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03 Jul 2009 11:36
good morning, wordpress - 10:36 a.m. , 2009-07-03
2009-07-03 ... 10:36 a.m.
I got out the boxes and the packing tape and moved to mimismartypants.com.
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01 Jul 2009 18:53
elaborate murder attempt - 2:56 p.m. , 2009-07-01
2009-07-01 ... 2:56 p.m.THAT'S SOME MIGHTY FINE DOCTORING
Last week, LT hit a bump and went over the handlebars of his bike, and damn that human reflex that makes us throw our hands out when falling, because he hurt his wrist quite badly. After a week spent in some crappy Walgreen's brace, he went to urgent care for x-rays and they said whoa, there's a huge chip out of your bone here. He got a referral to an orthopedist, and I was imagining pins and surgery and all kinds of icky stuff.
The orthopedist's office took its own x-rays, and said that really the wrist is just badly sprained. And also that the "chip" identified by urgent care is an actual part of the normal wrist. Which makes me wonder about the radiology department at Swedish Covenant. Are they routinely telling people that their livers are huge tumors? Do they look at head x-rays and say OMG you have these two weird symmetrical holes in the front of your face?
I STAYED OUT OF THEIR WAY
Today I went to Sephora for more foundation primer, which I usually wear all by itself and not under foundation (please don't tell anyone Im doing it wrong). I shared the store with about six young women from Saudi Arabia (overheard the cashiers question and their answer). They were not all hijabd up but just in Chanel headscarves and expensive jeans, and they were buying the SHIT out of Sephora. Each one had a shopping basket literally heaped with various forms of face spackle. Which is kind of weird because there are Sephoras all over the Gulf states, but maybe makeup is really expensive there. I know everything else is, which is why I always begged my mom to send me reading material and peanut butter.
STUFF WITH A SIDE OF THINGS
1. Why do some urban youth wear their visors upside down and backwards? It looks like they are trying to create a portable rain barrel on top of their heads. Oh those eco-conscious urban youth!
2. I saw an ad for vodka flavored with that stupid scam-o-rama, shows-up-in-every-ad-sidebar, never-heard-of-it-before fruit, acai berry. Since the outlandish claim is that acai berry burns fat or controls metabolism or some equally improbable thing, vodka with acai berry seems perfect for the drunkorexic in your life. Bonus points if she drinks too much and throws it up.
3. I have been wanting to read Little Bee because just about every review is positive. The other day I was picking up my on hold items at the library and happened to see it on the shelf. Sweet! But I decided to take a closer look in person, just to make sure the book still seemed worth the extra weight in my bag, and I read the jacket copy, and then I got so angry I wanted to punch someone. Here it is:
We don't want to tell you too much about this book. It is a truly special story and we don't want to spoil it. Nevertheless, you need to know something, so we will just say this: This is the story of two women. Their lives collide one fateful day, and one of them has to make a terrible choice. Two years later, they meet again. The story starts there. Once you have read it you'll want to tell everyone about it. When you do, please don't tell them what happens. The magic is in how it unfolds.
WELL HOW ANNOYING. THANKS, NOW I DONT WANT TO READ IT AT ALL.
---mimi smartypants so contrary.
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19 Jun 2009 22:35
building a tractor in the basement - 10:42 a.m. , 2009-06-19
2009-06-19 ... 10:42 a.m.I had a dream that I lived on a hippie commune and it was really shitty and sexist. I mostly washed dishes and had sex with different bearded freaks, many of whom were jealous and who would tell me not to have so much sex with Bearded Freak X or whatever. I have never woken up happier to be in a monogamous, nuclear-family, free-market condition.
A lot has happened since I complained about my crazy cat, who by the way is currently right here whining for attention. It may be time to resort to THE NUMBERED LIST.
1. Nora's last hurrah at school was the "Fun and Games" day. Part of it was a 5K, you could run as much or as little as you wanted. Nora ran 5 times around the track, or 1.25 miles, without stopping. The kids who weren't doing it/had already finished stood on the sides and cheered for runners, and she outright admitted that she loved the cheering and that's why she ran so much. Then they had carnival games and sno-cones. Then she went to her dojo for karate class. Then she had a bubble bath with some of her action figures, who suffered many diverse and tragic fates underneath the suds. Then she decided she wanted only "small round things" for dinner, and ate a can of garbanzo beans and a whole bunch of blueberries. Then she watched a Walking With Dinosaurs special on DVD and went to bed. THE PERFECT DAY!
