Top Three Names for Your New Band:

3:19 p.m.
I saved a fantastic New Yorker cartoon years ago. It's a drawing of two skater kids leaning on a telephone pole. The top caption reads, "Waiting for Godot, Summer of '96."
Skater 1: Well... Shall we go do some kick flips?
Skater 2: Yes, let's go.
Bottom caption: They do not move.
11:28 a.m.
From: A friend at work.
Subject: Cultural observation.

Between you and me, there's something about the British that gets under my skin. There's an underlying "I'm more clever than you" in almost every dealing you have with them. The arrogance rivals that of the Germans, who are at least above board about it. --"Yes, ve are superior, why does zis surprise you?"
4:21 p.m.
When I got to work yesterday, my cube door was blocked off and the cube was brimming with balloons. Apparently, my coworkers have healthy lungs, and some time on their hands. Man, you've gotta try this. It's just like one of those ball pits at McDonalds, except I don't have to take my shoes off or shoulder check little kids to get some respect.
2:28 p.m.
Someone typed "find my dream girl" into Google and my page popped up. (I'm currently on the second page of links, at the top.) I haven't decided if the search request was a technologically advanced form of stichomancy or just a slightly idealistic porn hunt. I would be flattered, but then I'd have to acknowledge the fact that I'm third on the list when you type in "girl on couch sofa."
12:52 p.m.
OK, I'm back. I can't eat anything that smells like food, but the trip was amazing overall. As soon as Bali Belly and jet lag subside (14-hour time change) I'll post some travel blogs.

You. Can't. Wait.

(OK, I can't wait, but let me indulge in a little projection now and then. How is it hurting you?)

Meanwhile, I'd like to thank Dave for his generous help posting while I was gone. I brought him the meanest monkey mask ever. It's shedding on his carpet at this very moment. So nice.
10:09 a.m.
[editor's note from Dave: Thus ends my tenure as ad hoc Mighty Girl blogger. Mistress has returned, and I am all out of pre-recorded material. So, if there aren't any new posts over the next few days, don't blame me, blame jet-lag.]

While I'm away, you should visit Metascene:

"From the Ford Focus press kit:
'The Ford Focus and Detroit Techno music mirror each other in many ways. Techno kids are forward thinkers that scream and dance and so are Focus buyers.'
So you mean it's like punk rock, only it's a car?"

"Monkeys taking over government buildings in India
(Thanks Norton)
Angry monkeys stop traffic
Indian monkeys on a rampage against smokers
I am checking these events against those described in the Book of Revelation and will continue to monitor the Art Bell show regularly. Any pertinent information will be passed along as soon as possible."

"Metascene Predicts: 2001 will be the year that bestiality makes it onto the Springer show."

"Hey! I just had an idea! I should write a story told from Bubbles' point of view where the world's most famous chimp is all jaded and cynical and can't stand Michael anymore but where can he go? What can he do? Meanwhile, all the other animals shun him and plot against him for being Michael's favorite and for having bedroom privledges and for those Jeff Koons sculptures, but mainly because of the whole thumb/big brain thing. And Bubbles is heavily self-medicated and even been to rehab. Twice. And was once badly betrayed by the llama. And drinks mainly to forget the pain of losing his family at a young age. And at night, he cries himself to sleep, no longer hiding his tears from MJ, the bitterest monkey tears to ever stain a satin pillowcase..."
While I'm away, you should visit Jeff Druzba.

"Microsoft Money would be useful software if it actually allowed me to access Microsoft's money. What good is it for me to see my own accounts?"

"There are a lot of religious commercials on television recently including one for a Time Life music compilation of Christian pop songs. Mixed with concert images of a throng of people waving their hands in sweaty ecstasy to the heavens above, there are individual close-ups of cute girls sobbing and holding hands.
People who are both good-looking and religiously devout scare me because if I think to myself, 'Now there's a hot lil' number,' their god is likely to know that I thought about one of his lamb-children in an unholy manner and will be tempted to strike me down or afflict me with some torturous condition. I think it's a good practice to stay on the good side of gods I don't know. Especially Hindu gods with 6 arms who look like blue elephants."

