Month: August 2004

To the one I always write to first. A query of sorts, I suppose. They are amazing lyrics, but from whence do they come and who do they mean? Or does all that really matter much at all (I suppose not) in the end? Is it all Velvet Oedipal Pontification ?

Whlie he is the Court Jester, she is the queen of swords. Sharp of wit but heavy in spirit, your words are more beautiful when you are lighter than air. Cast off the weight of the world and don’t be afraid to let your sweetness show. Thinking of you. I have books with your name on them (both literally and figuaratively speaking.) I am wishing you a week free of care to the extent that this is humanly possible.

To my favorite Fallen Woman, I am wishing you good fortune and the loan of my stubbornness. You are tireless but sometimes you wonder what it’s all for. I’ll remind you. You may work your ass off now, but you are accountable to no one but yourself and that is worth its weight in platinum. And the ass that you’re working off is much more enviable than it used to be 🙂 Your confidence and strength and beauty shine through and inspire us all. But it’s okay to doubt that sometimes and I’m here for that when you need me.

I know a young mother who lives in a shoe…she wears so many hats you’d think she wouldn’t know what to do. In lieu of less plausible wishes, I wish her further extensions of credit and well behaving boys and a great sales week. And a sale on green tea.

My sister doesn’t read this, but I’m wishing bonus points into the universe because she thought of me in a kind way. Okay, so it was a bit condescending but as sweet as she gets and I’ll give her credit (long story.)

To my favorite belly dancing vegetarian – haven’t forgotten you, I’m just feeble minded and forget to call till it’s too late at night…

I’m probably forgetting people. I don’t know who all reads this thing. So I’ll just wish general goodness to all whom I have the good fortune of being acquainted with.

Peace, Love and Jellybeans,
Corbid

http://www.members.cox.net/corbid/exponentialdetritus.html

I’m offline again. I thought this “infrastructure improvement” bullshit was
supposed to have solved this problem. Fuckers.
I’m all paid up and everything. What do they want from me? Blood? My
immortal soul? That’s $40 a month I could be spending on books or CDs or 4
packs of Guinness pub draft. Or Care Bears and colouring books for my
daughters. Or, you know, my actual debts or something. Next time I happen
into a large sum of money (that’ll be never, but humour me) I’m going to buy
a laptop with a Wi-Fi card so I can roam around Starbucks or Downtown and
get free wireless access and not have to pay for my right to be an informed
citizen. You know, I’ve heard that in some countries wireless internet
access is provided free as a means of bettering and educating the populace.
Here they charge us for everything but the air we breathe (don’t worry, they
ll figure out how to charge us for that soon enough.)

Obviously if anyone’s sent me any email in the past 48 hours, I’ve not yet
seen it. I’m letting this post languish in my outbox in case I connect at
some point. A lovely weekend to all.

Negativegirl

It’s promised to be a fine dark Henson film in the tradition of Labyrinth and Dark Crystal, and better yet, it was written by Neil Gaiman.

Fuck me, I can’t wait for this movie:

I don’t know if I’ve ranted here yet about the whole dogs in the office situation, but yes my employers allow their ill behaved golden retrievers the run of the entire building. They try to steal our lunches. They fight in the hallways. They shit on the floor. One of them bit a hole in the ass of my dress once. We have to lock the doors so they don’t escape the building. Today one of them nearly got decapitated by the elevator when I was trying to load a product display. Far be it from me to complain, but holy fuck. This was not in my job description, to say the least. These are not exactly people who couldn’t afford a dog sitter. A trainer comes to give them walks. A groomer comes and bathes them. They live in the lap of fucking luxury. Why do they want to bury their noses in my lap as well?

But whatfuckingever. When given a choice between call center hell and dogs begging for my breakfast every morning I suppose I can learn to live with the dogs. Or at least start leaving early enough to eat breakfast at home.

1) My supposed vocabulary word of the day was “citadel.” Fucking please. Do
they think I’m 12? Are there a large number of fully functional,web literate
adults that don’t know “citadel?” If the thing weren’t free I’d want my
money back.

2) What gives with the increasingly more bizarre serving suggestions on the
back of frozen pierogi boxes? I am Polish (don’t laugh, it’s not that funny)
and I buy frozen pierogi to eat as Polish people do: boiled with butter and
lots of sour cream. If I want to go to some extra trouble I’ll pan fry it
and serve it with maybe butter and sour cream and Kielbasa. It’s a simple
dish and it’s hardly rocket science to figure out: “Hmmm…potatoes and
cheese in a dumpling, do you suppose it might be good with sour cream?” So
what the hell is up with suggestions like “Serve grilled or baked on top of
a selection of salad greens, topped with salsa” or “create a casserole by
combining with ham cubes, broccoli florets and Alfredo sauce” or the one
that kind of makes me retch a bit: “combine with spaghetti sauce and
parmesan cheese, add meatballs if desired.” Mmm, nothing like mashed
potatoes and spaghetti sauce! Jesus Fucking Christ on a cracker, do you
suppose these same brilliant marketeers will next come up with something
along the lines of “Fajitas…why not add mayonnaise?” or “Nothing beats the
taste of sushi and cheese whiz.” Way to make unsuspecting consumers hate
pierogi. But whatever, that leaves more for me, I guess. Potatoes are the
breakfast of champions indeed.

3) My third hate note of the day goes to people who take a great CD and play it constantly to a captive audience until you think you’ve been inducted into a very special level of the Inferno and wonder what atrocity you’ve committed to deserve it. Thanks to my sales manager at work, I can’t listen to any more Sarah McLachlan for a long,long time.

Kurt Vonnegut salutes the humble librarian.

Then Hole frontwoman Courtney Love, directly to the camera for a 1990 documentary on The Year Punk Broke:

“Kurt Cobain makes my heart stop. But he’s a shit.”

Also, my wee teo year old Sarah has composed the following song, which I thought I’d share:”The monkey in the sea, the monkey in the sea, hi ho the dairy o the monkey in the sea…is sleeping now..” True genius, I tell you.

…to sing the praises of Casa de Jay and Jay,which we visited during the birthday revelries last eve. Seriously, man, the house shared by Boy Jay and Girl Jay is what “Truck” frontman Jesse Stanley’s house wants to be when it grows up (and Jesse Stanley has a cool ass house.)An eclectic and beautiful mix of space age retro and lounge and Tiki kitsch plus vintage porn art and thought provoking conversation pieces. And a soundtrack to match. There’s a caterpillar collection in a bamboo tiki cage and one of those chairs that looks like you’re sitting tin the palm of a giant hand. And naked nun art.One can never encounter too much naked nun art. Yeah, I’m jealous, a bit…

I am readying my umbrella…