2. We went to a street festival and it did not rain. Which is good, because my brother-in-law was performing the rock and roll at the fest, and I suspect my familial support is not strong enough to withstand rain. Nora scaled an inflatable climbing wall (twice), picked up swag, and ate a corn dog while sitting on the curb and nodding her head to the rhythms of the Def Leppard cover band. I wish I had video of that last thing. She is a rather unmusical child, but if a song would be at home in a NFL team's weight room it apparently makes her playlist.
3. Later that night I went to a social outing, composed of some moms from Nora's recently concluded (huzzah!) kindergarten class. It was not the sort of night where we did tequila shots and became BFF, and I was definitely the most socially-acceptable me I could be all night, but it was enjoyable in a grown-up sort of way. Plus totally worth it to learn inside information about the school and Nora's future teachers (one of the women has a son in the upper grades). Check this space in 2011, when from the sound of things we'll be in Diorama Hell!
The restaurant where we met was so far west it was practically in Park Ridge, and I drove. (Guess the lack of tequila shots was a good thing.) I am a DRIVING SUPERHERO as long as I have my trusty GPS. Sometimes I turn it on even when I know the way, just for the friendly encouragement. (GPS Lady: Left turn ahead. Me: Yes indeed! Thanks robot lady!)
Anyway, I had to park really far away from the restaurant door, which was fine at 6 pm but creepy dark at 10 pm. I am the fearless urban type but that was something else. I do not know what the Far Northwest Side has against streetlights, but the pitch-black walk to my car was freaking me out a bit. I realized that I was reflexively hitting "door open" on my key fob over and over again as I walked, hoping to see the welcoming flash of my tail lights, and then I realized oh great, I am giving the Killing Dismembering Rapist multiple chances to hop in the car and crouch in the backseat with his bag o' bonesaws. (Although a Raping Killing Dismemberer would be more standard, I suppose. Not too many dedicated torso-fuckers out there.)
Of course no such ghoul appeared, and my Toyota's interior lights up delightfully for seeing at a glance that there is no one inside, which is a nice feature. Unraped and undismembered, all I had to put up with was Saturday-night crazy drivers zooming past me on Devon, despite the fact that I was moving quite efficiently at ten miles over the speed limit. Yes, I see, you have a fast car and you are an asshole. Good for you. The only thing that loosened my anxious deathgrip on the steering wheel was playing the live version of "The Girls Want to Be With the Girls" and faithfully making every single David Byrne yip-yip noise. It was a bit like musical driving Tourette's but it totally calmed me down.
4. Then Obama came to town and I had to party with him for a while.
5. I took Nora to the dentist and he was still a major dick about the finger-sucking thing and pretty much showed me the Lisa Simpson-gets-braces projection of her hideously deformed future. I am supposed to make Nora wear a glove to bed or face tragic future orthodontia. I did not outright say that I had no interest in making Nora stop sucking on her finger in the middle of the night, but because I was so calm and not rushing to agree with his doomsday predictions I think he suspected I am not really on board. At one point he said, "All I can do is educate, I can't tell you how to parent" and I said, "That's so true" and then we just sort of gave each other flinty looks, like in a Clint Eastwood cowboy movie. The good news is that he is leaving the practice, so maybe Nora's December appointment will be a little less fraught and the new dentist a little more relaxed. And still no cavities!
---mimi smartypants goes with everything.
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09 Jun 2009 23:55
ask no questions tell just a few lies - 3:17 p.m. , 2009-06-09
2009-06-09 ... 3:17 p.m.
FLAME ON
I own a kitchen torch but have never used it. This is a lowdown dirty shame. If I am not going to use it for cooking I need to at least use it for mayhem. I can picture myself snarling many a witty supervillain aside as I singe people's clothing with my Williams-Sonoma torch. I MAKE LITTLE BURNY HOLES IN YOUR SWEATER! [Is English my supervillain's second language or something? Note: come up with better torch-wielding catchphrases.]