"Do you think that most every woman who has ever been with Meatloaf, the singer and, of late, bit part actor, has referred to her encounter, when chatting with her friends, as 'having meatloaf?'"
While I'm away, you should read McSweeny's.

Strange and Obsessive Things I Did as a Kid in No Particular Order

Age 9:
Developed a fascination with TV Guide, specifically the listings. Spent hours copying them onto loose-leaf notebook paper - just the titles of shows, not descriptions, and with the times bumped up several hours to make it more interesting.

Age 8:
Learned how the Roman numeral system worked. Subsequently filled a notebook by writing every Roman numeral, in order, from I (one) to MMM (three thousand).

Age 4:
Owned a magnetic board with a matching set of multi-colored letters of the alphabet. Storage conditions for the letters, dictated by me, required that they be arranged - yes - in alphabetical order, in a perfect 5-by-5 grid, with Z being remaindered to the side compartment. I would only retire to bed once these storage conditions were met, for a period of some months. During active play, I would make abstract patterns on the board with the letters; never actual words.

Ann Landers' Parallel Universe

Dear Ann:
I hope you have room to print just one more of those "how we met" stories. I was a young woman growing up in Bombay, adventurous, strong-willed and determined not to settle down until I had seen the world. One night while attending a small gathering at a neighbor's home, I saw a stoop-shouldered, plain-looking man of about 25 standing at the side of the room holding a drink and not talking to anyone. When I walked up and tried to start a conversation with him, he handed me his empty drink and motioned to the bottle of wine sitting in the corner. As I was refilling his cup, I asked my father in a whisper who this rude, arrogant person was. "That's Rajiv Sankar, the man you're going to marry," he replied. "It was arranged between our families right after your birth. You should get used to waiting on him." Well, Ann, I've been at his service for 40 years, and we've never been apart-not even after I brought shame on him twice by giving birth to baby girls.

Proposed Indian Names for Certain White People

Buys Plants For Companionship, Comments On How Wonderful Bread Is, Considers Soup Selects Salad, Examines Skin For Moles, Fixes Paper Jams, Insists Pizza And Beer's On Me, Invents New Persona, Proffers Swiss Army Knife When Inappropriate, Prunes Roses, Raises Voice In Anger Then Gets Sheepish, Reconsiders Skydiving As Possible Hobby, Recycles Same Joke With Different Friends, Searches Flea Market For Treasure, Thinks Of Self As Buddhist, Wants To Hang Out, Wears Matching Bra And Panties.
While I'm away, you should visit Jason Kottke. His site isn't exactly dedicated to raw personal emotion, and that’s a good thing because I think there’s some very dark, Mansonesque stuff just under the surface. (I have it on good authority that he Photoshops out the swastika carved into his forehead.) But every once in awhile he says things like "Ricky Martin. I don't get it," and you get a little piece of his personality tucked in among the mini movie reviews:

"You know, I'm all for personal expression, but having an air freshener shaped like a pot leaf hanging from your rear view mirror pretty much assures that your car is going to get tossed by the police if you're stopped for a moving violation."

"Do you know why an em dash (-) is so named? The "em" is a unit of typographic lingo, an em is the width of a capital M in a typeface."

"So, when did the whole share-a-penny thing at the local gas station become an industry? I would imagine that a long time ago, somebody came up with an idea to put a little cup by the register so that people could drop their pennies in there for other customers to utilize when they were short a couple cents. Other people adopted the idea and now there's a share-a-penny cup at pretty much every gas station one goes to. In fact, the share-a-penny idea has advanced to the point where there are specialized cups made especially for placement on station counters.

Let's stop to think about this for a minute. This means that somewhere there's a machine (or possibly a whole factory of machines) punching out these custom penny cups. There are engineers designing bigger and better share-a-penny cups. Teams of marketing people are trying to build share-a-penny mindshare in the heads of gas station owners. Share-a-penny cup salespeople are out there going gas station door to gas station door selling their product. An army of delivery trucks are delivering these cups around the globe.

