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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

2005-07-18 ... 2:25 p.m.

Cookie sushi.

Maybe I am just feeling mean, but reading Pitchfork harshing on Weezer made me smirkful.

Working a five-day week. Not my thing. Particularly not this week, when I have done something weird and painful to my neck (how?) that makes it even more un-fun to sit in a task chair and look at a screen. Dumb things keep happening at the office that I have to deal with, which knocks my already-eccentrically-wobbling brain even further off its orbit, and then it takes that much longer for me to turn back to my original task. Everything is precariously stacked and if I squint to look ahead to the future I can almost see it all start to fall in super slow motion. Doesn't that sound like something one of the increasingly-annoying characters on this seasonís Six Feet Under would say? I should really get over myself.

The slimy bologna in my sandwich of despair is this news. I knew all three of these guys in a casual, buy-you-a-beer-at-the-show sort of way. In fact I had just run into Doug recently, and chuckled to myself in the days following the encounter about how he was always incredibly friendly and smiley and genuinely glad to see me while still never getting my name right.

So all weekend I have been thinking about the something that so quickly turns into nothing. About accidents, and intent, and the physics of how people bounce around and meet and love and leave each other. And about how a life can be "meaningful" only in context of how it rubs off on another life, which means that each individual life is inherently meaningless, and how I am beginning to suspect that the meaninglessness is the meaningful part. Nothing I type is coming out correctly. What was that about getting over myself? Yeah. Let's work on that.


Saturday I went to a Kundalini yoga class, a new style for me. They are very into pranayama, and although I am not entirely convinced that all this wacky breathing isn't just a cheap, "natural" way to get a bit of a head rush, it was a nice class and I felt calm and happy afterwards. I always get nervous when walking into new situations, and before the class was tortured with visions of the instructor laughing at me for not having practiced Kundalini yoga before, and making the L FOR LOSER sign up against her white turban. Which I guess is kind of unlikely, considering. Maybe I should start a new branch of punk-rock yoga where we taunt and hurl insults at newcomers. Instead of pranayama there could be the spitting of mouthfuls of beer and instead of chanting mantras we could chant the ending of the live version of "Stigmata." NAMASTE, FUCKERS!


The train was coming, so I kind of sprinted up the escalator stairs at Loyola, stopping just behind a very thin, nervous-looking, middle-aged woman wearing a cardigan sweater (in 90-degree heat). She turned around a little at my approach and started saying, "Nononononono! Fuckers are always trying to jump over me! Fuckers! You leave me alone! You wait your turn!"

I could have ignored this as just another crazy monologue if it hadn't been so me-directed---she kept repeating "you don't jump over me" and "you wait your turn" while making weird shooing motions at me with her bony hands. So as I waited for the escalator to reach the top (as she was blocking any further progress) I said, "I wasn't jumping over you. I was just walking quickly. Sorry if you felt rushed."

"Yoooouuuu were crowding me!" she shrieked. "Youuuu can't do that!"

"Whatever," I said, as we were now at the top of the escalator, and stepped around her to start walking down the platform. At which point she reached out and PUSHED ME.

Oh man. My first impulse was seriously to whirl around and kick the crap out of her. "DO NOT TOUCH ME," I yelled. "YOU CRAZY BITCH." And then I moved away as quickly as possible, because god damn I was angry and if I didn't get out of there I was going to go kung fu psycho on this woman. The Red Line, she makes raving lunatics of us all.


1. Turtle obsession is in full swing. There is a turtle in her preschool classroom, and every day I get a new fact about the turtle. Did you know that turtles do not sleep in a bed with a pillow? They sleep in their shells! The turtle eats turtle food for breakfast, he does not eat cereal or hard-boiled eggs! Nora has also taken to crawling around under a laundry basket, and saying that she will be a turtle when she grows up. I am fully in favor of this plan. Think of the tuition savings!

2. If she can't be a turtle, there is always the circus. Nora saw some circus episode of Maisy that had Cyril (the squirrel) performing a plate-spinning act, and she later spent about thirty minutes trying to get coasters to spin on a chopstick. I tried to explain how difficult the whole art of plate-spinning is, and eventually she was persuaded to give up, telling me, "When I get big, I can do it. I can spin the plates, on my nose and on my hands and one on my foot. Because I will be big and I will do the plates and they will spin and I will be big."

3. A 6:30 am wake-up time absolutely sucks ass and I am considering covering Nora's windows with tinfoil or black construction paper, at least for the summer. However, at least she wakes up happy, and superheroic---on Sunday morning we were most mightily amused by the periodic shouts of "POWER NORA!" coming from the crib.

---mimi smartypants would undoubtedly work harder with a gun in her back for a bowl of rice a day.


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