NO MORE HORRIBLE ELECTION ADS!!!

This is something we can all celebrate.

I don't know what to say about Barack Obama being elected the 44th President of the United States that will not be entirely inadequate, to both my feelings and the moment.

I am pleased. The richies over here at the Wub aren't even all that mad; not to put too fine a point on it, they merely have their panties in a bunch. But they aren't being that pissy about it. Although they would be if they could hear my internal monologue about how me and my Socialist Black Friend are coming for their monies, HAAHAHHAAHAHHAAA.

That, BTW, was a joke. None of them have any monies right now.

My only observation of the day is of all the things we were wrong about in this whole process, this is the one that really makes me happy: Scary, militant, Michelle Obama, who made him go to the horrible church and said horrible things and was really going to drag him down turns out to be warm and loving and down-to-earth and a terrific Mom and everyone loves her and she is going to be a KICKASS First Lady.

Sweeeeeeeeeet!

THIS IS A VOTER SUPRESSION TECHNIQUE!!!

Our new internet filters are hurting democracy! Our new internet filters have blocked out YouTube, which is preventing the formation of an informed electorate!

How can I know what I think about Decision 2008 if I can't see the response ad for the ad I didn't see for a senatorial race in a state that I don't live in?

Help, help, I'm being oppressed!

Oh, wait, I already voted. Step away from the internets, junkie...

Other links I could not follow this month: A picture of a haunted house (Forbidden Category: Occult) and the recipe for a Pym's cup (Forbidden Category: Alcohol/Tobacco).

I work in a Wub with four bars. I wish it was a forbidden category, especially on gameday weekends.

Evils-of-Spellcheck Update: The spell check for this blog service does not have "internet" in its dictionary.

Three observations

• The holiday versions of Reese's cups are a lot better than the regular, full size version. A better balance of chocolate to peanut butter. Also, fun foil.
• All my cosmetics today are very contrary. They are all -Defying, -Resistant, or Defense-ive. Except my mascara which is merely eye-opening.
• If I was into that type of crime, Halloween would be an excellent night for a home-invasion robbery.

I can't keep a blog

My God, people, I'm hopeless. I can't keep a blog; I over commit then I get all bored and tired of myself, and by extension tired of it, and have to disappear for a while, then I get plowed and over share, then I disappear again in embarrassment without so much as taking the time to correct the bad impression I just left. But then I come back because you've probably forgotten my bad behavior by now despite the actual evidence still out there.

I blog the way I date.

Aaaaanyway, here is something I've always liked: when you put your hair back and its still just a little damp and then later when you take the barrette or tie out you get a lovely little poof of shampoo smell. Aahhhhh.

In political news, I heard a Sarah Palin joke so inappropriate and unpleasant and evil I will never ever blog it. Please send a self-addressed, stamped envelop labeled REALLY WRONG JOKE to...

In book news, Sarah Vowell has a new book out! If you have not read Assassination Vacation run don't walk to the bookstore. Its a travel guide to the key plot points in the deaths of Lincoln, McKinley and Garfield. Oooh, fun, American history murder-style. The new one is called The Wordy Shipmates. It's about pilgrims!

Do you think that is the first time ever someone has put an exclamation point after the word "pilgrims"?

In TV news, I've been intermittently checking in on this new show about biker Meth gangs called Sons of Anarchy. Its pretty grim, but Ron Perlman is MADE OUT OF AWESOME!

In personal news there is none. Except that I discovered my crush has a girlfriend as I was playing some of the worst poker of my life. However, I also learned his best friend is not a fan of the girlfriend, so I have a secret ally.

Next month I shall get him to pass him a note after study hall.

In work news, all the crazy shit is going down at the Wub! Personnel shake ups, personnel crack-ups, and I was forcibly bonded with by one of my least favorite members at the last Bulldog Lounge. We're friends now. Because I AM SOOO SWEET. I MUST call her by her FIRST NAME. We should HANG OUT! (crazy eyes, shrill laugh, love-me subtext, back away slowly ).

Nice to chat; God only knows when I'll do this again. Perhaps after the election. Perhaps when I have recovered from the shame of being a baseball fan during this, the Worst. Post-season. Ever.

Bud Selig can eat a dick.


VOTE!

Politics. Drunk Much?

Hello, my name is Higgins and Im an addict.

Hi Higgins!

I'm addicted to Internet coverage of the election. But tonight I had a revelation.