Does this seem odd to anyone else?"

"The crap week from hell continues. I fell asleep whilst reading my book in a mall food court over my lunch hour and got rousted by a police officer who told me to wake up and move along. I don't look that much like a vagrant, do I?

Fuck the Police."

"The most perfect thing happened to me this morning. I'm walking down the stairs towards my front door. I stop to look out the little window in the door to see how bad it is raining out. Just then, this girl comes into my frame of vision from the left. Suddenly, she stops short and goes back to take another look at the back of my car...specifically the "kids love satan" bumper sticker. She looks and then continues on, laughing."
While I’m away, you should read Six Layer Kate. It’s a quirky collaborative blog. My favorite thread is the one where everyone tries to get Kate’s mom to post. “Mother. If you don't post something to this blog, I'm going to go straight after work and get multiple facial piercings.”

“For those not in the know, I have, for five years now, been occasionally afflicted with an overpowering urge to get in a car and ling handfuls of jelly at children playing in the street. The reasons are simple:

1. It's jelly. It is very unlikely anyone would get hurt.
2. It's jelly. Even if caught, I would probably get court-mandated counseling rather than jail time.
3. The children would be covered in jelly, sticky, and in stained clothes. They would have no recourse but to run to their mothers, who would e obviously upset that their little angels had so wickedly and purposely destroyed their outfits, and tell them that it wasn't their fault, that some random person had flung jelly at them from a passing car.
4. The mothers would never, ever believe it.

The children would learn that the world is an unfair, haphazard and cruel place with things going on it that they can only dream of. It's what I've always liked about it. The rest of their lives they would wonder about it. The very young ones would forget, and it would become a story told at Xmas to future spouses about 'the most bizarre little lie Timmy came up with one year.'”
(posted by Holly McCoy)

“Interview Magazine (founded by Andy Warhol) is the worst magazine ever produced. Their idea of a fashion spread is some muscleman standing around in his skivvies with a plush dog sticking out the top of his underpants' waistband. I'm all for a broad definition of what "real" art, but come on.” (posted by Kate)

“oh, i also bought a bottle of scotch that came with a little gadget. it's a metal hoo-ha that affixes to the top of the bottle and then makes the scotch pour out in a thin, tight stream, causing it to even further resemble urine. the thingy is made of metal and has a counterweight on it. like those things bartenders put in the tops of their bottles so it looks like theyre pouring a lot but you really get half an ounce of liquor. so now i can trick myself into thinking im drinking a lot more than i am, and then i can realize the trick and get beligerant with myself, and then say something i'll regret and be forced to throw myself out.
so it's a full weekend after all.”
(posted by Paully Cockeram)
While I'm away, you should read Changed Priorities Ahead:

"A friend sent me one of those funny emails listing all the stupid warning labels on items. Most I'd heard before, but this was a new one:
On a Japanese food processor: "Not to be used for the other use."
The mind boggles."

" Hello Kitty waffle maker.
There are some effed up products on this site (Dwinn is the proud owner of Hello Kitty toilet paper), but this one just struck me a supremely... stupid."

"Warning: the following is intended for mature audiences only...
Ouchy the Clown
I don't think I'll ever be able to hire a clown for my (eventual) children's parties after this."
While I'm away, you should read Right on America! It's a collaborative blog by a few very funny people who love them the Jesus.

"…fire gets the job done, whether the job needed to be done or not. In fact, this is something that's been drilled into our heads since we were old enough to touch our tounges to the stove top. In the words of the late, headless comedian Phil Hartman, "Fire Bad".

So we respect fire. We give it the right of way. We know that fire will fuck our shit up correctly if we try to front fire. We know that we should not play with it. And we know, and I'm just pulling this example out of the clear blue, if we want to appear in a televised stunt that involves fire, we're going to wrap ourselves up in a suit made of SHIT THAT WILL NOT BURN. And then we're going to say over and over again, "I AM WEARING A SUIT OF SHIT THAT WILL NOT BURN. IF YOU DO NOT HAVE THIS SUIT, AND YOU DON'T, BECAUSE I AM WEARING IT, YOU WILL BURN, BUT GOOD."