The kitchen torch came with a crème brûlée cookbook, which I also have never used, although yesterday all of my cookbooks fell off of their kitchen-window-ledge shelf (more on this in a minute) and as I labored to set things right I noticed that under the large title CRÈME BRÛLÉE the tagline read, "America's Favorite Dessert." Which I think is stretching the truth an awful lot, because nothing with three different diacritical marks is ever going to be America's Favorite anything.
REASON FOR COOKBOOK MAYHEM: FELINE MENTAL ILLNESS
Previously I have talked about my odd cat Rocko, and about how he loves me (particularly the lower half of me) with a creepy passion. Rocko's neurosis seems to be worsening. Is he just a giant weirdo, amusing and tolerable, providing us all with a source of crazy-pet anecdotes? Or does Rocko need actual veterinary/psychological help? I love the nutter and I don't want him to go changin' just to please me, but if the consensus is that he's actually in distress I'd be happy to go talk to a cat professional.
SYMPTOMS
1. Inability to be alone, ever. If I am sitting down, Rocko is next to me. If I'm walking around the house doing stuff, he may settle for LT, or go bother his sister (the much more well-adjusted Lola). (If you see Rocko and Lola sitting together, it is a safe bet that Lola was there first.) If Rocko were a human boyfriend, he would be texting me every five minutes. He sits in the window as I walk up the street after work and screams at me all WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN, WOMAN?
2. He hates Nora, but for the most part he keeps his hate confined and lashes out only very rarely, mostly because I bring the wrath (Big Scary Voice) whenever he does. Kid before Cat, sorry Rocko.
3. Likes pressure on the top of his skull. He reminds me of those sensory-spectrum kids who feel better wearing a weighted vest. At every opportunity he will curl up and press the top of his head into my hip quite firmly.
4. Does this weird tail-shivering thing. Some cat articles I Googled up say this is an expression of love and excitement, others say nervousness and anxiety. Maybe he's nervous because he wants to ask me out? Maybe Rocko's life is one long first date?
5. Also tail-related: will sometimes be cleaning himself and then be like "Holy shit! Tail!" And then start attacking his tail like it is a cat toy. Usually during the battle he falls off the couch, or else takes off running around the house and jumping on stuff, including (yesterday) the kitchen window's sill, which caused him to tumble to the ground in a rain of vegetarian cookbooks. Psychosis? Or just unfortunate lack of brains?
6. This is the thing that is currently driving me most bananas. I have no pantry and thus my 12-pack of Diet Pepsi sits out in the kitchen, right under the window actually, in an area where we store things like the stepstool and cases of beer. Rocko has taken to obsessively licking the flaps of the box. It is the grossest sound ever, somehow simultaneously wet and raspy at the same time, and I usually try to fling a beer coaster or something similarly light and non-injury-causing to get him to snap out of it. Usually he slinks back and continues anyway and I give up.
I ripped the flaps of the box off, thinking that maybe Rocko was eating the glue (dude, we'll get you some catnip, I promise), but he just started licking the sides of the box. Is it the ink? Is it the particular soda-pop cardboard? (He does not do this to any other box.) All Rocko wanted was a Pepsi. Just one Pepsi. And I wouldn't give it to him!
Rocko is a great cat and I love him, even if he is insane in the membrane. I am just starting to see why he was a "get one free" deal with his sister Lola, and why the shelter was so insistent that they be adopted together. He is barely functional as is, even with me as his girlfriend and Lola for emotional support.
NOT MY SON
Somehow I have "Billie Jean" on my iPod and I can't remember why---maybe a drunken download binge. Have you ever listened to that song with headphones? I mean post-1983, with proper earbud headphones and not the giant foam ones that came with your Walkman? That song has something like 17 vocal tracks and there is all kinds of weird shit in the background. Wikipedia claims that "[Quincy] Jones had Jackson sing his vocal overdubs through a six-foot-long cardboard tube." That image is going to give me nightmares, seriously.
I just realized that my typing has come full circle with the fire, the Billie Jean, and the Pepsi. Does someone smell burning hair?
