August 23, 2006

More from Hog

"So I got together with my nephew for lunch."

"The skinny, quiet kid who used to roadie for us?"

"Well, he's not nearly so skinny, and he's a lot less quiet these days. Everything was 'fuck' this, and 'pussy' that."

"So you guys had a lot to talk about?"

He pauses for a moment. "Yes. Yes, we did."

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August 22, 2006

Goldstein vs. Sartre

I guess it's time for all of us to emerge from our bunkers and engage with the world. Especially Ahmadinejad.

Me? I don't know from Sartre; I read de Beauvoir instead. I really tried to stick to the classics in college, and stay away from that niche "men's literature" stuff.

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August 21, 2006

I'm Sitting at the Computer,

minding my own business, when Attila the Hub passes by.

"We need to talk about a few things," he tells me, in that tone of voice that suggests we're about to have a heavy conversation. I look up, and see that he's carrying a machete.

I nod at him. "You know, there's a time when every married person has to decide how he or she looks in orange," I remark. "I don't think you do."

"Well, then I guess I'll give this to the gardener after all."

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The Refrigerator Swap

When I was a child I always envied the kids whose families had side-by-side refrigerators: they were upper middle-class. Charmed kids who had lots of toys. (Later, they were charmed kids who got piano lessons and cars, and access to darkrooms. Now they are the kids with trust funds.)

I just swapped my 1970s side-by-side for a four-year-old Whirlpool from my father's lab. From his POV, it was a mercy swap.

Now he's cleaning out mold, meat juice, and hyper-bacterial icky stuff. I'm cleaning out dyes and perfumes, which at this moment strikes me as worse.

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Today is Fridge Day.

Fun, fun, fun.

We get to move my father's three-year-old refrigerator over here, and then move my 30-year-old fridge back to my father's lab.

It'll take most of the day, but I'll get a better refrigerator, without spending much money.

I guess I should shower before I get dressed. I wonder if there's any point to that . . .

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August 20, 2006

Do You Live in a Ghetto?

Do you hang out only with people who are like you?

By age? Sexual orientation? Income bracket? Intelligence level? Political philosophy? Religion?

Similar levels of neurosis?

Tell all.

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August 17, 2006

"You've Sent Him Notes," He Tells Me.

"You need to call him."

"Like, on the phone?" I practically squeal. My business consultant and decorator is on the line. I've just told him that a client's invoice is at 41 days without payment.

"What shall I say?"

B. explains that I should write it all out, and be nice, but mention that I have other obligations I'd like to meet. I thank him. I hang up. It's 5:00 p.m. I decide I'll call the client tomorrow.

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Find Me a JonBenet Roundup, Please.

I'm pretty focused on work right now, but a girl like me needs to keep her hand in WRT murderers in this day and age. Let me know where the best digests are, because I ain' about to turn on the news.

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How Do You Distinguish Evangelicals from Charismatics from Fundamentalists from Snake-Handlers?

And, if you're in any one of those groups, how do you feel about Roman Catholics? Are some of them "saved"?


Remember, class: next week we'll be discussing Buddhism, so hit the books!

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August 16, 2006

Spiritual Paths

Is there only one? Is the one you follow the correct one?

Does your faith call upon you to separate yourself from those who follow different paths, lest you endorse their principles? Is this wise?

If you are a Christian, how do you handle this difficult issue? On the one hand, the Lord hung out with sinners. On the other, hanging out with sinners can subject you to temptation.

If you're a Twelve-Stepper, how do you function in slippery places (e.g., bars, Grateful Dead concerts, pastry shops, gift stores—whatever)?

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Still Working.

Which is good. The phenomenon of "happy clients" is wonderful; after "happy clients" comes "clients who pay invoices on time."

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August 14, 2006

Working Today.

Check out my blogroll. (And send me a note if you run across a dead link. I don't prune it often enough, I'm afraid.)

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August 13, 2006

My Thoughts?

Bring on the fake menstrual blood. And fake vaginal secretions, if you have any on hand.

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August 11, 2006

Today

. . . we are all moonbats.

I'm sorry, but there is, to me, all the difference in the world between a meditative "think piece" and an actual analysis of security concerns. Helen's post was about her subjective responses; it was not a set of policy prescriptions.

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The Neighbors

. . . are starting to tire of hearing me alternate between The Essential Alice Cooper and Queen II.

I suspect they are conspiring with the household across the street, taking up a collection to get me another album. And I'd like to make a suggestion.

If not, fine: All the young girls love Alice.

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August 10, 2006

Protein Wisdom Connects the Dots

. . . between the UK-plane plot and a right-wing conspiracy to sour Lamont's win in Connecticut:

It wonÂ’t work. NEDRENALINE IS IMPERVIOUS TO THE VICISSITUDES OF THE REAL WORLD! Hell, Islamofascists could blow a hole in Darien the size of a Super Target and all that would do is prove that the only way to defeat terrorism is to refuse to egg it on by looking it directly in the eye or making any sudden movements.

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Helen

. . . laments the new flying restrictions in the U.K.

I can totally see barring liquids and electronics; I'm still not so sure where the prohibition on books came from. (Sure, they are easy to hollow out, but it's just as easy to check that this wasn't done.)

It's sad. It really is.

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Cassandra

. . . thinks it over, and decides the blame lies with Bush and Blair. She makes a persuasive case.

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Trans-Atlantic Terror

No makeup is fine. One always looks like shit while flying, right? But no books = cruel and unusual punishment. And no bottled water sucks big-time.

Have the jihadis gone to therapy to unravel their odd obsession with airplanes? Sounds like some sort of childhood trauma.

A friend of mine just returned from London on one of the supposedly targeted flights.

Kill the Islamo-fascists. Wipe 'em out. Now.

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Place This Quote

how do I get - how do I get to sleep?

Please let me sleep.

po-po-poetry. That'll work

Come sweet slumber, enshroud me in thy purple cloak.

hm. Doesn't even rhyme.

Oh, Prof. Purkinje: you tried so hard to enlighten me, and I remain such a nerd. To this very day.

Note to self: No Red Bull after lunchtime. Ever.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 01:20 AM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
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