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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

2002-07-18 ... 3:08 p.m.


Morning. Half-asleep, in bed, I decide that today is Friday. Hooray! Friday! Twelve hours from now I will be all done with work and well on my way to getting tipsy on cheap beer and ruining my hearing with some noise band or other!

Today is not Friday.

Later. Post-El ride. As I scuttled up from the subway with all the other worker beetles, on our way to high-rise offices where we industriously roll dung all day,* I saw several large drops of white liquid splatter on the stairs. "Birdshit," I thought. Immediately after I thought that, I felt one of these drops land on my head. "Ah," I thought then. "Birdshit, on my head." And then I thought a whole bunch of other, less genteel thoughts, and started rummaging in my bag for some kleenex. But when I got to the top of the stairs, I saw that the building was all roped off for window cleaning, and there were some guys dangling from scaffolding a few floors up, and the white splattery stuff was not birdshit but rather just some sort of industrial window-cleaning product. Not that it's so great to have a drop of industrial window-cleaning product on my head, but I'll take it over birdshit. Any day. I was pleased. (Such a small pleasure, not to be shat upon.)

*Dung beetle mania?

Lunch. I went to a Japanese restaurant for lunch and had veggie sushi. They had a "set lunch" deal on the menu where you could pick some sort of meat-and-rice teriyaki combo from column A and a "side dish" (like soup or gomae or edamame) from column B. One of the side dishes, oddly, was fried chicken. So one theoretically could order chicken with a side of chicken.


smartypantsmimi: Maybe chicken tamer would be a nice profession. With the circus. The chair, the leotard, the flaming hoop.
feedmewithyrkids: Can chickens jump?
smartypantsmimi: No. It's really more of a tragic circus. We might want to look into losing the flaming hoop part.
feedmewithyrkids: How about chickens riding motorcycles?
smartypantsmimi: Al Gore apparently knows how to hypnotize a chicken.
smartypantsmimi: He could hypnotize them into riding the motorcycles for me.

(long pause)



I notice that the domain is not yet taken! If you want to make a fan page to a bag of gravel, or if you sell bags of gravel to the public, now is the time! Or maybe a "Rate This Bag Of Gravel" type of site. Register that fucker! Do it now!

Reverse Google makes me feel all funny inside.

Sapir-Whorf hypothesis.


A friend and I were getting all philosophical and self-revelatory the other day, and she asked me "What's the worst thing you've ever done?" It seems like that is a strange question to ask because people can't tell you, can they? So at the very most you are getting like the second- or third-worst thing they've ever done. (Shame being a powerful motivator, indeed one that can motivate you right into suicide, if you're not careful...when shame outweighs fear, that is Suicide City.) (SUICIDE CITY: A PLANNED COMMUNITY!)


An idea that I have been kicking around with coworkers and others: We need crafts.

Especially in my fever-pitch workplace, where people seem to have lost the ability to distinguish between what is a Crisis and what is merely business as usual, and everyone runs around freaking out about what must get done RIGHT THIS SECOND. (How can they live like this? Instead of calmly gazing out their window at their horizon of Shit To Do, where some things loom large and some loom in the distance and some are just mere scraps of paper on the ground, to be picked up eventually with one of those pointy sticks, these people seem to live in a nightmare disco funhouse with distorting mirrors, strobe lights, and blinking neon signs that constantly say URGENT URGENT SOS VERY EMERGENCY. Seriously, it's called prioritizing. Figure it out.)

So I'm going to set up a Workplace Craft Station in my office, and if anyone feels the need to do something soothing he or she can stop by and glue some macaroni to construction paper or make a caterpillar out of cheerios and pipe cleaners.

---mimi smartypants is wearing her fingerpaint smock.


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