---mimi smartypants is special effects gone wrong.
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04 Jun 2009 15:12
my long lasting flavor really lasts long - 1:10 p.m. , 2009-06-04
2009-06-04 ... 1:10 p.m.
EIGHT SEVEN CENTRAL
I am surely not the first person to notice this, but there are way too many TV shows named The Something. Where the Something is a person. I don't watch any of these, but I have seen ads for The Closer, The Listener, The Locator, The Cleaner. Here is my new prime-time lineup, with possible taglines:
The Wanker (A gritty urban drama taking place on public transportation.)The Deboner ("This fish...my god! Someone could choke! Get me the tweezers!")The Heaver (He doesn't feel well at all!)The Laminator (Your cards are protected.)The Blogger (No topic is too boring for...The Blogger!)The Pauser (You'll keep wondering...should I say something now? How about now?)
SCHOOL DAZED
Recently I volunteered as a "lunch supervisor" for Nora's kindergarten class. I spent my time opening stubborn yogurt tubes and drink boxes, telling a certain kid to SIT DOWN about ten thousand times, and avoiding a certain other kid's repeated robot monotone of "Can I tell you something?" I listened to the first few somethings, which were uninteresting and barely comprehensible, but I quickly got sick of it and just started telling him no. Can I tell you something? No thanks. Tell somebody else. He persisted in wanting to tell me things even during recess, to the point where I was pretty much constantly pivoting my body away from him and keeping up my own robot monotone about how he should GO PLAY, for crying out loud. I felt sort of bad about it but good lord.
Something that amazes me about kindergarteners is how physical they are. Boy or girl, "best" friends or not, they all want to hold hands. They get SO CLOSE to each other when talking. If you want to show something to your friend, by all means just shove it right in her face! Yeah, right up to the eyeball, she'll be sure to see it then! Just watching them gave me the shivers. I had to keep reminding myself that the personal-space heebie-jeebies was my problem and not theirs (since no kid seemed to mind) and resist the urge to wade in there and pull kids apart.
I CANNOT STAND THAT WOMAN
Funny article on Oprah and her lifestyle "advice." This is my favorite part:
On one of the Secret shows, Oprah gave an example of the scientific power of the concept. She said that once, while she was hosting an episode about a man who could blow really big soap bubbles, she was thinking to herself, "Gee, that looks fun. I would like to blow some bubbles." When she returned to her office after the show, there, on her desk, was a silver Tiffany bubble blower. "So I call my assistant," Oprah told the audience. "I say, 'Did you just run out and get me some bubbles? 'Cause I got bubbles by my desk.' And she says, 'No, the bubbles were always there. I bought you bubbles for your birthday and you didn't notice them until today'."
There are many lessons that might be drawn from this anecdote. One is that if you give Oprah a thoughtful gift, she may not bother to notice it or thank you for it. This is not the lesson Oprah took away from her story. Because the way she sees it, her assistant hadn't really given her the gift at all. She gave it to herself. Using the power of The Secret, she said, "I had called in some bubbles."
NOT MY THING
Fashion phenomena for which I am too old/not fashionable enough, or maybe I am just unable to wrap my feeble mind around them:
1. Belts over shirts. Women who do this seem to wear a tight-ish shirt and then they put the belt way up high around the ribcage. It looks strange. I remember belts over shirts in the 1980s, when we wore giant knee-length shirts with a similarly giant belt (preferably all in neon colors). That looked strange too.
2. Wearing a bunch of shirts at once. I saw a teenager on the train with three tank tops on and still somehow her bra straps were showing. Or those Gap ads with a whole bunch of "tissue"-weight t-shirts. I can deal with tank top under a V-neck sweater, but that is about my maximum number of shirts, thanks.
3. Skirts over pants. If I'm honest with myself, I have seen this look kind of cool on other people. But I won't be doing it anytime soon.
CLUMSY OAF
A guy came to wash our office windows from the inside and knocked over my water bottle. All over my desk calendar, all over my reference books, all over some piles of papers. Nothing that got ruined was life or death, but I was still pretty pissed off and I could not bring myself to respond with a bright girly OH THATS OKAY! to his apologies, nor even a muttered "Shit happens." Dude should count himself lucky to have gotten my mirthless tight-lipped "smile."
