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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

2005-12-14 ... 2:14 p.m.


Yesterday, Nora was musing out loud about cultural dividing lines. Coke/Pepsi, Lennon/McCartney, Windows/Macintosh---yes yes, that's all well and good, but when it comes to Blue's Clues: are you with Steve or are you with Joe? Nora seems to have fallen under the sway of Joe's uncomplicated sunny openness, so unlike the subtle cynicism of Steve that I cherish. However, her loyalties are mixed, as when we settled down to watch and she said, "I love Joe. But I love Steve too. [happily] I know! I will love Joe and Steve AT THE SAME TIME!"

Guess my reaction:

a. Nearly choke on my Shiraz.
b. Think, "Not until you're eighteen. And they'll be pretty old by then---you may want to reconsider."
c. Think, "Admit it, Smartypants: you would totally download the three-way sex orgy featuring Joe and Steve and [key point, this] someone else's daughter."
d. Think that while Blue's Clues hosts shagging each other would be most excellent, preferably with some Miranda (owner of Magenta) thrown in for maximum orifice variety, it would be even more fantastic if the entire "cast" could join in. I am somewhat uncomfortable with the bestiality aspect (Maybe Blue and Magenta could just do each other? Maybe Periwinkle could just hump a pillow or something?), but who wouldn't want to see porn featuring anthropomorphic household objects? Shoot a load into Side Table's drawer! Let Tickety-Tock time your efforts! Slippery Soap, for all your lubrication needs! Mister Salt will shout French-accented encouragement: Zut alors! Ayez le sexe! Shovel and Pail are a textbook penetrator/receptacle pair, and they seem to be neuter as far as I can tell, which should send all the gender-studies majors in our porn-viewing audience reaching for their notebooks in glee!
e. Am horrified at how far my brain has run with my daughter's adorable, innocent remark. Think only sugarplum thoughts until she's safely in bed.
f. All of the above.

On another note, I find the relationship between Joe/Steve and Blue to be very passive-aggressive and dysfunctional. Despite the dog's bowbowbow pseudospeech, Joe/Steve usually seem to understand her pretty well (albeit with a heavy reliance on yes/no questions). So why do we routinely have to play a guessing game to figure out what she wants? Picture this:

Joe/Steve: Blue, are you mad at me?
Blue: Bowbow bow! [nods]
Joe/Steve: Why are you mad at me? What did I do?
[cymbal noise; Blue puts paw print on screen]
Joe/Steve [despairing]: CHRIST, CAN YOU JUST TELL ME FOR ONCE?
Blue [shaking head]: Bow bow bow.

And then the clues could be something like a bachelor party, a garter belt, and a late-night ATM withdrawal. Now what could Blue be mad about with a bachelor party, a garter belt, and a late-night ATM withdrawal? Let's go sit in our Thinking Chair!

So. Hello again. When I am not sitting on the couch thinking completely unwholesome thoughts, I have been at work or trying to recover from work. Now is just about when everyone realizes OH MY GOD THE END OF THE YEAR IS TOTALLY SOON, and tries to wrap up all their shit accordingly. While I have not been staying late or anything like that (sorry overseers! I need my Nora, and we're on the edge of being nanny-poor as it is so there's no money for overtime!), I have been doing dumb things like taking work home. Blarg. Oh, I have also been busy crumpling up and throwing away the unsolicited resume of one Frederick Evans, who has now faxed me the damn thing a total of five times. I got it dude, thanks. I'm not hiring, I'm not hiring you, and I'm certainly not hiring you five times. Please go away.

A few days ago I did actually have a day off from work, but it was stressful in its own way because I spent it being interviewed and photographed (in a cutesy, non-identifying way) for the Chicago Sun-Times. The silly tabloid paper with the Weather Word! I neglected to expostulate on the Weather Word during my interview, which was probably a good thing. Actually, in stark contrast to some of the other interviews relating to the book brouhaha (New City, where I continually laughed at my own jokes? That London paper, where I drank half a bottle of wine while waiting for the reporter to show and the other half while we talked?), I don't think I said or did anything too weird, other than my usual shtick of talking too fast and too much (I'm afraid that can't be helped). Of course, the reporter might have had a different take on the whole thing, and on New Year's Day hundreds of hungover Chicagoans might be treated to "Boring Babblings of a Bipolar Blogger Bitch: My Lunch With The Very Demented Mimi Smartypants."

I am grateful that the interview went as well as it did, for I had premonitions of it going very badly. I often get this weird feeling, like a twitch in the brain, where I just know I am going to mouth off or say something regretful or drink too much and end up throwing a wig that I found in the street at a bunch of Bucktown yuppies (I think I even screamed something like "WIG ATTACK!"). I am like one of those dogs who can sense earthquakes or epileptic attacks, only I sense attacks of stupidity, and I sense them only in myself. Wouldn't a dog who could sense attacks of stupidity be a great pet to have? He could whimper and paw at you and you'd know not to go to work that day, because you would probably do something to get yourself fired. He could give a signal to tell you not to have that next beer or not to buy those turquoise cowboy boots.

I am normally not much of a news hound, but for some reason I really enjoy the NPR updates of the Saddam Hussein trial (now adjourned until next week). A while ago he apparently entered what must be his one-thousandth complaint about having to walk to and from the courtroom in handcuffs. I find this hilarious, since one would think that if there is anyone who should be relieved that his corpse is not hanging upside down covered in spit and rotten fruit, it would be Saddam Hussein. There should be a special international award for "People Most Unclear On The Concept."

---mimi smartypants hears the beating of the hideous heart.


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