October 31, 2006
October 27, 2006
Suddenly Susan Was Never Quite Like This
The strangest thing about my dream last night was not that someone broke into my friends' house. Nor that the burglar trashed their bathroom--including smashing the very fancy ceramic bowl sink that they do not have in real life. Nor that the burglar stole all of the Vicodin from their medicine cabinet. Nor that it turns out the burglar was a friend from San Francisco. Nor that the San Francisco friend actually traveled from the future to commit the crime. Nor that I figured out he was the one who did it because I saw pictures of him on the Internet camping near JFK as he made his way to Capitol Hill to vandalize the bathroom and steal the painkillers. The strangest thing about my dream last night was that when I confronted him about it, as I waited for Glenn to call the police, he admitted that he did it for Brooke Shields.
October 24, 2006
Here, Baby. There, Momma. Everywhere, Daddy, Daddy!
As this WaPo article points out, some voters in Virginia will see "James H. 'Jim'" on their screens during part of the voting process instead of Jim Webb's full name. I really don't how you get to two weeks before election day without someone noticing that sort of mistake.
Well, actually, I do know. You just don't test your system properly.
I can relate to flawed technology screwing up names. PG County Schools computer systems only allowed for 10-letter first names. Suddenly on all the rolls I was Christophe.
Talk about tragedy. Before meeting me, my teachers all thought I was French.
October 20, 2006
Remember Mr. Ray?
Save as Draft
October 17, 2006
Way Too Many L's
The thought of a Lesbian Lohan just makes me giggle.
Ways Lindsay Lohan is not a Lesbian
Doesn't drive a Subaru.
Doesn't host potlucks.
Doesn't use icepick to kill men.
October 14, 2006
What Jetlag Means To Me
Apparently, jetlag means waking up at noon Italy time even though it's been almost a week since I've returned and it's far too early to be up on a Saturday morning for everyone else in my neck of the woods.
Last night, I dreamt about writing terza rima and not getting my thoughts on paper sufficiently. It's strange that I stopped writing poetry and still dream about it. Maybe it means I want to write still.
Maybe being in Florence (and seeing Dante's home--which really, Glenn says, wasn't his home according to most scholars) sparked something.
Maybe seeing Shortbus (see it if you can--unless you're in my family because that might just be too weird... okay, except for you) made me long for that tortured artist shit rather than the 9-5,6,7 stuff.
I stopped writing because I got tired. I stopped writing because I stopped caring about it. Because at the end of the day, I have a mortgage and am older than Jesus when he died and am too old to get right back on my usual 1:00 am sleep patterns and can't quite figure out what I should be writing about and don't really know why.
You may have seen the effects on this Web site. Your mileage may vary.
I should go back to sleep, but I can't. Sounds prophetic, no?
October 10, 2006
Skin and Bones Together Again!
Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie, Best Friends Again
At last, our long national nightmare is over. Let the healing begin!
October 09, 2006
October 03, 2006
A Joke from Firenze
Why don't congressmen use bookmarks?
They just bend over the pages.
Very current, no?