---mimi smartypants, damp and disgruntled.
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03 Jun 2009 16:50
3 older Asian women in motorcycle jackets
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01 Jun 2009 19:49
scientific spellbinder - 1:56 p.m. , 2009-06-01
2009-06-01 ... 1:56 p.m.INFORMATION FOR MY SIX-YEAR-OLD
I love helping you. Even with things that you can do perfectly well on your own, such as zipping up your jacket, shampooing your hair, pouring more juice. I am happy to do these things because (a) you willingly do them in times when I can't or don't want to, because you are a capable girl and not a whiner; (b) I only have one kid and am pretty organized, so I usually have the time; and (c) I know the days when you actually want me to do things for you are limited.
Just a note, though: when you start telling me that I am doing the things WRONG? I am so out of there. Do it yourself. This has happened twice now and you seemed perfectly stunned each time, but cause/effect is in the HIZZOUSE so please get that through your adorable skull. Thanks.
SIGN ON MY FOREHEAD: "COME TALK TO ME"
Chicago has had some ridiculously nice weather lately, and this weekend was full of playground. LT stayed home to do house projects and Nora and I headed to the park. Nora played hard and when the ice cream man showed up I bought her a weird popsicle thing in the shape of Batman's head and we took a bench break. This other family with a toddler arrived and headed for the baby swings. They stuck the kid in the swing and then stood there, not pushing her, but talking intently. It took me a while to notice, but they were definitely looking our way during their discussion. Once I even glanced over my shoulder to see if there was anything amazingly interesting just behind me. Then I started to get paranoid. Asian mom, white dad, mixed child---is the mom a crazy person who is going to march over and yell at me for ripping Nora away from her birth culture? Are they swingers who are trying to figure out the best way to get me to follow them home and get freaky? (If so, how would that work? Would they get a sitter?)
Finally, still without ever pushing their daughter on the swings, they all came over to share our bench. And man, it was awkward. No introductions, just sort of eavesdropping on me and Nora and interjecting once in a while. Coupled with some totally out-of-the-blue questions. "Does your daughter like spiders?" Why? Did you bring a bag of them or something?
Also I think I freaked him out when he went over to swing around on the climbing bars (dear god, please have some dignity):
Oddly Friendly Dude: Look! Papa's a monkey! Look baby, Papa's a monkey at the zoo!Me: Just don't start throwing your feces.
Eventually mom and daughter went off to play, as did Nora, and dad stayed behind to continue the unwarranted chitchat. He expressed anxiety about odd things, such as the fact that the school in their neighborhood (which has a great reputation) was rumored to have a "mean" third-grade teacher. Because you know, that's the sort of thing to stress about when your kid is two and a half. I smiled and avoided eye contact but made with the nice nice, but after a while I excused myself and moved to a better vantage point from which to watch Nora hurl herself off of playground equipment. Still without having exchanged names, so I guess the swinger theory is out unless they are the most inept swingers ever.
I feel like a mean old sourpuss when things like this happen, because some people really are just that friendly and I guess I am a living Sad Commentary by finding it weird. It takes a village! But I'll be over here lurking on the outskirts! Don't mind me!
YOU WOULD THINK THERE WOULD BE ONLY ONE: A TALLY
Things I was surprised to see in multiples. This particular logbook was kept for April and May. Every time I saw something unusual I made a note, and then probably I started becoming tuned into the note things, and lo and behold there they were again.
2 pregnant women with casts or slings on their arms5 children who were too big for strollers (in my judgmental and possibly ill-informed opinion)3 Asian women in motorcycle jackets
3 people biking and trying to drink coffee at the same time
2 honest-to-god beehive hairdos
4 people cleaning their ears with sharp objects
2 people who licked their watch face to clean it---mimi smartypants, everyone thinks she's a raincloud.
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27 May 2009 14:16
shape of a rocket ship - 2:48 p.m. , 2009-05-27
2009-05-27 ... 2:48 p.m.