In order, then, for the average person to destroy any chance of winning the coveted, "Mr. Guy Who Has Skin Covering His Entire Body" Award, he would have to be ignorant to a few things. These being:

A. The English language, and such phrases as, "Don't do this," or, "Man, fire am hot".
B. The difference between being fire-retardant, or merely retarded.
C. Just...Just...It's FIRE for god's sake!

But, no. Instead, a 13-year-old boy covered himself with gasoline, and set himself on fire, just like Johnny Knoxville didn't. If we were being forgiving, we would say he was guilty of improvising on a theme. This is fine if you're Miles Davis, and the theme is Disney's, "Someday My Prince Will Come". This is not so good if you are a 13 year old moron, and the theme is, "Fire".(posted by josh cagan)"

"Possible Children's Theater Ideas
1.) Good Touch - Bad Touch LIVE!
2.) My Mommy's Girlfriend
3.) Never Too Early - Retirement Savings for Tots
4.) ...Like Bunnies - A Dance.
5.) Things To Do Instead of Crying
6.) Line of Control - The India/Pakistan Conflict Made Easy
7.) Silly Walks of Drunks
8.) Be Good or It's Cancer for You
9.) Candy is Dandy - Except fo Diabetics
10.) Cal - The Kitty That's High as a Kite
(posted by Bryan Mason)"


(posted by josh cagan)"
prerecorded 2.19.01
While I'm gone, you should read Bloody Hell. His posts are good, but it's the little things that keep me coming back. Like the way he says "bangarang" when he thinks something is cool, or the time he said " but soft!" instead of "there's more." I'm a sucker for cute verbal tics.

"Today marks the first day when my grandma begins fertilizing greener pastures. People keep saying, "my sympathy is with you". I understand the niceties are a subset of living in some semblance of a civilized society, however, it isn't really warranted.
I'm not sorry she gupped the giffer. In fact, I'm not really sorry many people do. I've expected this. I expect I will die as well. It would definitely be a surprise if I didn't."

"Expectations vs. reality.

Make it fast,
Make it good,
Make it cheap.
Pick two.


"Noody noody noo is all I have to say today."

"Who is Dana Gould? Some guy who said this:
'We all enter this world in the same way: naked, screaming, soaked in blood. But if you live your life right, that kind of thing doesn't have to stop there.'"
So I'm posting from the road, which is kind of sad when you think about it. I'm half a block from a monkey forest and instead of walking around outside, I'm locked in a little bamboo stall typing. Bali is wired, my friends. There's an Internet cafe about every three feet. They know about the Backstreet Boys, Tommy Hilfiger, and those horrible bottled Starbucks drinks. Shoot me now.

Also, everything costs two bucks. Well, everything except for the four-foot-high wood carvings of masturbating monkeys, those are about $250. If only I had a bigger place.
2:14 p.m.
While I'm away, you should read Little Yellow Different:

"On a tangeant, this whole Asian-chick-and-labor thing reminds me for that Tide commercial. You know which one I'm talking about, right?
(Japanese woman speaking to the camera, cut to shots of a white guy playing basketball and pagoda's in the background. Cut to another shot of same white guy kicking back a beer while watching sumo wrestling.)
"You know, I love my husband. But when I moved to Japan for work it took a while for him to get used to his new surroundings. The clothes he bought in America are precious to him. That's why I wash his clothes in Tide!"
Now, I'm not a militant Asian, by any means. But let me get this straight — Asian woman has a job overseas while her husband mills around the house drinking air-mailed Budweiser and watching sumo wrestling. And SHE STILL DOES HIS FUCKING LAUNDRY?! Oh, hell no. If I was her, I'd get his gaijin ass to the fucking laundromat and tell him to wash his own damn clothes. *breathes deep* Okay, I'm better now. Carry on..."

