot chicks in vinyl tube tops pouring oil on each other and screaming. Or a feeble attempt at imitating those throat singers, with tambourine accompaniment. Anything grating and bizarre would work. I wonder how long it would take Security to pull the plug.


1. I was woken up by yet another celebrity dream (I am getting tired of these): I wandered backstage at a Beastie Boys concert and ended up smoking a big joint with Mike D. He bitched and moaned about how tired he was. I got really high really fast and worked hard on trying to cover and be "cool."

2. In the shower I realized that I use two different products, a shampoo and a face wash, that claim to be "clarifying." I guess I want my hair and face to be well-explained and easy to understand. You are confused by my hair? Well, allow me to clarify.

3. I had some Wheat Thins for breakfast (shut up. Wheat is a grain, right?) and as I was shaking the crackers out of the box and onto a plate (because I have a strange phobia about putting my hand into opaque bags and boxes), one of the Wheat Thins jumped off the counter and fell into the no-man's-land between the cabinets and the refrigerator. It will be there forever because it's a very narrow space, just wide enough for a Wheat Thin to slot through. The Cat saw it happen and because she loves crackers the loss of the Wheat Thin was driving her nuts, and for a few minutes she stared at the area like the Wheat Thin was going to come out on its own. She is not the brightest cat in the whole world but we love her anyway.

4. I realized that without fail I am all sexually riled up in the mornings but it never seems to work out. Curse this 9-to-5 existence! Curse this early-morning insomnia! Curse LT's pre-sunrise personal-training appointments, as he continues his quest to be the buffest History PhD/database programmer Chicago has ever seen! Ah well. Delayed gratification for this girl.

5. On the train this guy was staring at me, almost in a "do I know you" kind of way. I ignored it for a while and kept reading, but every time I glanced up he was still looking at me, and by now it had gone past "do I know you" and was just uncomfortable and weird. I was in the mood for sociological interpersonal experiments so the next time I looked up and saw that he was still at it I stared back, expressionlessly and kind of aggressively, and we made eye contact for a few long seconds, and then still completely expressionless I slowly stuck one finger in my nose, staring at him the whole time. It worked like a charm, he immediately looked away and resolutely read his paper all the way downtown.

6. Some fleet must be in because there were a bunch of Navy guys all over River North, so heartbreakingly young and immaculately shiny and polished and skinny and virginal (most likely not, but they sure look young and innocent to me). There's a major paradoxical attraction there; I can't really imagine that me and a 19-year-old Navy guy would have a lot to talk about but THEY ARE JUST SO CUTE. Maybe the paradoxical attraction is a reaction to all the goateed bedheaded squalid boys who make up a goodly part of my social circle. Or maybe it's not so paradoxical after all and is just part of my psyche; looking back, I realize that the vaguely punk, fishnetted, combat-booted High School Me was forever falling in like/lust with and developing crushes on multiple skinny virginal clean-cut math geeks. Hmmm.


Enjoy: The Vice Guide to Guilty Pleasures. S is for Singing in the Mirror, oh yeah. I have also been guilty of practicing smokin' dance moves in the mirror, posing with a squirt gun like some kind of Bond girl in the mirror, and making monster faces in the mirror. This is because I am a huge dork.

Make Like Quincy And Get Slicing: Virtual Autopsy. I worked every single case and correctly surmised 13 out of 18 causes of death. Go me! Got any cadavers I can slice?

Be Disturbed: Wickedly detailed Gravity's Rainbow concordance. Why have I never seen this before?

Odd: Dog in a coat.

Okay, It's Not Funny, But It's Kind Of Funny: Mom is all cranked up. Making you a REALLY PRECISE lunch. Cleaning the bathtub to within an inch of its life. This particular article is kind of baffling. It really wants to postulate some sort of "trend" that working women with kids are turning to meth in great numbers, but they have no evidence whatsofuckingever for that assertion: one drug counselor says, and not even in a direct quote, that speed is the "drug du jour for some super-moms who are trying to have it all" and there's some statistic at the end about how most incarcerated methamphetamine users are women (but nothing about whether any of them are the middle-class suburban working mothers that the article so desperately wants them to be). But I guess that's CRAPPY CRAP-ASS CRAPTACULAR TV REPORTING for you.

Don't Forget: Little things mean a lot.

---mimi smartypants is drunk with power. or maybe gin. she can't recall.


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