Live blogging the debate is tired ( not that I won't read it on Wonkette, Slate, Salon and Jezebel).. Live blogging my closing statement on the debate. When it is done. When I am trashed. Much too trashed to run the (evil) spellcheck). is illuminative.

Here is my closing statement.

In any two-party election there are ten voters. Four decided voters are for one guy. Four decided voters are for the other guy. One undecided voter is a democrat who is embarrassed to admit he (cant vote for his paty's candidate for personal reasons) is a racist. One undecided voter is so fucking retarded he will not have his pants on with the zipper in front by Novemebr 4th. And it is those two guys who will decide the next president of the United States.

So, You might ask yourself why do I try? Why why WHY? DO I TRY?

Because (no irony) I have hope. And I don't mean election year hope. Not slogan hope, a place called hope, everything is gonna be alright hope. Real Hope. Things MAKE SENSE, no matter how they turn out, hope. Deep inside we are all decent people taking care of our responsibilities and looking out for the next buck like everybody else hope, hope. I hope, i hope.

This election sucks. But my God, my God, don't we all hope? I hope, that, if as they say, Wall Street got drunk, they have now hit rock bottom? Dont we all hope, i hope, that pre-911 thinking really is pre-911 thinking? I hope, I hope, that we are all sick and fucking tired of being told its naive, and juvenile, and hopeless to talk about compassion and care and hope as if its a real thing and not a campaign device? That stewardship is a real word and not a biblical word, and more then that its an action verb?

Huge pause.

Okay, I apologize, those of you who admire me, prepare to have your idol take a hit in your eyes. But. i just got completely distracted. Because I saw on TV that Jared Fogle, the Subway spokesperson (quote Homer Simpson: "Who used to fat but now hes just ugly") is five years younger than me. BOY, my attention span is short. And not especially PIN POINT fixed these days.

Ummmm. Aaaaaanyway. Based on my reading this last week, I say Lincoln/Secretary of war Edwin Stanton, 2008? Google him, bitches! He was "the rock, upon which the waves of war crash, but do not break." I am crazy about Edwin M. Stanton!

In unrelated news, I am still single.

Zombie Edwin Stanton v. Current Sec. State Robert Gates: He-ro v. He who? I know! and we're in an actual war! Its crazy!!

Okay, in conclusion, friends don't let friends blog drunk. more to follow. And if you are undecided (if I am friends of some total fucktard) dont let me influence you. I have been strressed lately. I cried in my workout class yesterday, although that was probably plank-on-ball and not John McCain. Or maybe cancer. they all suck.

I guess Wednesday is still a work day, huh? Who's the socialist candidate again?

It has been so long since we spoke...

...because Higgins has been hibernating and recuperating in a soft warm cocoon.


And now she is a beautiful, beautiful butterfly.


Holy Guacamole, this has been a horrible, horrible month. I will spare you details, but it has been really hard to write because I do not feel charming and comical; I feel like a tight little stressball of anger and bourbon, and I have been breaking one of my all time personal commandments which is to avoid self pity at all costs. I have been wallowing, I'm afraid, and it is not compelling reading. In fact, I'm bored with this post already.



Aaaaaanyway, to the bullet points!

WORDS I DON'T WANT TO SEE IN A REPUTABLE NEWSPAPER EVER AGAIN

• plucky
• feisty
• folksy

DID YOU KNOW...

• ...that more doctors smoke Camels while more dentists recommend Viceroys? This according to the comprehensive cigarette ad collection from Stanford University, now on display in New York. Also, the steady nerves of the Apollo astronauts are due in large part to the calming effects of Lucky Strikes. Never mind that Apollo spacecraft were filled with 100% oxygen until the launchpad fire of 1967.
• ...decimate does not mean destroy, it merely means to reduce by 10%? Makes sense, doesn't it. Also, pristine does not mean clean and pure, it merely means in its original state. "Archaeologists today discovered the pristine site of an Early American shithole."
• ...that if someone asks you to pass the pepper you must always pass both the salt and the pepper, else you are no lady/gentleman and are unfit for polite society and MBA banquets? Its true, you uncouth cad.
• ...that George W. Bush is still the President? I know, it's crazy.

MAY WE AGREE (THE POLITICAL EDITION)...

• ...that the world is upside down when Newt Gingrich is on TV lecturing me about sexism?
• ...regardless of political affiliation, blowing kisses is unpresidential?
• ...that undecided voters (unless they are undecided between Vote and Don't Vote which I have a certain amount of sympathy for) have got to be the stupidest fucking people on the face of the planet?

