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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

2002-09-27 ... 2:00 p.m.


I forgot to mention that yesterday was a Power Suit day. I had lots of meetings so I decided to get all Power Suit-y. My Power Suit is black, with a jacket and a sort of sleek sleeveless dress thing underneath. Wearing the Power Suit makes me feel like giving orders and making decisions and crossing things off the to-do list. In other words, wearing the Power Suit makes me feel like a cliché. This cliché feeling was further enhanced by the fact that yesterday morning I called home to ask LT to pick up my dry cleaning. All I lacked yesterday, in the cliché department, was a personal assistant to follow me around with a clipboard, and say "Yes, Ms. Smartypants" a lot, and bring me tea, and then at some point I would, in a completely unethical, immoral, and illegal fashion, turn the personal assistant into my personal fuckpuppet, and give the personal assistant the best sex of the personal assistant's young and inexperienced life, and then I would fire the personal assistant when I got bored. The personal assistant would cry all alone in the personal assistant's studio apartment, and from then on the personal assistant would have a ever-more-intense craving and weakness for Power-Suit-wearing ambitious and determined brunettes, and would be henceforth unable to form any meaningful relationships with anyone who did not fit into this category. Cliché fantasies like these are all side effects of the Power Suit, which makes me think that perhaps I shouldn't wear the Power Suit too often.

Also, the Power Suit resulted in a lot more attention from men than is customary. I was cartoon-wolf-whistled at from a pickup truck while I waited for the bus, and all during the workday it seemed like random guys from the building made small talk with me in the elevator, held the door open, and so on. Or maybe this is how all grown-up women who routinely wear Power Suits are treated, and I have just been missing out on the chivalry because of my normal business attire, which falls mostly into the following categories: Slightly Gothic First-Grader, I-Still-Am-Cool-Goddammit-Even-Though-I'm-Thirty thrift store finds, Some Sort Of Black Garment From The Laundry Pile, or everyone's winter favorite, Long Skirt Big Sweater And Tough Girl Boots.

There is some meeting going on about changes in the 401(k) at work. We all received an insanely upbeat e-mail about how this investment company is going to come talk to us about all the new, fresh, fun and funky mutual funds that are available for us to invest in. I was bored so I e-mailed around a fake prospectus that I made up lampooning this crap, and it included such fake mutual funds as:

---The Militia Index (a diversified portfolio of Bibles, guns, bottled water, and gold, for when Babylon falls.)

---ColombiaCartelCorp (with the Dow in the toilet, there's never been a better time to invest in cocaine.)

---GlobalCollective's Blood Of The Proletariat Fund (fantastic growth opportunity, just get out before the revolution comes!)

And so forth. No matter how busy I get at work, there is always time for making fun of stuff.


1. A very weird subject line for spam: Watch Me Film Myself Masturbating. Whoa. That's pretty removed from the subject/object consciousness. Can't I just watch you masturbating? I have to watch "the making of" you masturbating? Maybe this particular cam-girl is a staunch foe of reductionist realism, and is interested in a transcendentalist vision of her masturbating that moves toward an idealization of forms. Maybe.

2. The way that pairs of shoelaces, light bulbs in adjacent rooms, and rolls of toilet paper in bathrooms one and two all break/burn out/get used up within days, sometimes hours, of each other.

3. The (short, stunted, mushroom-clammy and pale, smelled a bit like a boiled vegetable) guy who sat next to me on the train and crossed himself before opening a textbook about how to program in FORTRAN. (Tiny mystery #3a: why are you learning how to program in FORTRAN?)

4. How weird it is that a man who was very well-known during his lifetime, Michael Puchberg, is now only famous for having lent money to Mozart. The weirdness of patron-client relationships in general, the accidents of history.

5. That I remember exactly where I was when I first heard the album Loveless.

6. (this is not a mystery but I have nowhere else to put it) No East, a Chicago photography thing.

Yesterday LT and I had an appointment in Evanston (I took the bus from work, he met me there with the car). On the way back we were driving down Ridge and I saw someone we went to school with, and she's trying to drive alongside us and get a better look at me too, so I say to LT, "Hey, that's Susan ____." Only instead of saying the last name of Susan, who at college was a sort of hippie-ish Park Ranger-type girl, who loved camping and biology and hockey, and dealt acid for a while, I said the last name of a campus professor, also named Susan, who was a to-the-right-of-Ashcroft born-again-Christian political science professor. (I know. It was not a felicitous combination.) So LT was initially kind of confused with my directions to pull over and converse with said Susan. But we did, and did some chatting and exchanged numbers, and she even lives kind of in my neighborhood as it turns out.

After that injection of college nostalgia we were exhausted, and hungry, and my memory was totally failing me as to whether we had any food in the house. I kept trying to mentally picture the contents of the refrigerator and the cupboards and not coming up with anything. In fact, whenever I tried to picture what was in the refrigerator, my brain returned an image (I shit you not) of a Brannock Device with some spinach leaves and sun-dried tomatoes artfully arranged on top of it. Artful as it may be, it doesn’t make for a very satisfying dinner experience, so we stopped at Ethiopian Diamond for a vegetarian combo. I can recommend the yatakilt wat without reservation.

Tonight I am having a very quick afterwork drink with a friend and then I am kind of floating around the city. Of course, I could be sensible and go home afterwards, and take vitamins and drink pure fresh mountain spring water and go to sleep at a reasonable hour. But then I wouldn't be living up to my tough Power Suit image. (By the way, if that report isn't on my desk by the end of the day...)

---mimi smartypants beve como un cammello.


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