slight discomfort mixed with utter horror
MY BRAIN IS MELTING
Something about the sky this morning (early) reminded me of Bahrain.* (Where I used to live. In case you are new to me and you are wondering why a morning sky would remind me of a tiny Gulf emirate.) Something about how it was all flat and thin like an old dime, and how although the temperature was comfortable at that point the sun promised to turn mean later in the day.
Then I got kind of angry with myself because sometimes it seems that everything reminds me of something else, this infinite regression of associations, and just what are things then? Can't anything be full up to the top with itself instead of sitting there like some stupid Zen bowl, waiting for me or some idiot very like me to come along and project all kinds of memory and cultural references and emotions and inside jokes onto it? Does this make any sense? (No. No. Not at all. [Okay, I heard you the first time.])
Mimi Smartypants wants more day in her day, more things in her things, more love in her love. That greedy ho.
*(If you hit the link, check out the stat about how much of the population of Bahrain is non-Bahrainis. Amazing but true.)
SO RICK MOODY IS SELF-OBSESSED BUT DAVE EGGERS ISN'T?
Michiko Kakutani and LT share a birthday. Ahhhh! However, a difference there (besides Kakutani being nearly 20 years older) is that LT often has something interesting to say about the books he reads. Pow! Oof! Kerrr-rang! You know what really kills me, though? The New York Times takes her way too seriously. In the citation that accompanied the submission of her criticism to the Pulitzer jury, she is described as employing a Keatsian “negative capability” by which “she leaves herself—her biases, her preoccupations, her past history—out of her reviews, and presents us with something close to a pure critical intelligence: fearless, disinterested, and responsive.” My detailed rebuttal to that statement is as follows: WHATEVER.
At least she has her own theme song(s).
PISSED OFF AND POLITICAL
1. So get it done already!
3. Everyone got worked up a few years ago (as well they should have) about “conflict diamonds.” Although I'm sure there are still such diamonds sneaking through, most gem traders at least acknowledge the problem and pay lip service to the solution. But timber and wood from west Africa are easily as big an issue, and you hear a lot less about it. Why is that? Diamonds are sexier than wood, I guess.
4. Grrrr. All journalists, especially female journalists, seem to just about come in their pants over the least bit of increased visibility for larger-sized women. Big fat curvy deal, I say. As if so-called “fat acceptance” (not my term, I assure you: there is nothing to “accept” or “not accept” about the way human beings are shaped) is the answer. I will be happy only when women's bodies—of ANY shape or size—are no longer used to sell products or held up to other women as the ideal (read: unlike you). Replacing one hypersexualized media image with another is not going to cut it for me, but thank you for playing.
5. Plus, you know, poverty, global warming, an unchecked growth in corporate profit-taking, a glut of low-wage service jobs, crappy schools, child abductions all summer long, arsenic in Bangladesh's water, etc. Sorry if I bummed you out but the crankiness has a hold on me today.
MIMI IS RESTORED TO CALM AND LINKS SOME LINKS
If you are not lucky enough to have a friend who will compose electronic music for you, and you're too lazy to do it yourself, there is a thing called Viragelic. I haven't played with it much, but the sounds I have received have been kind of spare and glitchy. Spare and glitchy to the point of just being small random sounds, in fact. Still, it's a neat idea.
GOOD GOOGLE REFERRAL FROM AN INQUISITIVE SOUL
Q: Is it ok to shove things up my ass? A: While it's certainly okay, you may want to rethink the verb “shove.” (WHY am I the number one hit for this query?)
FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE (or: I'M SORRY, I SPEAK ENGLISH, NOT “CRAZY BITCH”)
I just got the weirdest phone call at work. It was from some author's secretary, and I am not even sure that she had any idea who she was calling or why. She kept saying, “I need to know when the article will be published,” without being able to say WHICH article, for WHICH journal, written by WHOM. I was starting to feel like Dustin Hoffman being asked “Is it safe?” over and over again. My incomprehensible phone call lasted well over five minutes, and this lady even got kind of abusive at one point, saying, “Well, since you obviously don't know anything, can you transfer me to somehow who will?” No, I can't. I'm stupid, remember?
FAVORITE SHAKESPEARE QUOTE OF ALL TIME
—mimi smartypants is only somewhat like a weasel.