"So I'm talking with my girl, Belinda. My very attractive, very feminine female friend Belinda. And she's yelling at me over Instant Messager.
"WHAT? What do you MEAN you're borrowing a copy of Diablo II?! You have to get your own copy so you can register the key and play over" I could almost see her roll her eyes and toss her hair as she types that. "And if you're lucky, I'll even let you on my team."

This is fucking surreal. Just the other day she was talking about the outfit she bought at Banana Republic. "Really?" I stutter. "How strong is your character?"

"Level 65 Ice Sorceress. You?"

*cough* "Uhmm.. Level 18 Necromancer."

"Ugh. I guess I could help you out. Did I mention I play Tekken Tag Tournament too? Get a Playstation 2 and I'll kick your butt anytime. Anytime."

You know, it's a damn shame I'm homosexual. Because I think I just met the hottest girl. Ever."
prerecorded 2.17.01
[editor's note from Dave: It occurrs to me, as I post today's message that Mighty Girl left me, she might have at least assumed that I had some big Presidents' Weekend plans. The fact that I'm posting this at 1:00AM Saturday morning, after having spent the evening playing video games, has nothing to do with it...] While I’m away, you should visit Annie. She doesn’t update often enough, but she’s one of my favorites.

“Four Kraftwerk-lookin' indie rockers stood on the platform with me; they were thick-spectacled, pale, and thin. I felt instantly uncool for wearing my purple pajama top under my coat, even though they wouldn't see it. Indie rockers make me nervous.”

“Wearing a white shirt and black pants, along with a tie worthy of placement in the International Male catalog, the young man slinked his way toward our party. He began to gyrate his pelvis and wave his hands in the air like he just don't care -- all in front of poor Ophi. Upon closer inspection of Rico Suave's getup, I noticed that he was sporting a tacky gold chain around his neck. Obviously someone got a good prize in his Burger King Kids Club Meal.“

[Regarding a battle with depression:]
“What people say
How long were you on medication?

What people mean
Exactly how crazy were you?

What people say
Do you still go to therapy?

What people mean
Are you still crazy?

What people say
It doesn't seem like someone like you could have problems.

What people mean
Oh my god, what if I go crazy someday, too?

[One of Annie’s New Year’s resolutions:]
“more rock, less talk.”
While I'm away, you should read BoingBoing

" is owned by a guy who looks like Jesus and wears a Jesusonian robe. He hopes to meet women who are turned on by the idea of dating a real live Jesus. He's also inviting women to bathe with him. At least one woman has taken him up on his offer, and you can see photographic evidence on Jesus's site." Link

eCompany interviews Bruce Sterling. 'What would happen if I could turn my IQ up to 450? I would be a completely different kind of entity. I would understand things much more thoroughly, and I would be really thrilled by it for, I don't know, maybe six months. Then I would have a routine of some kind. I would be a posthuman entity with an IQ of 450 who had a routine. And I would be bored a lot of the time. And my behavior would me mostly habitual, and embarassing things would happen to me. In other words, I wouldn't be some kind of shining godlike creature. I might be super intelligent, but, you know, I'd probably have diarrhea. A super intelligent being with acne. I would still have a toothache. My wife would also have an IQ of 450, and we would have domestic arguments that were on the level of super genius but still about housework.'"
While I'm away, you should read Caterina:

"Jim's roommate, let's call him Lester, was a prodigious serial seducer. He seduced more women in college than anyone would ever have believed, being kind of an unassuming computer programmer kind of guy with very average looks. His secret was, I guess, charm, but mostly that he never told a soul. Never bragged, never raised an eyebrow, never brought it up in casual conversation, never said a word. Kissing but no telling. No one knows to this day what a Don Juan Lester was in the early 90s at Vassar, not the women he seduced not his CS classmates, only his roommates, and their confidantes, such as me."

