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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

2001-07-26 ... 5:33 p.m.

A brief shout-out to rfb, who, in her profile, not only listed me as a favorite but described me as "the ghetto Nora Charles," which basically made me fall in love with her. Thanks, man.

Absolutely lovely weather today. The heinous humidity has finally abated here in Chicago, so going outside is no longer like stepping into an anxiety attack.


One of the antique books I've ordered arrived, and it's even better than I could have hoped. This is an extremely creepy childrenís book from 1913 called "The Goody-Naughty Book." One half is "The Goody Side," then you flip it over and get---you guessed it---"The Naughty Side." May I quote from The Naughty Side (the only side I know you are really interested in, you rascal) for a moment?

A little background: These are all stories of naughty children, and this one focuses on Sammy, who is naughty because he has trouble getting up in the morning. (A pretty loose definition of "naughty," I'd say. We're all going to hell.) Sammy is magically transported to "The Land of the Wide-Awakes" (um...very creative), where he is punished.

"Sammy Sleepyhead, step forward between the lines," commanded the king sternly.

Sammy saw a queer little man pull a paddle from his pocket. His knees were shaking with fear, but he dared not disobey.

"Run!" ordered the king.

Sammy started. Spat! went the first paddle. "Ouch!" screamed Sammy.

"Faster!" cried the queer little man.

Spat! Spat! Spat! went the paddles as he ran. "Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!" screamed Sammy.

"Done!" cried the queer little man, as Sammy, breathless and crying, reached the end of the line.

Whew. Have you had your daily dose of creepy sadomasochistic children's literature yet? Can't you just imagine some old-timey kinky kid getting all flushed and bothered over this paddling passage?

In case you need reminding that the world is a very big place, go here. This one's got it all: sex, crime, and ceremonial baboon skins.

In today's mail I was called for jury duty. I know people bitch about this, but I'm kind of excited. For one thing, this is the first time I've ever been called. I was beginning to think they didn't like me. Call me naÔve, call me childish, call me a starry-eyed civic-minded idiot, but I think you sort of do have an obligation to serve on a jury if called. Even just practically speaking, if everyone got out of jury duty, then only old people with nothing better to do and hicks who couldn't summon the brain power to think of an excuse would actually serve on juries, and those are not the sort of folks I'd want representing ME should I ever become a defendant. (Not that I'll ever get caught. Come and get me, you dirty coppers! Top of the world, Ma!)

And yes, I have to go to the icky scummy courthouse at 26th and California, and yes, it will be boring beyond belief, but the people-watching opportunities will be superb, and I can think of worse things than to sit in a plastic chair and read all day. And if it starts looking dangerous, like I'll have to actually serve on a months-long O.J. Simpson-style convoluted criminal case, I will just explain that I can smell the guilty, and mention the voices in my head, and they will dismiss me and all will be well. Serving on a case like that would really suck. Although I do like the word "sequestered."

---mimi "all rise" smartypants


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