MASQUERADING AS A DEEP THOUGHT
One of the most infuriating phrases in history has to be "You'll understand when you're older." It was infuriating then because MOTHER HOW DARE YOU. It is infuriating now because I am older, and I kind of do understand. Grrr it's just a carnival of fury.
SKINNY LEGS AND CHAPTER BOOK
Also, thanks for the kid-book ideas. Nora has discovered both the Secrets of Droon series and those Spiderwick things, so she will be busy for a while. I suspect that the Droon books are deeply influenced by hallucinogens, there are anthropomorphic talking throw pillows (yes, really) and flying carpets and friendly furry things with six legs. I smell psilocybin! Yesterday it rained and she spent some time on her bed propped up and reading with Lola the cat curled up at her side. I could barely take all the cute.
Lately she has been reading all the way to school too, which is great but I sometimes miss my chatty bus companion. But she lets me kiss her head repeatedly when she's deep in a book. I fear the head-kissing is on its way out so I will sneak it when I can.
SPAM SUBJECT LINES I ENJOYED
1. There is no place for herpes in your life!
2. Panties off, Laverne
3. Your golden penis will never let you down
4. Give your bedroom the heat ornithology preserve uncover
5. Answer me, cute one!
6. Anymore you don't need an axe to cure migraine
THEORY
Any song's lyrics can be improved by the inclusion of the word "satellite." Songwriters, please put some satellites in your songs for me. Thanks!
HOLIDAY WEEKEND
That was nice, I'd like another one please. On Saturday we rode our bikes to North Parks football field and watched the Chicago Force annihilate the other team, but left at halftime because those shiny reflective bleachers were brutal in the sun. Our football-viewing friends came to our house afterwards and we had indoor, non-UV-ray beers and a thrown-together bread/cheese/tapenade dinner while the kids went ape. Sunday involved another bike ride and Mexican food. On Monday we just schlubbed around and read books. I think I also went grocery shopping somewhere in there. THRILLING. But pleasant.
WHAT ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT
Tomorrow I have to go to an hours-long management seminar called Dealing With Change or What To Do When People Get Whiny or something like that. Even though I was an obedient squirrel and read the "pre-work" packet* I still cannot recall exactly what the point was. Raise your hand if you think I will understand what the point was after I actually attend! Yeah, I thought so.
*They really called it "pre-work"! The work that comes before the work! This made my head spin. I took out my childish frustrations at the doublespeak by eating Triscuits really messily and purposely getting Triscuit grease on the pre-work. My pre-work is stained with pre-lunch!
All these management tips are lost on me since I mostly just yell a lot like Mr. Spacely or Spider-Man's boss. Well, I'm yelling on the inside, anyway.
---mimi smartypants needs her head examined by the head examiner.
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15 May 2009 20:01
other guy sleeping at the Hyatt - 2:48 p.m. , 2009-05-15
2009-05-15 ... 2:48 p.m.
THE ENUMERATED DOLDRUMS
1. Nora's class is having all these goofy themed days to end the year, related to the alphabet because kids like strict order and holidays and 1:1 ratios, and today was H. They were supposed to wear hats and Nora picked a plastic novelty Viking helmet that I probably got as a reward for drinking beer. Today she also dressed herself all in black---I briefly tried to get her to switch to a big straw hat as a subtle Velvet Underground reference but no dice.
2. Speaking of barbarism, her love for swords and beasts and quests continues unabated, but she is caught up with the stupid Beast Quest series and there is not another one coming out (in the US) until June. I am trying to find some more early-grade fantasy books for her. After Beast Quest, the genre seems to jump straight to Harry Potter and other 500-page things with complex subplots and made-up elf languages---her comprehension is pretty good but I don't want reading to be a tedious slog, she's only six.
In the meantime I bought her a wooden sword and shield. Note to the elderly man in salwar kameez rounding the corner of our block early last Sunday: please do not be alarmed by the small Chinese girl screaming and running at you with sword upraised. She wasn't really running at you in particular, just practicing her battle charge a la Braveheart. Sorry.
3. My left eyelid has been twitching for hours now, and I am going crazy. This is how Charlie Whitman felt right before he grabbed his rifle and climbed the tower. I have neither rifle nor tower so I will stick to bitching mightily to everyone I can, plus occasionally grabbing the side of my face and muttering curses. FUCK YOU BLEPHAROSPASM.