THINGS TO LOOK FORWARD TO THIS WEEK:

• Orgy of footage of the Rays-Red Sox fight from this summer. Replay after replay of Coco Crisp deking that punch at the June fight. And it was a real fight, not 48 guys standing around while two guys pretended they were gonna scrap. Bench clearing brawl all over the ALDS? Oh I hope, I hope, I hope...

Trying to get back on track, y'all. Spare me a good thought; I could use some.

Let's get physics-cal

This is me being supportive:
Them: I wish I wasn't at work today.
Me: According to the "Many-Worlds" theory of quantum mechanics, in an infinite number of universes you aren't.
Them: (...blink.... blink...)

In unrelated physics news, there is something called Quark Bread on the menu for next month's Chef's Table.

I smell a theme night!
Ohm-lets!
Cedar Planck-ed Salmon!
Schrodinger's Catfish!

And a vodka martini chilled to the lowest temperature theoretically possible.
Absolut. Zero.

Sorry I have been so sporadic lately

I've been sick with the Rockin' Pneumonia. And the Boogie Woogie Flu.

Guess what I did on Labor Day---you'll never believe it.
I bought a Christmas present!
Which I'm sure is unremarkable for some people...but I am me! I have bought and wrapped a Christmas present on September 3rd! WRAPPED!

I am kicking butt at the world lately.

Here are some Observations arranged by topic.

FOOD & BEVERAGE:

• I bet Seven-Layer-Dip is the Most-Often-Made-for-a-School-Project food item.
• Order a Vodka Gimlet up and very cold from a bartender in a college town and watch her look dizzy and confused. Sorry it's not a Jaeger bomb.
• Did you know that Twinkies were originally banana flavored until bananas were rationed in WWII? Now they are plastic wrapper and sugar flavored.
• Nothing is as good in your water bottle as your own ice cubes from home.

LANGUAGE

• Sanguine is maybe the word that least means what it literally means when describing one's mood. I'll use it in a sentence: "She was remarkably sanguine considering all the blood pouring out of her head wound." I call that misleading.

BASEBALL:

• Oh God.
• Please, don't make me talk about it.
• Dallas McPherson and Grady Sizemore are the two best baseball player names in baseball.
• I believe Jeff Francouer could hit into a double play right now with first base open. If anyone could do it...
• Of my six preseason picks, two of them are winning and the other four are a collective 59.5 games back. I may not know shit about baseball.
• Why? Why? WHY AREN'T WE BETTER THAN THIS?!?!!!
• I am sad.

SHOPPING

• End of Season Clearance is not 30% off. End of Season Clearance is "I'm not gonna spend 15 dollars on a dress!"
• On a related note, I wish you were here so I could say "Ask me how much I spent on this skirt!"
• See, I promised myself when I quit smoking that I would use cigarette money to buy myself treats, but I am finding it difficult to spend the money. For me, the treat is having some money to blow, not blowing it.
• $5.99. And its cute!

POLITICS

• It's not going to be the end of the world when the Boomers are no longer setting the agenda for the world.

THE QUICKENING PASSAGE OF TIME AND THE INEVITABLE CRUELTIES TO YOUTH AND BEAUTY INHERENT THEREIN:

• September? Are you kidding me?
• I plucked a long, weird hair from right in the middle of my cheek (face-cheek) this week.
• It was gray.

SONGS I HAVE HAD STUCK IN MY HEAD THIS WEEK:

• The Little Drummer Boy
• Don't Get Me Wrong by the Pretenders
• A Whole New World from Aladdin
• The Hillshire Farms commercial, which is not even a song: I said-a Beef! Hot-Links! Very bad earworm.

IN CONCLUSION:

• If Jeopardy! doesn't get out of reruns soon they are running the very real risk of me turning my attention to Spongebob weeknights at 7:30.

Full covention coverage to follow...

...as time permits (sorry, I've been kicking butt at my job this week), but let me say this, forcefully:
IF AL GORE HAD SOUNDED LIKE THAT IN 2000 THE LAST EIGHT YEARS WOULD HAVE BEEN ONE LONG, HORRIBLE DREAM.

Hello, hello

Sorry I haven't been keeping up. I was laid low with a virulent Olympic Fever! More to follow later, but just let me say this:
USA!USA!USA!

