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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

2003-07-31 ... 4:20 p.m.

Yes yes. I am still here. I still feel like typing stuff and putting it up online, although god knows why, really. Occasionally I have these Crises Of Conscience™ about time and life and death and wonder Why Am I Not Doing Anything Worthwhile (conveniently ignoring all the worthwhile things I actually do, because logic is not a strong point of Crises Of Conscience™). When I have one of these crises, weblogging or diary-ing (some day, but not yet, I will feel that those terms are worthy of standing alone without ironic quotation marks or arched-eyebrow disclaimers) is one of the first things to stop. Because really. Who cares. However, you have to be careful with those Crises Of Conscience™ because they lead to thinking: why do this, why do that, why even bother, we are all going to die anyway and leave very little lasting impact on the world, and the next thing you know you have not showered in days and you are eating caramel sundae topping with a spoon and crying in front of a re-run of Charles in Charge. Because you know that guy Charles? He was in charge. Oh yes he was. Scott Baio, secret leather daddy.

Right on the heels of the C of C came a mental Who Am I debate, with the extra-special "online persona" spin. Weblog folks who believe their own hype really freak me out---the kind of girl who has her own favorite entries in a sidebar, a cute-as-hell (or, alternatively, artfully blurry) photo of herself on the front page. (It is not always a girl, but you know what I mean.) I am only human, so naturally I am susceptible to e-mails telling me that I seem kind of cool or that you enjoy reading my updates and such, but if ever I find myself thinking too much about this page (or worse, starting to mentally stylize experiences I am having right that second as journal entries, rather than digesting and regurgitating in the manner of a traditional diary-keeper),* I need to take a step back and ask myself who exactly do I think I am?

By the way, this is probably the only online diary that gives a lengthy, defensive explanation for a lousy one-day gap between entries, and that invokes Bakhtin (obliquely) and Scott Baio (overtly) while doing so, and for that reason alone I suggest you stop reading approximately now. I am very ashamed. I am That Kind Of Girl. I am the classic crazy-style Diane-Keaton-overeducated-hopelessly-neurotic-secret-freak-ho cliché. I am a cute cuddly puppet with deadly sharp teeth, I am a Dadaist pizza, I am that weird stain on your sleeve. I will stop now.

*(Oh man. The world as vast quantities of junk food? The dialogical, mediated Self as bulimic? The diary as toilet bowl? My metaphors have devolved into a Lifetime Channel Movie Of The Week.)


1. Here is an etiquette tip. If someone you don’t really know asks, via e-mail, for your honest opinion on the idea of naming her baby "Asia," and you and your husband both blurt out "like the porn star?"---be very, very grateful that the mother-to-be is not at that moment standing in front of you.


2. In my browsing the other day I happened to come across a photo of a woman who was squatting over a champagne bottle (Korbel: nothing's too fancy for this broad!) and who had the neck of the bottle inserted most of the way up her hoo-ha. She was kind of plain and basic-looking, not a porn star type at all, and she had this huge happy smile. It was as if she were having her picture taken at Disneyworld, except with no pants on and in the midst of an act of self-violation with a champagne bottle. And I thought: Go internet go. Information wants to be free. And I thought: She seems like a nice lady, and I appreciate her being so cheerful about her champagne wishes and caviar dreams, even if I do wonder why such a photo exists.


3. Overheard at Long Room: "When I woke up, I had all my clothes on, except my pants and underwear."


4. Canadian content from 1999, where Bobby Conn is defensive about his clothing habits. Tuesday night I tried to go to a Bobby Conn show, but at the door I was told he would not be performing that night because he was in the hospital. "That fucker," I reflexively said, completely and totally joking, but I think the bouncer was a little taken aback at my breeziness. Rumor has it Mr. Conn suffered a bike accident, which I sincerely hope was not serious and I wish him all the best. I stayed at the bar anyway for the DJs and the dollar beers, and then took the Western bus home (since it was right there) instead of a taxi. There was no one on the Western bus except for me and a loudly weeping Mexican guy in a cowboy hat (what was he sad about?), and we got mostly green lights, so the Western bus was kind of like a taxi. A very large, cheap, noisy, emotionally overwrought, well-lit, dirty taxi with discarded food all over the floor.


5. Have you ever seen a liquid potato? You can't anymore because I threw it away. I was starting to make dinner and something smelled weird. The garbage? The drain? Do I need to buy a box of baking soda* and throw it down there? The answer to my smell-query came when I went in the cupboard for the garlic and pulled out a bag containing one very elderly potato that had undergone a very foul transformation. A LIQUID POTATO, PEOPLE. I shrieked and used tongs to put the whole bag in the garbage, and LT refused to come out of the office to take a look, even though it might have been his chance of a lifetime to see the amazing potato alchemy. I should have just said, "Come look at this" instead of describing it from afar.

*(The ULTIMATE in modern consumption! You buy it and then you THROW IT DOWN THE DRAIN! God I love baking soda. It puffs up our cookies, cleans our drains, and makes a nifty volcano.)


6. I have a thing about Colgate toothbrushes. The names get me all excited: The Navigator! The Total Professional! (Oh I don't know. I am just an amateur toothbrusher, do I deserve such professional equipment?) The Wave! The Active Angle! But it was The Massager that ultimately leaped into my shopping basket and is now making my gums feel oh so good because that's the way uh-huh uh-huh I like it. Now when the dentist asks me if I floss I can say, "Yes. And I also massage."

---mimi smartypants would rather be rich and healthy than poor and sick.


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