4. I have been out of sorts even before the twitching started, though. This morning I was That Mom staring into space on a city bus while my daughter talked and talked and talked, and I barely could muster up even an "uh-huh" or a "cool." If you had been there, you would have been thinking sniffy, judgmental thoughts like "she could at least INTERACT with her child." Most days I do, but today it has been like swimming through cotton.
5. Cotton with the occasional enlivening obstacle, like my seatmate on the train who pointed me out to his buddy and said, "She and I gonna be married in ten years. She just don't know it yet." He was mostly being a weirdo and teasing, instead of being a douchebag and harassing (I am good at sensing the difference), so I played it by "smiling vaguely and continuing to read" instead of "telling him to cram it up his ass." I did wonder why we had to wait ten years, but decided not to ask. Watch this space! If by the year 2019 I have dumped LT to marry a Jamaican dude with very pointy fingernails, we will finally begin to take seriously the rantings of subway strangers.
6. The back of the Reduced-Fat Wheat Thins box curiously depicts a lovely-looking home office setup, all seafoam walls and beige linen organizer boxes. There is a vintage-style wall clock and a charming little green ceramic pitcher being used as a pencil cup. Also: a full cup of coffee, a clothbound book with a blurry one-word title that looks a lot like a personal journal, and a bulletin board with post-its saying "Lunch @ 11:30" and "Call Corinne." And the box of Wheat Thins, of course. So we can deduce that this person likes Wheat Thins, is probably female (based on the Pottery Barn-ness of the desk accessories), and that she doesn't work too terribly hard.
Then there is the box copy. Tagline: "My space, my snack." Below: "You don't compromise in your daily life; you shouldn't have to in your snacks. Reduced Fat Wheat Thins are the best of both worlds: Full of crunch and the amazingly delicious taste of Wheat Thins---all with 35% less fat than Original Wheat Thins Crackers"
a. Yes, there is no end punctuation in the original. Odd, especially since someone bothered to use a semicolon correctly.b. MY SPACE, MY SNACK. Well! You go, girl! Own those low-fat crackers!c. Could this be more blatantly chick-targeted? You've got the luxurious Real Simple-styled desk scene. You've got the me me me, my space, my snack, perfect for that whole "time to myself" marketing focus. Which strikes me as particularly ironic because the woman with that perfect-looking office---who has lunch dates and who apparently keeps a journal in longhand---probably has no trouble whatsoever with the time-to-herself thing. d. The more I think about that first line, the more it makes me laugh. "You don't compromise in your daily life; you shouldn't have to in your snacks." Who is this take-no-prisoners, make-no-compromises snacking woman? A combination of Martha Stewart and Chuck Norris? Damn it, no! I will not compromise my snacks!e. I have not investigated yet, but I doubt the full-fat Wheat Thins box is this conflicted. I buy the low-fat ones because they are saltier, and nothing is salty enough for me except maybe a salt lick garnished with French olives. I did not expect the box to have all this baggage about compromise and claiming one's space.
7. Sometimes small policy changes have unexpected benefits. Personally I kind of miss seeing prostitutes out and about, sipping coffee in the 24-hour diner at North and Ashland and doing the ho stroll on desolate stretches of Elston. Perhaps now that Craigslist has banned "erotic services" ads, we will see more in-person erotic service providers. It will be like Christmas. The hookers are back! The hookers are back!
---mimi smartypants will be grazing by your window, please come pat her on the head.
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08 May 2009 14:26
sir it seems you may lack employment - 3:11 p.m. , 2009-05-08
2009-05-08 ... 3:11 p.m.COMPULSIVE, REPETITIVE
Recent downloads, mostly golden oldies, that I just want to hear over and over and over:
Deerhunter, "Nothing Ever Happened." Particularly the last two minutes or so, after the vocals stop and it gets properly rhythmic and shoegazer.Northern State, "Sucka Mofo." I wish they had left out the dated bit about the Democrats, but whatever. All raps should use the word "motherfucker" and disparage Olive Garden. Pavement, "Starlings of the Slipstream." There's no coast of Nebraska. Boards of Canada, "Dayvan Cowboy." There's a video for this where some maniac skydives from space, it is worth checking out. A couple of derivative songs by The Hives that I cannot tell apart and are only for running on the treadmill. They make me feel a bit like a television ad, but they also make me run fast. Say Hi To Your Mom, "Sweet Sweet Heartkiller." This is a cute poppy thing that reminds me of some other song. Or maybe I am just so old that all "new" music reminds me of something.
