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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
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Good evening, Internet. You are looking well. I had almost forgotten the soothingness of a blank Word document, all white like a winter hospital bed (and the cursor blinks its metronome hello), because my weekend was very filled up with people-time. Disconcertingly fleshy, people are. Speaking out loud, bounded by time and space. They want to hug you and ask you questions and such. It was all quite nice but tiring at the same time, and on Sunday I not only slept late but zonked out for a two-hour nap in the afternoon, and I think it was the emphasis on being substantial and corporeal that caused such fatigue in my little bones. REASONS WHY I SHOULD BE WARY OF CERTAIN SMOKABLES BEFORE BEDTIME AND IN MIXED COMPANY Because afterwards there is nearly no chance of me sleeping normally. Because I will lie in bed for several hours feeling my thoughts percolate and ooze like those big bubbles in the La Brea Tar Pits, oh no the woolly mammoth is trapped. Because I try to lie still and go to sleep and gradually become aware that I am lying in an uncomfortable position, but I stay that way because my brain says: What if you move or shift and the new position is even more uncomfortable, and then what if you can never get comfortable, what if this is as good as it gets? The terror of making the wrong choice leads to pot paralysis, as described so well in that whole doorbell/phone marijuana scene in Infinite Jest. Because, after allegedly getting high with my neighbors, all of whom are nice people but none of whom know me very well, I will spend the next hour or so mute and only semi-engaged, since the only things I want to say are extremely Mimi-esque. I feel incapable of discussing television or sports or the future of our condo association or anything "normal," but I realize my brand of conversation is a bit of an acquired taste, and that I am sometimes considered a hard person to like, so I kept quiet. Darn you Mary Jane, why did you have to bring along your buddy, Social Anxiety? Because after finally falling asleep I sat up in the night to scribble several paragraphs about waffle fries as an extended metaphor for contemporary social networks, and I managed to work in grease, salt, ketchup, the option of melted cheese, and even the red plastic basket with a piece of wax paper that they come in. No one can ever accuse my terrible, nearly unforgivable metaphors of being incomplete or half-assed---when I am drug-induced stupid I am drug-induced stupid all the way, from my first cigarette to my last dying day---but I should probably be kept away from pen, paper, or keyboard when under the influence. Because I drifted away from the neighbor conversation to think about how much Keats I can quote from memory, but due to the altered state I revised the Keats to be like this: Thy voice, dude, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet (Here comes the Society For Not Making Fun Of John Keats to put me in jail!) WHAT LT AND I SAW ON THE WAY HOME FROM THE SOUTH SIDE A clown. The living and complete kind of clown---not the headless, limbless kind of clown you find out by the railroad tracks. The clown was walking along holding hands with an older woman and a little girl in pigtails. Could this be the clown's family? Do clowns have families? If clowns are going to have families, shouldn't the family also be clowns? Or maybe it is a recessive gene, and if a clown and a non-clown breed there is only a fifty percent chance of clown. Part of me wanted to ask LT to run over the clown, but you know it would just cling to the undercarriage like Robert DeNiro in Cape Fear, and then the clown would murder us in our own home, using its sharp clown fangs and bloody clown claws, turning up the air-conditioner first so that no one could hear us scream. The scariest phrase in the English language, I have since decided, is "moist clown torso." And it looks like I am the first one to deploy it, according to Google. WHY WE WERE ON THE SOUTH SIDE IN THE FIRST PLACE I had to go to a baby shower. It was okay, just food and beer and no stupid games, but my brain got seriously overloaded with the cute. Ducks and bunnies and cute cute cute. Why can you not find any baby clothes patterned with insects? Since most of us (at least those reading this) do not live in sub-Saharan Africa, nor do we have apartments overrun with roaches or a bizarre compulsion to smear honey on infants and leave them outside, a onesie with a pattern of insects may be our only chance to see a baby covered in bugs up close and personal. You could sneak it on your little one and then start yelling in the middle of playgroup, "Help help my baby's covered in bugs!" And then ha ha! It is just his little outfit! For a minute there I thought it was the meth psychosis again. WHAT ELSE DID THE WEEKEND OFFER, BESIDES DRUGS AND CLOWNS AND UNINFESTED INFANTS We witnessed this wrestling/bowling/Tiki drink spectacle. It was one of those things where the concept is a bit better than the execution. Still, I drank and enjoyed lounge music and watched a Spam-eating contest, where the Spam nuggets had been carved to look like Tiki heads. That alone was worth the price of admission, which was the big zero dollars and zero cents by the way, and now I know that Timber Lanes has a Ms. Pac-Man machine. I will be back. Remember that 1980s horror movie, The Howling? I was searching TiVo's lineup for something and found Howling III: The Marsupials. Somehow I fail to be terrified. (Howling IV: The Cuddly Lemurs. Howling V: The Beagle Puppies. Howling VI: Awww.) SOME THINGS I WOULD LIKE TO BE OTHER THAN HUMAN 1. An orange ---mimi smartypants is the world�s first systematic theorist of technological fascism. back/forward |
