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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

2002-12-06 ... 12:17 p.m.


Let my love open the Gore
Let my love OPEN the Gore
Let my love open the Gore
the Al Gore

1, 2, 3, 4 Get your former vice prez on the floor
Gotta get up to get down

Look over there, it's MC Al Gore
He's hard to catch like the albacore
He's hard to destroy like uranium ore
A to the L to the G-O-R-E
Speaking his rhymes to the petite bourgeoisie
Smartypants in his pants is what he be needing
One taste of my ass and the man be pleading
"Please baby please baby Mimi baby please"
I say, "Al, cook me up some macaroni and cheese"
'Cause you know I like things that are many and boiled
And you know how I like it when your chest is all oiled


Thank you.


*There were no refreshments. No cake shaped like Al Gore's head. No Goresicles. No Goreos.

* There was, however, an incredible lack of organization. There were two groups of people to see Al Gore; my sister and I were in the first, smaller (200 or so people) group. The organizers, and I use that term loosely, sort of just opened the floodgates to the venue (which, somewhat strangely, was the Swedish-American Museum on Clark). They checked to make sure you had a blue ticket and a book, but that was about it. Then everyone sort of crowded around the front of the museum, jockeying for position like at a rock show, while a lady with a very shrill voice explained the "event guidelines" to us THREE TIMES, despite the fact that we had all received them in a handout moments ago. It was annoying, but not overly so, because I was ready to Get My Gore On.

*Eventually Al and Tipper showed up to make their "remarks." Al looked fine in the standard political navy suit and reddish tie. He had really pink cheeks, probably from all the Scotch he was drinking backstage. (Just kidding! Oh, let's all get sued for libel! Oh goody, do let's! That will be ever so much fun!) (Where did that Little Women diction come from? I think I have a fever.)

*Al's remarks were kind of ranty. Not crazy-ranty, but sort of all over the place about the changes (good and bad) in the historical American family. The man sure likes his statistics. He also likes the word "astonishing." (As do I.) Tipper's remarks were much less interesting and more subdued, but maybe she gets tired having to stand there and fake like she is adoringly listening to Al all the time.

*I made a llama puppet and I wanted the llama to be able to see Al Gore. I stuck my arm up in the air so the puppet could look out over the crowd, and I learned that the Secret Service REALLY do not like it when you throw llama at someone they are protecting. No tackling ensued, but two of the guys moved over to get a better view of me and stayed like that for the rest of the remarks. My sister and I developed a fondness for the Secret Service and decided that we want to get some old phone cord and make some fake curly ear-wire things for ourselves like the ones they have. It looks really cool.

*I know I sound like a total freaky stalker when I say this, but Al Gore was totally looking at me several times. Or maybe he was just freaked out by the llama too.

*Then we got in line to have our books signed. It moved slowly. We were in line near these middle-aged Total Stress Kittens, women with too much makeup who kept whining about "personal space" and the temperature in the room. I can't stand it when people feel the need to make loud remarks like that. If you are truly freaked out by crowds, then leave. If you are just cranky and a big Complainer-Head, keep your mouth shut where others can hear you because we cannot do anything about it. At one point one of them says, "And this woman is totally blocking me in," so I turn to her and say in a steely monotone, "Would that be ME you are discussing? Am I blocking you in or otherwise causing you trauma?" She says, "Oh, no, no" and gestures to some other total stranger, but I think I made my point.

*Here is simultaneously the best and worst part. I get up to the book-signing table, and Al Gore is sitting down behind the table so really there is no way to de-pants him without diving onto the floor and causing a major scene, and you can't really de-pants someone when they are in a seated position anyway. I am not too disappointed because it is not like I live in a no-pants fantasy world. Really. Al Gore signs my book, shakes my hand, and says "Thank you for coming" or one of his stock phrases. Then he squints at me and says, "What is that?"

"That" is this button on my coat. My sister makes buttons. She makes them collage-style, just cutting out random images and text and pressing them into a button. I have one that features a bored-looking medieval woman with a book on her head, chin resting on her fist, and the found text says BOY AM I IMPRESSED.

"That's funny," says Al Gore. And chuckles. Gore-riffically.

BUT OH NO, I think as I walk away. I hope that Al Gore does not think my button, which I totally forgot about and which has just been riding around on my coat for a month, is some sort of cynical disaffected commentary on the Al Gore Scene. It is my cynical disaffected commentary on the world in general, plus I just really like the image, but IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU AL GORE. I am currently drafting a letter to this effect.


On the way home I saw some evil things on my bus. I saw two tremendously fat and slovenly men argue with each other in a horrific lovers' spat sort of way, calling each other "cocksucker" and "idiot" and each bitching about how poor the other's personal hygiene is and how bad he is in bed, and I can only hope it was some sort of public performance art. It was seriously gross. I could do a whole zine just about these two guys.

But then on the second bus my journey was improved by the sight of a kid who had a portable CD player manufactured to look like a hamburger. You lifted up the top bun, complete with plastic sesame seeds, and put the CD in there. There was even plastic lettuce spilling out the sides and stuff. Coolest CD player ever! I want one!


Why is the spare tire small? Is there some reason you don't want to drive around with a nice, real, full-size tire at the ready, should you need it?

The head must be on at all times. (I cannot remember who sent this to me, but you rule.)

How to make a cryogenic freezing chamber (something I am kind of obsessed with) (in a distant intellectual way, I'm not currently making plans for The Big Freezy or anything) inside your optical mouse.

Typefaces in London: this is my favorite. I don't care for the lintel, but the gates are fantastic.

I have more stories to tell. But I have promised myself that, no matter how manic and odd I get, I will never go over two thousand words in one of these stupid things, because really. There is a limit to what even you charming people will put up with. Over and out.

---mimi smartypants is startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken.


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