Also, Bill Clinton was good at the convention last night, and God knows I'm a fan, but when he gave a shout out to Joe and "his fabulous wife Jane" all I wanted to do was yell, "Eh! Stop thinking about people's wives!" Good president; bad date.

What we have learned

• Higgins is old. Higgins went out crazy-stomp-dancing Friday night to a rocking Bluegrass/Jam Band and could hardly believe that she used to do that around a campfire in the 1000 percent humidity.
• Higgins has been drinking Tab of all things lately. I love it. That super retro can is so much fun to hold, even though my friend says "Tab tastes like robot sweat".
• Higgins is a total hypochondriac who must stay off WebMD. I had a swollen ankle last week, which has to be the most ubiquitous symptom there is. It was either a strain, ill fitting sneakers, or Lou Gehrig's disease. At one point I literally got up from my desk and went to lie on the floor outside of P's office to make sure that I could breathe and talk while lying flat on my back (otherwise, it was congestive heart failure). At first it was only one ankle, which ruled out renal failure; then it was both which ruled out deep vein thrombosis. I have now officially diagnosed it as "one of those things", and have forbidden myself to think about it any further. Especially since I actually called my doctor and the PA said "Why don't you go home, put your feet up, and stay off the Internet before you paranoid yourself to death." They know me so well. Four days later, and even as I type these ankles are as trim as a ballerina's.
• Nothing is as good as your own ice cubes from home in your water bottle.
• Higgins world-famous bar joke about John and Mary and the Tractor that broke down is always fucking hilarious. Always.

Back in business

Okay, I am nearly over my state of shock. I'm not going to write too much about Marlin because I get too sad, but I will say that if you ever followed my "acting career" closely you saw him many times, probably most notably when I was Dulcinea to his Don Quixote. I know, right? We lost something there, folks. I guess I can begin to be a little bit shamefully relieved that I never saw him sick: his voice was such a powerful instrument; it would have hurt very much to see him robbed of it.
He was the only person I've known who had more and a more eclectic collection of books than me. They are now a living library at his church in the mountains. When he was showing thm to me he said "those are books I loved in college, these are history books I enjoy, that's a row of fake spines I keep around so people will think I'm smart." We were friends.

Tomorrow I will be full bore back to entertaining you. Let's start with this: a sentence I read this week that said "before they called them 'alligators' the early morning air was often rent with cries of "Ye Gods, watch out for the Chompapottamus!'".

Chompapottamus is my new favorite animal. The new feral kitty (oh yes, still on the job) is a Chompapottamus, as is the Chihuahua next door. Discovery Channel just celebrated an awesome Chompapottamus Week.

Final point. If that Chinese gymnast is 16 years old, so am I.

All those people.

They are so important. Maybe I don't mean important, maybe I mean significant. Those significant people, those key people, that no matter how much time goes by; sure, they settle down, you move away, you stop calling, you rarely email. You don't make plans; when you see them its awesome but its always by chance. You'll never ever forget them, bu then you rarely really think of them either, always idly, always "I wonder how so and so is?" The connection is special and important, even though you don't stay in touch, even though you suddenly realize my God, has been two years since I talked with whoever? I wonder...

One of my significant people died last month. He apparently had a little bump on hs tongue that he finally went and got looked at. It was a tumor, of course. On one Friday in April they called it malignant and by that Tuesday it was cancer of the tongue, jaw, neck, lymph and both lungs. Immemdiate, aggressive, poisonous chemo recommended, four days a week. There was no hope whatsoever of it having any curative value; merely to give him some little time with his wife and his two children, 7 and 5. They gave him a month. He died a t home July 14th.

I'm seeing mutual friends next week and I'm sure they will catch me up and that we will cry together, but you know how I found out? I was having a slow day at work yesterday and I Googled him.

He was dead before I knew he was sick.

I did not know I was this good a touch typist because I am blind right now. Someday later this week I will write more about my friend, all the good stuff. In the meanwhile, may I take the opportunity to say that if you are one of my seven or eight readers then I know you by name and I love you?

Ass Deep in Alligators

Literally.
Today in our summer events for kids we are hosting a Creepy Crawly Class.
Exactly what it sounds like.
There is a snapping turtle toddling around the formal ballroom right now.
I swear, this place is not all bad.

Not much news around here...