"Main Entry: lapsus calami
Pronunciation: "lap-sus-'ka-la-"mE, "lap-sus-'ka-le-"mI
Usage: foreign term
Etymology: Latin
: slip of the pen"

"When I was little I was over at at the Vance's house playing with John Vance, the youngest of six brothers, whose immediate predecessors were Matthew, Mark and Luke… John was showing me the hamster that he and his brothers had gotten for Christmas, which I had come especially to see. He lifted it out of its cage and showed it to me. It had twitchy whiskers and I petted it tentatively with my forefinger, finding it very very soft. I was completely smitten. Then he kissed the hamster and said, "I love you SOOO MUCH" and squeezed it so hard he killed it dead."
prerecorded 2.14.01
"Whom we love best, to them we can say the least." -Jon Ray
While I'm away, you should read Squirrel Bait. Her tagline says it all, "Love is misery in the pupal stage."

[regarding a new make-your-bath-a-jacuzzi toy:]
"Even on the gentlest setting, the BubbleSpa made the water boil furiously, spurting five-inch jets of water into the air. Worse, the suction cups weren't strong enough to hold the air-bubbling mat down; as air in water is want to do, it rose briskly, with me on top flailing and fighting it back down. The air-hose kept coming detached and flying wildly through the bathtub, sending water spraying everywhere. Plus, the water was churning so hard and taking in so much air that it went from almost-too-hot-to-sit-in to ice cold in less than two minutes... even with the BubbleSpa set to add heat.
Basically, imagine me buttnaked in rapidly boiling ice water, thrashing around on a 1x4 air float and trying frantically to grab a hose doing its best rattlesnake-on-crack impression.
It was my first aerobic bath."

[on marriage]
"Yeah, I think I'll just get 75 cats, a collection of Franklin Mint commemorative dolls, and a really big vibrator and skip the whole thing. "

"Men of the world, please do me a favor. All I ask is a little truth in advertising. If you've got something you'll be saying to me later under awkward, pained circumstances, just say it to me when you meet me! It's not so much harder than hello, really it's not! Repeat the following phrases after me:

1. Hi, I'm Andrew. I'm exclusively homosexual. Hitting on me will do you no good, and will only embarrass us both.
2. Hi, I'm Stephen. I'm proposing to my girlfriend this weekend. Although I may seem to be interested in you, in fact I am merely an incredibly friendly, touchy-feely sort of person. Please don't misinterpret my attentions.
3. Hello! I know we haven't seen each other in a while, so I thought you ought to know that while it used to be okay for you to grab my wee-wee, I now have a girlfriend and such behavior is no longer acceptable. And how have you been?

See how simple that was? Cleared the air right up front, didn't it?
I am going to go blush into my pillowcase now."

"From here: A few years ago, Fisher recalls, a typical Silicon Valley cube might have measured 8 feet by 8 feet. No more. Now cubes are more likely to be half or two-thirds that size. In some cases, companies are ordering cubicles as small as 5 by 6, or 30 square feet.
As a result, cubicles -- sometimes referred to sarcastically as "veal fattening pens" for their claustrophobia-inducing size -- are now smaller than enclosures provided for calves.
In fact, according to recommendations from the University of California Cooperative Extension, a calf should be allotted a minimum of 35 square feet, possibly 30, in structures known as "superhutches."
The guidelines did not address how much space a calf needs to program in Perl script while drinking diet soda and eating cheese puffs. "
prerecorded 2.12.01
While I’m away, you should read Stuff and Stuff.

Dave is the greatest untapped genius of our time, and the ladies love him. Perhaps you think I’m only kissing his ass because he’s posting for me while I’m gone… and the world may never know. But before you get all high and mighty, try handing your Blogger password over to some schmo off the street and spending your vacation nights in a cold sweat wondering if he’s entering Necrophilia and Neo-Nazi into your meta tags.

