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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

2002-12-05 ... 5:47 a.m.


I was thinking today about childhood and about how very many things could easily throw my grade-school self into a complete shaking dizzy trying-not-to-cry panic. Do you remember those things? I would break my glasses, or leave something at school that I needed, or miss the bus, or be waiting at the wrong door for my mom to pick me up. (Or, one memorable fuck-up in particular: I used to have a real, child-sized kilt that a traveling uncle brought me from Scotland. Real kilts are just one long piece of fabric wrapped and tied and secured with one of those pins, and somehow my second-grade brain did not grasp that one could simply LIFT the kilt, just like any old skirt, in order to pee, so I undid the pin and unwrapped the whole thing and then of course could not get it back together, and stayed in the stall wigging out until a teacher came to find me and re-wrap my complicated garment.) I can't think of very many things that would cause similar panicky awful feelings in most adults (outside of true catastrophes, like danger to your loved ones or pets). Maybe the feeling when you may have lost your wallet comes the closest. Or having car trouble on the expressway with no cell phone.


"Sire," the messenger said, "a huge pig has appeared amongst us and is causing fearful damage."

And another time I was translating some lyric fragment about "large honeycombs" and I got all excited for a moment, thinking I had found the ancient Greek lyric:

Honeycomb's big
Yeah yeah yeah
It's not small
No no no


I am a freak. Someone has been slipping some sort of Lust Elixir in my tea, I think, because I am all wiggly and squirmy like a wiggly squirmy mink. Yesterday morning before I even went to my office I had to go drop something off on another floor, and I was all alone in the elevator with its shiny mirrored interior, so I spent the entire ride striking suggestive poses like I was a backup singer for Prince or something. Except with polarfleece mittens on instead of fingerless lace gloves, and no similarly big-haired severe-makeup girl hanging over my shoulder and helping me play the synthesizer. Do you remember all those Prince girls? Apollonia and Vanity and all those other funny-named people? What do you think they are doing right now?

Anyway, I hope this lustful squirmy mood passes quickly, because it will not do to be all riled up like this every day at work, because sometimes I have to use terms like "dangling modifier" or "endoscopic retrograde cholangiopancreatography," or I have to figure out how to cite the Congressional Record, and these are all very sexy things that could push me over the edge if that lustful squirmy mood is still around. Next thing you know I am dirty-dancing on top of my desk with office supplies for props.

Only action I saw at work yesterday, though, was from a decidedly non-human entity. I am calmly doing my thing in Microsoft Word (my office's pitifully old version) and suddenly, from nowhere, Clippy appears, hangs around for a while blinking his big bedroom eyes, and then disappears. I swear I touched nothing, and I certainly had not asked for "help." Clippy is flirting with me. Clippy says please baby please. Clippy says okay baby, trust me, just touch it a little bit, please. Clippy says, "It looks like you are getting naked. Would you like help getting naked?" And Mimi is traumatized for weeks by nightmares of humping the Microsoft animated paper clip.


"There is a deep-seated prejudice in the West against loss of control. There is such a high evaluation of the individual and his personality that it is very difficult to conceive of the possibility for the ego to relax its grip and to accept to be displaced by something higher and finer." Hmmm. Here is more than you previously knew about voudou.

Christ that sounds awful. "Product of El Salvador." Also, "natural wood-flavored malt."

Business cat art is wicked cool.


Chicago-centric, sorry: That Red Eye paper is still free, I guess, because I see people handing it out as I wait for the Longest Streetlight In The Universe to change, on my way to the El. I never take one, because I looked at it once and its design from 1997, its horrible website and faux-rebellious ads, and its worthless dumbed-down news stories all combined to make me feel vaguely dirty (and not in the good way mentioned above) all day. That paper needs to be killed. It needs to be killed like we are Abraham and that shit is our son, and this time we cannot afford to listen to any of that "Oh-I-was-just-kidding" crap from some prankster Judeo-Christian god. However, I do like watching the paper be handed out from a distance. The gesture of one person giving something to another person is kind of sweet and charming to look at from across the street. Or maybe I am just getting sentimental in my old age.

Today I listened to WFMU online all day and heard some of the most awesome old-timey jump jazz, including "Fry Me Cookie With A Can Of Lard." Dig these lyrics:

Some of you cats are not on the beam
I know what's wrong, you've been cooking with cream
Now if you want a beat that's "solid" and hard
Then fry me mama with a can of lard

(Did you hit that link? What wouldn't you give to be named PEANUTS HUCKO or FREDDIE SLACK? Damn that is cool. Please name your first-born child, boy or girl, Peanuts Hucko. Please?)

I am quitting early because I don't feel all that great. I feel like something Bela Lugosi threw up. Hopefully this is just the normal shock-upon-awakening, caffeine-withdrawal, loneliness-in-the-cold-morning-house thing, but if it's not, if I really am getting sick, maybe Al Gore will heal me. Because Al Gore OPERATION PANTS goes down tonight. So if you don't hear from me for a while, I am in federal prison. Which, be honest, is not necessarily the LAST place you expected me to end up.

---mimi smartypants wants a second opinion.


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