...except I almost arranged for a printing job that would have cost 1100 dollars, but my co-worker saved me. Shout-Out, D! Boo-hiss, Kinko's; your two color printing rate is extortionate.

I missed my blood donation appointment this week and when they called today they said "This is Janie from your American Red Cross. Is everything okay?!" I think that is adorable. I know its hard to tell with me sometimes, but I'm not being sarcastic; that is such a cute way to shame someone.

Sorry I haven't been in touch

Higgins has been at home, sick in the bed with some sinus-y, upper respiratory/bronchial thing. You'd think Higgins really was a bassett hound what with all the snuffling I've been doing, but Higgins is not. Higgins is an ex-smoker who is pissed off because I quit and it sucked and I was never supposed to get sick again, certainly not sick in the same way smoking made me sick.

Balls.

Anyway, all I did for four days was lay around on the couch watching summer TV at all hours of the day and night, so here it is: Higgins' Bullet Point Television Review!!!

• Man, there is a lot of TV. A solid 85% of it is pretty bad, but you can usually find something on.
• I have recently discovered and become enchanted by Eureka on the Sci-Fi channel.
• Why would Turner Classic Movies show Citizen Kane at 2:00 in the morning? And I have to say that AMC has vastly lowered its definition of what is a classic (I'm talking to you, Children of the Corn II)
• Here are some commercial actors who are good in their commercials:
• -The red headed chick who doesn't know how much to pay for a deductible (State Farm)
• -The black dude who revokes your ticket to the High Life (For 13 dollars I'll be a macademia nut)
• -All those yahoos at the Holiday Inn breakfast bar
• -The restaurant pirate for Free Credit Report.com
• The Closer stays good.
• VH-1 as an entity should be arrested and put in jail.
• Shark Week gets better every year. There is some craaaaazy shit going down on Shark Week.

Although I am distressed by the growing number of shark apologists. I do not wish to feel that these misunderstood creatures of the deep have gotten a bad rap; I wish to fear and loathe them. Although, quite comically, I did hear one nature filmographer very clearly yell "Go, little guy!" in the midst of a horrifying seal chase.

Also, I am waiting for the interview where someone says "Well, yes, actually, it kinda has ruined surfing for me. I will never get in any body of water again unless it has a drain and a soapdish. For further details, I invite you to consult the teeth marks in my back. What a stupid question!"

In somewhat related news, I am waiting for the lottery press conference where the winner says "Fuck yeah, I'm gonna quit my job! This is my 2 minutes notice! What a stupid question!"

Also...

Add to list:

• "Hot Aspartame's the name of my new band."
• "My clothes won't talk to you if you don't talk to me."
• "Go make me a sandwich, Icy-Hand-Of-Death!"
• " 'For thirteen dollars, I'll be a macademia nut.' "
• "Ghost in the Machine! Ghooooost...."
• "Bitching or Non-?"
• "L'chaim!"

All day long I'd beedle-beedle-bum...

Things I have said aloud today:

• "Why do I have Fiddler in the Roof stuck in my head?"
• "Is it a fresh fruit day or a penguin day?"
• "E's on vacation...D's home sick...A's at the bank and everyone else is in a staff meeting...I am the last worker on Earth."
• "I'm a feeling a little gangster myself."
• "What's that supposed to be, charm?"
• "Allow me to present Exhibit Go Fuck Yourself."

Things I have thought to myself today:

• If I were a rich man
• Ah ya-ha-dee-dah-dee-dah
• die-dull-dee-dull-die-da-dee-da-dum

It's weird

Kangaroo tastes like a mix of venison and liver. Much more like organ meat in taste, although the cut and texture were just exactly like any other loin. Not my cup of tea, but I'm glad I tried it.

Two conversations:

Scene. The telephone, talking to a girlfriend with whom I am trying to lose some weight.

P: Did you do the Yogi Booty Ballet ?
Me: No, I busted out the Billy Blanks Tae-Bo.
P: How come?
Me: I was pretending to be a kangaroo all afternoon at work so I was already in a punching and kicking mood.
P(pause): Where do you work?


Scene. A Bar, trying to make conversation on the "I'm not gonna meet and fall in love with someone without leaving the house" principle. Maybe forty seconds into the conversation I reference kangaroo.

Me: I tried something for the first time tonight.
Him: Anal?


And this is exactly why I no longer bother.

Kangaroo: its what's for dinner!

Seriously.