NSFW BUT WAIT I THOUGHT WE WERE AT WORK
I don't really feel like rehashing my Pittsburgh trip, and there is not a lot to say anyway except that the city is nice but the hotel needed its head examined. There were a lot of weird little things wrong, not like bedbug-weird but more on the order of my TV remote missing its batteries, the staff not understanding how many teabags might be necessary for a coffee break of 300 science editors (hint: more than FIVE), etc. Also, downtown Pittsburgh is very closed on Sunday.
Here is a short list of things that were mentioned at official functions of my publishing conference, often into microphones or in front of full meeting rooms.
1. Mouse erections and the palpating thereof in student laboratories. Several mouse jerkoff jokes. 2. Cinnamon roll icing = semen comparison.3. Digital rectal massage.4. Homosexual necrophilia in ducks.
The whole weekend rates as the most R-rated thing I have ever done with my corporate AmEx. And that is before the drinking started.
SPEAKING OF CREEPY AND COMPULSIVE
Perhaps I am too fond of forensic true-crime programs, but sometimes I find myself mentally retracing my own steps, imagining police interviews with people I encounter, determining what can and can not be proven (eyewitnesses, credit card slips, time-stamped bus tickets). I do this a whole heck of a lot in a new city (Pittsburgh) where no one knows me. I do it from the point of view of a murder victim if I am in a bad mood, and of a spree killer in a good one. (What does that say about me?) Either way, I imagine the detectives making a timeline of my travels, checking my cell phone records ("She Twittered something totally inane at 2:34 pm!"), and interviewing CVS clerks. ("Yeah, I saw her. She bought gummy worms and a travel-sized bottle of hand lotion. Paid cash.") (If it were a Law and Order episode, the clerk would be chewing gum, looking supremely bored, and being borderline rude to the police. Or maybe even continuing to stock shelves during the questioning, because lord knows no one needs to actually stop what they're doing just to help solve a major crime.)
Is that weird? (Yes.) If you also like to imagine yourself on the run from the law, please email me so I don't feel so alone.
GO SKINNY LEGS GO
For some reason Nora was giving me a tutorial on running form on our way to the bus stop. I am pretty sure she was making it all up. Hold your hands like this, make your feet "springy," etc. She also showed me how to recover: "lean over and put your hands here to stabilize your knees." Stabilize! I love that kid.
My favorite though was when she asked, "Want to learn how to get a BURST OF SPEED?" How could anyone say no. I ask you.
Nora is also on a bit of an Olympics kick lately, which makes me wonder if Mayor Daley has pulled a typical bit of demagoguery by insisting that the public schools talk up Chicago's bid. In class the kids were supposed to write a little paragraph imagining themselves as Olympic athletes (wtf, athletics has its place but frankly that's not my number-one parental dream) and Nora wrote this long thing about playing tackle football, complete with illustrations of her with helmet and gold medal, and I did not have the heart to point out that there is no football in the Olympics. Probably because the US would literally crush everyone. Crippling cervicospinal injuries: the spirit of international friendship!
In that vein, she also spent some time at her art table last night and then reappeared offering me a square of paper.
Nora: Would you like a ticket to the Awesome Games?Me: Would I ever!Nora: Here you go. Don't lose that, it gets you in to all the Awesome Events.
It was too small to scan well, but apparently the logo for the Awesome Games involves a Spider-Man head, a couple of closed fists, a lightning bolt, the letters A and G, and a shitload of exclamation points. That was what was on my ticket, anyway.
TELL IT TO YOUR FACEBOOK AND QUIT WRITING NOVELS, THANKS
Yes yes yes yes YES!
---mimi smartypants is happy as a moderately happy clam.
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