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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

2003-08-11 ... 6:49 p.m.

In the city, ladies look pretty. Guys tell jokes so they can seem witty.

This is not precisely true. There are plenty of unattractive women around, and don't some guys tell jokes out of a simple love of jokes? Is it always a performative display of wit? However, I do recommend busting a move rather than just standing there.

(Sorry. I have old 1980s MTV favorites on the brain today.)

I had a nice weekend. It seemed blurry and insubstantial, but it left an overall impression of niceness. Saturday I messed around with my iPod some (more on this later), and then LT and I went to our local for a sushi feast. But why tell you a simple tale of a nice dinner out when I could mention bathrooms? Or underwear? Or anal sex? Or types of books that grate on my nerves? Or taxonomy? Or a muttering, smoldering anxiety that we are not being honest with ourselves? Classic Mimi Smartypants themes all!

LT and I ate at the sushi bar rather than at a table, which always has this kind of fun, informal, cocktail-party quality to it, plus you have more chances to observe people. The white guy to our left ordered in fluent-sounding Japanese, and received slightly scary food, such as entire beady-eyed jumbo prawns and things, that he crunched into with abandon. That was fun to watch. There was also the guy who kept saying, "Happy Friday!" to everyone, and I really wanted to go over and tell him it was Saturday. He was with one of those very curvaceous, slightly goth girls with the long dyed hair and the tattoos on her ample cleavage. She looked super-familiar to me, and I kept trying to remember how I knew her. But then I recalled that I used to be acquainted with lots and lots of very curvaceous, slightly goth girls with long dyed hair and cleavage tattoos, given that I used to spend just about every weekend night dancing in the freaky zone, as it were, so the sense of d�j� vu was nothing to be overly excited about.

I have not been dancing in a long while, so I am no longer acquainted with these types of girls. Now I just know editors, slackers, moms, and drunks.

On to the bathroom part of this story---after the second Asahi I slid off the stool to visit the facilities, and there was a woman waiting. After a moment I helpfully said, "You know, the men's room locks," and gestured that she could go first. She totally wrinkled up her nose and shook her head, like I was a filthy whore for even suggesting it. Hello, sweetheart? We are not at a gas station. We are not at the Pontiac Caf�, which once was voted as having THE most disgusting bathroom in Chicago (rumor is it has cleaned up, but the clientele bugs me so I have not verified this). We are definitely not at the Nizwa Fort in Oman, where LT and I visited once, and which boasted a "bathroom" that left LT pale and shaken. (He advised me to wait until we got back to the hotel and I did, but to this day he does not want to discuss what was so horrible about the bathroom.) We are instead in a high-end Japanese restaurant frequented by foodies and nuclear families, rather than drunken salarymen. So quit being so fastidious, missy.

I peed in the men's and it was fine. Plus there is a signed photograph of Johnny Cash in there. What could be better?

I love my local sushi place but I feel a faint flicker of irritation that it is suddenly more popular, ever since it was featured on Chicago television. I do not live in a trendy neighborhood so I am not used to that sort of thing.

More Japanese stuff: vending machine costume.

And this I just don't understand at all: knitted fashion mask.

Are you interested in concrete fasteners? MY GOD WHO ISN'T?

Useful phrases.

Girl Scouts enjoy kittens, just like everybody else. This young lady is deciding which one to eat first.


Short answer: love it. I have barely scratched the surface of its ridiculous capacity, though, so I need to get serious about adding more of my music collection whenever I get a few spare moments. I have conflicted feelings about wearing headphones during my commute, because somehow it makes me feel slightly unsafe on the street, and while on the train I am so attached to my reading and eavesdropping habit that headphones seem disloyal. I tried it today and it was an interesting experiment, particularly finding out which types of music work for the bus and which work for the train. Any sort of hip-hop is better for the bus, as are most of the compositions by my drinking buddy. Raucous, crescendoing classical, like choral masses, are fantastic for walking through crowded El stations, because you feel like you are starring in your own, pretentiously soundtracked, film. Gritty blues-y-ness like P.J. Harvey is total train music, particularly in tunnels.


A display of novelty beer openers at the liquor store that contained sound chips, and the things that they said:

[Three Stooges voice] "A beer? Soitenly!"

"OH YEAH! Time for a beer!"

[Homer Simpson voice] ""

"It's Miller Time!"

"Tiempo para una cerveza!"

Things I wish they said:

"You'll die alone! Drunk, but alone! At least drunk's pretty good."

[Tom Ridge voice] "BEER ALERT!"

"Daddy, please! No daddy no!"

"Go ahead! You're not Amish!"

"You know what goes great with beer? Gay porn!"

---mimi smartypants has forged in the smithy of her soul the uncreated conscience of her race.


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