Tonight's Chef Special is "Chili Rubbed Kangaroo Loin: Grilled Medium Rare with a Black Bean Cake and Grilled Corn, Tomato and Avocado Salad."

G'day, mate!

So on the one hand I'd be really really offended if I knew an Australian was serving Bald Eagle, but on the other hand I am dying to know what kangaroo tastes like. I'm going to try it in just a while; I shall keep you posted.

Side Note: These people are spoiled rotten. We are serving kangaroo, for Chrissake's, which I think you will agree is hard to get at say, Chili's, and we have exactly zero reservations for dinner. Which is okay, because I in my role as Resident Comedy Genius have determined what we should do with the leftovers.

Sloppy Joeys.

Because I enjoy their toast and their kissing, that's why

Normally I celebrate by cutting the heads off paper dolls, but turns out Monday was Bastille Day and I totally missed it. C'est la vie.

Bullet Points!

• Marine is a capitonym, so I guess navy has to be also. Also China.
• It is fun to roll your R s! We have a Dennis Pro who has about four sets of double Rs in his name and whenever he comes in the door I announce him like a baseball guy: "Andrrrrrres Gallarrrrrrrraga!" (not his real name. Well, not the Dennis Pro's real name. It is, in fact, Andres Gallaraga's real name.)
• I can totally touch my toes now. Trust me, this is a big damn deal.
• Do you ever just think something super-mean? I mean just breath-takingly mean; if-you-read-it-in-a-script-you-would-not-believe-someone-could-actually-say-that mean? A girl came in yesterday to apply for a job whose previous experience was Hooters where she "served and created a fun invirenment." My thought bubble said "I hope you suck dick better than you spell, because you're not getting a job." I know; sometimes my thought bubbles even disconcert me.
• Here is joke from a five-year old: What do you get when you cross a pig and a centipede?
• Give up?
• Bacon and Legs.

I do not care to discuss the All Star Game

Okay, I'm not going to say anything, except I will say this: why, why does the National League always pick the All-Star game to suck on the national stage? I knew Brad Lidge was going to blow that hold, I knew it, because the Atlanta Braves can't get a hit off him for love or money, and the aces are aces against us and asshats against the AL All Star team. Just like I knew Trevor Hoffman was gonna blow it in 2006 (and frankly he has not been the same since).

Dan Uggla eats our regular season pitching up and steals hits from my guys with his defense at second. He has never had a three error game in his life, but he had one last night!

Damn it, dammit, dammit; I really thought I the NL had a chance last night/early this morning; I had even picked my headline: Dog Bites Man.

But I'm not talking about it.

Except I will say this: Russell Martin made two of the shittiest throws to second base I have ever seen in my life, and yet Brian McCann didn't get in the game until the fifteenth frigging inning and never even got to swing the bat. Clint Hurdle is kind of a fucktard. And our All Star manager's team is like 8.5 games back.

But I don't want to talk about it.

Let's talk about this: I am now certified as a first responder. If you fell down hurt or heart attacky or strokey or on fire or bleeding or in diabetic shock I would totally try to help you.

They are pretty much straight up telling us now that you will not save anyone's life with CPR, though. The defibrillators will save your life, but here's kind of a funny story. He asked if I could go get one of the Wub's four AEDs, and it was locked in someones office and when I finally found someone with a key to get it for me, the box was empty of everything but the pads. Which expired two years ago. So my guy died. But, if I had the equipment I would totally save his life.

When I was in middle school my all-time go-to daydream fantasy was that I would push Simon LeBon's kid out of the path of a speeding car and completely save Simon LeBon's kids' life, and therefore become the Queen of Duran Duran and get to go to all the concerts and private plane rides and only let girls who were nice to me hang out and maybe, just maybe get Frenched by John Taylor.

Now my new daydream fantasy is that I will completely save the life of some old rich decrepit fart who has a heart attack in the Fitness Center, and reap serious rewards for heroism and for not watching a millionaire die for the fun of it (can you tell I'm thinking of a particular person?). The best part of this mature daydream fantasy is that it might happen! Probably, even!

So that's my retirement plan; what's yours?

"It's toasted!"

I'm looking at vintage tobacco ads and there's this one starring Marlene Dietrich for Lucky Strike in 1950. It actually says "so round, so firm, so fully packed...so free and easy on the draw."
Why does that sound filthy?
"There's never a rough puff in a Lucky."
Now that's just gay.

