quarter past twelve
HILLS LIKE WHITE APRIUMS
smartypantsmimi: I am eating an APRIUM. And it has a sticker that says, “FLAVOR SAFARI.”
famouslongago: Whoa.
famouslongago: Every time I think I am within firing range of your coolness you race ahead of me.
smartypantsmimi: No shit. Flavor safari. I feel like Hemingway.
smartypantsmimi: Women suck.
famouslongago: *cork pops*
GROUND TRANSPORTATION
Someone in my neighborhood drives a huge, purple, custom-painted Lincoln Town Car. It was parked on Francisco the other day and I noticed that the entire dashboard and control panels are covered in purple crushed velvet, the tinted windows have sparkle decals of mudflap girls in each corner, the back windshield has detailing that reads PURPLE PASSION WILL DRIVE YOU WILD, and the bumper has a sticker that says TOO MUCH SEX IS NEVER ENOUGH. Objectively I know that Nora's Purple Dog, her bedtime homie, her P to the D to the O double G, is just a stuffed animal and cannot drive a car. But deep in my heart I kind of wonder.
I lived even larger than The Purp* on my way to Midway, when the “car” I had ordered to trek me all the way down there turned out to be a white stretch limousine, complete with bar and cigar humidor and moonroof and lord knows what else. I felt like such a dork, buckled in (I'm no Diana) and reading the complimentary Sun-Times, traveling to Chicago's dirtiest second-cleanest airport.
(*Who, incidentally, kissed me goodbye right on the boob as I went out the door with my suitcase. An accident of Nora's height? Or has she somehow internalized P-Dogg's pimp persona?)
A LIST OF ITEMS TAGGED “REVOLUTIONARY” BY THE SKY MALL CATALOG (aka THOMAS PAINE NEEDS A BARF BAG IN HIS GRAVE)
- plant watering system
- towel warmer
- “catapult MMXT3 gravity-defying shoes”
- spine-straightening pillow
- infrared laser comb
- fingerprint ID lock
OTHER PHRASES FROM SKY MALL THAT I JUST PLAIN ENJOYED
- “unique robotic hammerhead shark”
- “lesser gazebos requiring tedious assembly”
- “self-care muscle massage tool” [oh MY]
Sky Mall also gets points for intriguing copyediting—a grilling-tool description said something about “steaks, chicken breasts, or cabobs.” Cabobs? Why did they pick that spelling? My Webster's prefers “kebab,” then “kabob,” and doesn't even mention “cabob.”
AUSTIN IN GENERAL
1. Out by the airport = titty bars, a graffiti mural of Tweety Bird pointing a handgun at the viewer, and lots and lots of overgrown scrub. Many great places to hide a body or find a head. (Alas, still no heads for me.)
2. Downtown: my hotel was fine, I had many lovely cheap beers at the Jackalope and the Dirty Dog, and I played Ms. Pac-Man at Casino El Camino. Thanks to all for the drinking suggestions. I also had a good dinner at Shady Grove with my long-lost college friend and assorted conference people.
3. A restless early-Sunday-morning 6th Street walk was perhaps not the best idea. Not dangerous, but certainly not uplifting. I encountered a metric ton of hobos and yet was not panhandled. Do I look like a hardass, and thus unlikely to shell out the coin? Do Austin's hobos have secret income sources beyond spare-changing? Or maybe they are simply too slack to even bother.
4. I slept like crap on my stupid squishy blob of a hotel pillow. I must be the only person in America who prefers a thinnish slab over a feather-filled fluffy puffball.
5. The conference itself was fine, although I was completely over it by the second day and wanted to either (a) spend the rest of my Austin time with my face in a Lone Star bottle or (b) go home. Duty called, and I stayed the course, but I always made sure to sit near the door during each panel, just in case the siren song of a saloon or an air-conditioned nap became overwhelming.
SOME VIOLATIONS OF COPYRIGHT LAW
You no longer need to wonder what the inside of Gamara looks like.
Ain't nothing but a G(I) thang.
—mimi smartypants is the first part of a patented three-step treatment.