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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

2004-11-03 ... 11:37 a.m.


Except to say: Sigh. And: Despite my outward sunnyside-up optimism, I think part of me knew that W. would win reelection, and that we would have to put up with four more years of an administration that violently resists and rejects analysis, reflection, thought, judicious consideration of evidence, and the diverse opinions of experts. That is my main objection to Bush & Co. (boy is it a big one), and not coincidentally it is also my main objection to knee-jerk Bush-blamers. The world is a complex place, and worthy of our full attention. If only the President thought so too.

At least we got a good senator out of the deal.


First: I had heard some of those "Elizabeth Edwards is fat" (oh god! not that!) non-stories and I was wondering when someone, anyone, would come right out and suggest that people should shut the fuck up.

Second: That particular flare-up of my Righteous Anger was nothing compared to what happened when I read this. Specifically, my eyes became furious pinwheels that spun faster and faster until sparks flew out, and I started fantasizing about grabbing an assault rifle and heading toward the "Sentinel" division of Penguin USA (if that's not a disturbing moniker for a conservative publishing imprint I don't know what is) to wreak some havoc. (Or at least be really scary and yell and wave my gun around a lot.) If that were to happen you could blame idiotic retrograde anti-woman, anti-family books like this one for the freak-out itself, and you could probably blame W. for the fact that I so easily purchased an assault rifle. Well look at that, here we are back at the election-anger again! It's the Circle Of Life! The Circle Of Sputtering Incoherent Rage, anyway.


I came very close to not posting this anecdote at all, but then I realized I had been thinking about it for days. And I WANTED TO STOP, and the way I do that is to pluck the story out of my head, like a grape from a bunch of grapes, and hurl it at Diaryland, like an egg from a carton of eggs. (Oh I do believe that is simultaneously the loveliest and dumbest metaphor I have mixed today. But at least I kept my thoughts the same approximate shape.)

One thing you should know about me is that, despite all my blowjob talk, I am quite shy about certain things. Certain bathroom and bodily-function things. I have never burped audibly in my life, fart jokes were not considered funny in my house, and LT and I don't even pee in front of each other, much less the other thing. I don't mind sharing Nora poop-stories, because baby poop is fair game as far as anecdotes go---"privacy" and "diapers" being somewhat opposing concepts. But in general, I would be a lot happier if we could all pretend that poop did not exist.

Yesterday I was peeing in the office bathroom when someone else came in, went into a stall, and started doing her thing. I finished and was washing my hands when A Rude Noise erupted from the mystery person's stall. Immediately, the mystery person said, "Excuse me." I have several issues with this.

(a) If you can't make rude noises in the bathroom without making the customary verbal excuses, where can you make them?
(b) To be honest, I am not sure I ever want to hear "excuse me" or a sheepish ownership claim from makers of rude noises, even when we are face-to-face, even when it is obvious what has happened. Rude noises are embarrassing enough---must we dwell on the topic?
(c) Most horrifying of all: when the rude noise occurred, I had no idea who was in the stall, since I had not seen her come in. But when she said, "Excuse me?" I KNEW. AND I DID NOT WANT TO KNOW.

Okay, that took up entirely too much brain-space, so I am glad it is out of there. Now it is yours to suffer with.


This weekend I drove the car! to do a "big shop" with Nora. It made me feel like a real grown-up mommy-person, parking in the parking lot and putting Nora in the cart and wheeling her around and such. We could not find my favorite junk food, the Morningstar Farms miniature faker corn dogs, (WHERE HAVE THEY GONE?) but it was fun nonetheless. However, since I don't go to big grocery stores very often, I had neglected to take into account that Sunday at around noon is possibly the very worst time to go. The store was incredibly crowded, and some genius of planning had decided that Sunday at around noon would be a great time to take retarded adults from some group home and teach them how to shop for food. I applaud the teaching of Life Skills, truly I do. But noon on a Sunday? Are retarded people all that busy during the week?


You must read Mr. Ceglowski's discussion of what's wrong with Canada. I will let you flounder in the archives in order to read the whole thing, but here is my most favorite bit:

The failure of Canada to independently develop the burrito is one of the great mysteries in the development of human civilization. All the key elements are in place - Mexicans, tortilla bakeries, a large drunk population, the concept of flat pancake-like thing wrapped around a savory filling (thanks to creperies), the concept of a starchy, vaguely spice-filled Latin American food (thanks to the empanada bakeries), even the concept of 24 hour cheap bulk food (thanks to the $0.99 pizza parlors).
But just as the Chinese were never able to make the leap to the printing press despite inventing ink, paper, movable type, and educating a large literate class, Canada can't seem to make the conceptual or cultural leap to the burrito. Perhaps it is a niche in the Canadian stomach already occupied by poutine? Or is it the invisible hand of Tim Horton's "taking care" of any entrepreneur who dares open a burrito stand?
The world may never know. But the world is certainly not going to consider moving permanently to a place that does not offer giant foil-wrapped cylinders of Mexican food at three in the morning.

---mimi smartypants con frijoles y queso.


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