Back to Diaryland

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

2002-05-19 ... 7:05 p.m.

I really hate it when my despair is summarized so concisely:

More and more she's coming to feel the outlines of an unnatural growth inside her, something pathologically resistant to even the meagerest infusions of religion, nationalism, racialism, humanism. The extent to which people find their lives meaningful is directly proportional to their ability to allow themselves these kinds of delusions, but this intractable thing inside her, this immune system gone awry---this overactive bullshitological system---allows her no meaning whatsoever. She can feel it gnawing away day after day at the very organs it was supposed to protect: the organ that lets people live as part of a particular clan or group or effort, the organ that lets people orient their beliefs along some particular axis, the organ that lets people feel some particular sense of purpose.

(from The Savage Girl, Alex Shakar)

Okay. I'm done sobbing now.


1. Postironic self-referential metahangover
2. Cramps (I Enjoy Being A Girl)
3. Nasal congestion and slight headache (see #1)
4. Small cold feeling from reading that sickeningly accurate text portrait (see quoted excerpt above)
5. The standard Sunday Sads (work, tomorrow, already, so soon)
6. Piles of newspapers, unopened mail, abandoned teacups, clumps of cat hair
7. My neighbor's empty and banal thumpy-thump dance music, played just loud enough for the bass to seep through the ceiling like mustard gas
8. Say it isn't so!

Jeez, what a pathetic whiny baby I am.


I went out drinking last night (what was intended to be a sprint kind of turned into a marathon, a test of endurance, a battle of wills, and if there were a Elite Commando Unit of Small Inebriated Brainy Bespectacled Chicks the squad leader would be tracking me down and knocking on my door [Ms. Smartypants. Join us. The future of your country depends on it.]), and this morning I have oddly clear skin. My skin is fucking glowing, soft smooth and trouble-free, and I could star in an Ivory Soap commercial right now. It's probably just a random coincidence but it pleases me to write a pitch for Old Style as a complexion enhancer in my head.

Speaking of Old Style, this guy looks happy. And see! What nice clear skin!


This album is currently on heavy rotation at my house.

The Gossip and The Dishes, at the Fireside Bowl, Wednesday. All ages. Don't worry about the weird smell, it's just a combination of water-damaged drywall, hot dog steam, dope smoke, and punk rock pee.


Picture Noam Chomsky pumping his tweed-covered arm in the air and yelling "Yeah! Yeah! Who da man? Woooooo!"


1. Tickle Me Elmo
2. Sue Me Snoopy
3. Garrote Me Gonzo
4. Borrow My Bartok CD And Forget To Give It Back Barney
5. Bitchslap Me Bert
6. Grope Me Grover
7. Ostracize Me Oscar


1. Smashy-Smashy Smash Everything In The Goddammed Place
2. Eavesdrop And Then Make Fun Of Other People's Stupid Conversations
3. No Beer Bottle Labels Allowed (Peelapalooza)
4. Arm Wrestling With Strangers
5. Embarrassing Personal Revelations (aka Time-Release Regret Capsule)
6. Throw A Punch At Your Best Friend
7. Persistence of Memory (aka 1-800-GET-BAIL)

Aren't you all glad I have a web page? Otherwise I'd be showing up at your house to tell you all this crap.

----mimi smartypants: you had her at hello.


join my Notify List and get email when I update my site:
Powered by