step into my vestibule
Status report, my own personal LED readout: because the web is all about oversharing
by mimi smartypants
1. My face hurts from laughing too much.
2. At Delilah's, over beer, last night.
3. Hungover? Not really.
4. Rather, I merely feel a bit polluted. Were I a river, frogs would be mutating in me.
The pollution symptoms:
—The need to hold my head at a strange angle so the thoughts don't spill out.
—Mercifully, I seem to be free of the maroon woolen blanket of Prufockian despair that often afflicts me after drinking beer. Perhaps that maroon woolen blanket is in the laundry (instructions on the tag of the maroon woolen blanket of despair: machine wash cold, lay very flat to dry).
—A full-blown Tourette's-syndrome-like urge to confess everything. Hopefully I won't be captured by the enemy today, because I'd crack in a second.
—For instance, I was in conference with one of my editors, giving her a glowing performance review, and as I'm telling her how valuable a “team member” she is I find myself absurdly close to tears.
—I also welled up a bit on the El when the sunrise skyline heaved (hove?) into view. Somebody please slap me like a hysterical ingenue in an old-timey movie. Get a grip, Ms Smartypants!
Good thing overheard on the El: someone behind me said, “Rollercoaster, schmollercoaster.”
“Schmollercoaster” sounds like a particular kind of emotion you can only have in German.
The SUV people need to be mocked. I like this.
Ignore the typo in the title bar and the fact that the transliterations are a little dicey pronunciationwise (indignant am I that the spell check doesn't know the word “pronunciationwise”) (“indignant am I”? I'm also Yoda, apparently) and learn how to swear in Arabic. One of the first things I learned in Arabic was the withering “uuskuut ya walad” (“shut up, boy”) which comes in handy when you're walking through the souk getting stared at and teenage guys are saying things; things that you can't understand but you know aren't exactly complimentary; or if they are complimentary they're complimentary in the backhanded “nice ass” sense, which you know you can't allow if you're going to get anywhere in this country. “Shut up, boy” works nicely for those times.
2002 “Faces of Abstinence” calendar. I think it would be hard to get teenagers to pose as a “face of abstinence.” But what do I know. I'm going to do my own Faces of Abstinence calendar, 12 pictures of really angry, unattractive, death-metal-listening science-fiction-reading teenage boys. Via memepool, which has been just a font (a font, I say) of wisdom and good links lately. Go there and be entertained.
Again, very, very funny. This guy is lucky: the last time I did bong hits with Bill Gates, he put on this boring-ass Doors CD and kept trying to get me to “listen to that cowbell, man!” Check out the wish list of computer innovations. Sigh.
—mimi smartypants killed a man in Reno just to watch him die.