I also like Dave because he can take little jokes like that without doing anything nasty to exact retribution, like, oh say, entering Necrophelia and Neo-Nazi into my meta tags. Right Dave? Did I mention how handsome you are? And funny too:

“I had the most awesome Bachelor-Morning today. Not only did I wake up to find that I had no more clean underwear, (forcing me to wear yesterday's pair) but, I also discovered, upon shoving a spoonful of cereal in my mouth, that the milk had gone decidedly bad. The best part was, (as I sat on my chair half-dressed in dirty boxers) that I looked at the bowl with a quizzical expression on my face, smelled the milk, and then went in for another bite. Just in case my synapses had mis-routed the "ummm, good" message to my brain, you see. It was like I was that lab rat that keeps going back for the electrified cheese.”

“They say the world gets smaller and smaller as the means of communication get easier and easier. Consequently, I am taking up a small collection for a select group of us to move to Jupiter. On second thought, I am taking up a large collection for a large group of everyone else to move to Jupiter. Operators are standing by.”

“As if we needed more reminders that we are decidedly not a Thirld World nation, McDonald's has entered into a devil's pact with Compaq to put video-game McKiosks in their stores. I suppose this is better than the cool playgrounds McDonald's had when I was growing up, as this new system protects children from both the dangerous sun, and inconvenient exercise.”

I have purchased a little red bikini, 3 gallons of 30 SPF Waterproof sunscreen, and a two-week supply of Pepto Bismol chewables. I can't lift my left arm, so the tetnus shot must be working. All of this means, I'm-going-to-Ba-li-and-yoo-oo-oou-are-ent!

OK, that was cruel, and possibly inaccurate. I mean, I have no way of knowing what's up with you, and you seem like the jaunty, world-traveling sort (I think it's the sports sandals). So if you plan to be on Bali or Lombok in the near future and you see me, come say hi. I'll look like this, except less tragic and more scantily clad.

I wanted to have a guest blogger while I was gone, but I couldn't decide whom to ask. Instead, I've compiled some entries from sites I like. My trusty friend Dave will be posting stuff for me while I'm gone, though he won't receive a single sexual favor in return--he wants me to bring him back a monkey mask. (Dave could use some help with his bargaining skills, my friends.)

Well, I'm off to take bucket showers and purchase carved items. No parties while I'm gone, and take care of your sister.
8:41 a.m.
How come you don't get any of the really good compliments until you're dead?

"She would rather light candles than curse the darkness and her glow has warmed the world."
-Adlai Stevenson Eulogy of Eleanor Roosevelt, November 7, 1962
12:47 p.m.
Overheard: Young Love outside the Hush Hush.
The characters: Ranting college girl in hip pigtails. Dull, pretty young man in baggy jeans.

Her: So it's like you just hurt me as much as you possibly can, you fuck me over time after time, you destroy my self-esteem, you fuck around on me. YOU FUCK AROUND ON ME! (Taps his sternum with her finger to emphasize point.) I was stupid enough to think we could still work it out, and just when I think we can, you dump me for someone else. And now you want me back?

10:56 a.m.
Megnut on the urge to bite:

"Sylvia gave me some nice wine glasses for my birthday. They're very thin and delicate, with elegant slender stems and a simple, clean design. And I wonder as I sip from one, tasting its thinness through my lips and my tongue, what would happen if I were to bite? What if I were to bite down on this thin slender elegant curve of glass? Would it cut my tongue and my lips, blurring blood and wine? Would I swallow glass or get shards embedded in my gums? Or would it simply break into a million little diamonds, little elegant hand-blown diamonds which would stud my tongue, beguiling people as I talk?"
2:14 p.m.
A friend soundly rejects my "can't hang out" excuse:
"That's why? That's so, 'I have to wash my hair.' It's like, 'Yeeeah. I'd love to but, you know what happened to me today? I was paralyzed. Shoot.'"
9:48 a.m.
Caterina linked to this site awhile ago, and I'm addicted. The objective is to tell a computer very basic things (Fire can burn you. Trees have leaves.), as though you're teaching a young child. My mission is to give the machine some poetry. Want to help? I'm going through books and simplifying statements by my favorite authors. For example:
  • People look mostly the same as they did 100 years ago.
  • Love can be so strong that it resembles appetite.
  • A violin can sound as though it is singing because it aches.
  • When you are unhappy, the night seems longer.
4:42 p.m.
Sweet 'N' Low makes everything taste like cancer.
11:46 a.m.
Hat-Baby is my new favorite term of endearment. I don't even know what partial translation of what they're singing.
8:33 a.m.
Great post from Plastic Bag:
" I received a referral today from Google via Yahoo!. Someone had typed in "load urge rectum girl". I was, of course, the first result. Which fills me with worry. Am I fulfilling the needs of the Load Urge Rectum Girl community? Are they satisfied with the information on my site? How can I turn their initial browsing into a recurrent user pattern? Will they become a repeat visitor? Oh, user behaviour analysis is so very tiring..."
4:35 p.m.
Chocolate truffles and tango music while you watch animals mount each other? Only in San Francisco:

Valentine's Day Sex Tour (Sat/10-Sun/11)
Tiger Tiger Burning Bright
What does Valentine's Day mean to you? Candy conversation hearts? Frilly cards scrawled with gushy poems? A diamond tennis bracelet on your pillow? Perhaps you are the unconventional sort who would rather watch animals mate at the San Francisco Zoo with your beloved. Yes, picture yourselves holding hands and sipping champagne while you roll through the zoo on your very own private X-rated tram tour led by an animal care professional, sampling chocolate truffles and listening to tango music. Not a bad way to feel the love. -- Jan Richman
San Francisco Zoo, 1 Zoo Road, SF; Sat/10, Sun/11; 9 am and 3 pm; $50; (415) 753-7080.

(Update: Errr... Make that "Only in San Francisco and San Diego.")
2:51 p.m.
So this guy is driving a sports car with a license plate holder that says, "Get in. Sit down. Hold on. Shut up." Charming. He probably has a matching one hanging above his bed.
12:12 p.m.
I am so sick of reading blogs by women who pepper their intelligent, hilarious posts with frequent mentions of how ugly/fat/flat/unwantable/unloveable they are. (As if pointing these things out weren't the least attractive thing they could do.) But recently, I came across Accidental:

"In my old age, I am getting vain. I find myself walking the extra 100 yards or so to the bathroom with the mirror so I can check my coif. And let me tell you, I did not realize how cute I am. Hello world, I am cute. Check me out, bad boy."

I love this woman. As for the rest of you, I've seen the photos, girls. Ninety percent of you have bodies that would stop passing traffic and/or eyes big enough to signal planes. Shut up! Shut up! Before I reach through the monitor and thump you.
3:03 p.m.
"Multitudes succumb to the sorrow induced by an inexact vocabulary."
(From "Doubt" by Fannie Howe.)
9:35 a.m.
Great post from memepool:
"Nothing says 'My business is all about wretched excess' more than stainless steel business cards."
2:41 p.m.
Short conversations with people who should be slain:
  • -Did you get your hair cut?
    -I got all of 'em cut.
  • -What a mistake.
    -You can say that again.
    -What a mistake.
  • -What did you say? I couldn't hear you.
    -I said I couldn't hear you.
2:19 p.m.
So you know, the yellow conversation hearts are banana flavored. I'll be over here, scrubbing my tongue with sand.
2:34 p.m.
Subject: In which I send encouragement to an aspiring artist and am rebuffed.

Me: "An artist cannot fail; it is a success to be one." -Charles Horton Cooley

Dave: I would posit that I must first be accepted, or slightly talented, to actually be an artist. If all I had to do was call myself something to also be something, then I would suggest that I am, in fact, a raging porn star...
12:19 p.m.
This Slashdot article highlights a North Carolina service that lets high school kids call in and report students that cause them concern. (Someone has a BB gun in their locker? Call in. Someone seems bummed a lot? Call in. Someone just stole your girlfriend and you'd like to screw them over in any way possible? Call in.) The article also mentions that "81 percent of Americans said they believed the Net was responsible for the Columbine massacre." Right. If you need me, I'll be under my bed.
10:19 a.m.
archives...january 2001

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