This moment of pure evil is brought to you by State Farm

So everyone knows that the (State Farm) Home Run Derby is very fun and very bad for you. Guess who has said they are going to play this year? Division rivals Dan Uggla and Chase Utley! And also Lance Berkman, who threatens Chipper for the batting title.
It is very, very wrong of me to hope they all hit about 45 home runs that night, but I hope they all hit about 45 home runs that night.
The only thing that could fill me with more Montgomery-Burns-style anticipation (eeeexcellent) would be if Pat Burrell was in.
Ooh, and Nate McLouth.
Who?, you may ask.
I Know! It's crazy!!! Who? WHO? At my age I suddenly have to worry about some person named Nate McLouth?!!!? He's a PIRATE, for Christ's Sake!!
Jeez.

The four types of people

• People who enjoy Journey genuinely
• People who enjoy Journey ironically
• People who say they don't enjoy Journey but they are lying
• Journey

(Faithfully was on the XM radio at lunch today. We enjoyed that song.)

This entry has no title

A short list of things that would have been better if people would just listen to me in the first place, including who should have listened and when they should have listened:

• My computer; Tech Support; early yesterday morning
• bottom of the 6th inning in last Tuesday's game; Bobby Cox; top of the 6th inning
• Middle East; Palestine; 1994
• Friends' marriage; both friends; 1992
• Democratic Party; all of 'em; 1988 to present
• the size of my ass; my own brain; May 28th to present

Iwish there was some sort of euphemism for a flashy show-off...

This just in: America retains the competetive eating crown with an unprecedented dog-off in the Nathan's Hotdog Eating Championship!

U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!

I am much like Bill Pullman

Well, Happy Fourth of July, kids. I'm working today and the only car in the parking lot at the moment. I shall celebrate Independence Day by working independently.

So I'm a patriot. No irony here, y'all; I don't mean that I drink Miller instead of Amstel or that I hope the USA kicks Chinese ass this month in Beijing or that I support my troops, though all of that is true.

I mean that I love this fractured, flawed, fierce and funny country with everything I've got. I look forward to putting the current administration, with its disgraceful policies of torture and wiretapping and naked contempt for the constitution on the garbage heap where it belongs, because I believe that being an American makes me part of something that is unique and honorable and good.

Also, baseball.

Have you read David McCullough's 1776? If you have not, boy are you lucky with that to look forward to. If you have, you must have been awed and humbled by the central theme of that amazing history: the moment to moment fragility of the revolution. Any battle could have gone either way. General Washington made decisions time and time again that kept the young country from winning decisive victories. We sneaked away at night as often as we charged the enemy. Literally, if the wind changes directions at the Battle of Brooklyn the revolution is defeated utterly and our Founding Fathers are hanged.

But, shockingly, we win. The revolution, miraculously, against all odds survived and created something that no one had ever seen before: a government "instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed."

How amazing is that?

When Abraham Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation, he dated it "In the Year of Our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty two and of the Independence of the United States the eighty seventh."

Is that not incredible?

Years of looking for a peaceful response to the threat of secession. Years of trying to preserve the union. Years of speeches becoming more inflammatory, protests becoming more violent, ideological schisms becoming more irreparable. Years of watching the young country teeter on the brink until it finally fell. Then, years of bloodshed and terror and turmoil.

Knowing the terrible cost at which this war had been and would continue to be fought, knowing the dreadful loss of life and treasure, knowing that "brother against brother" was a literal fact and not a poetic device, he knew also that the Civil War was about this one thing only, a truth that kind of slipped past the Framers: that a country cannot survive half slave and half free.

And he dated the document that released the slaves with the date of the birth of the Lord and with the date of the birth of our country. The wonder of that; that in 1862 Lincoln saw the date of our independence at least as significant a start of something great.

"We hold these truths to be self-evident; that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness."

Lincoln recognized his great responsibility in the fulfilling the promise of that amazing document. May we all do the same.

Have a happy fourth.

P.S. Don't drive drunk; cops have no sense sense of patriotism or humor.

Staying pretty busy here at work, obviously

Here are the some of the things Wikihow says on the subject of How to Find a Hobby:

• "Sell the items you have created in your hobby. Make sure you're good at it first."
• "Do not start a new expensive hobby with money you have budgeted for a college fund."
• "Maybe in summer you love to cycle and in winter you love to make matchstick castles."
• "This will make you a more interesting person than a person that is addicted to MySpace or watching TV or doing other time-wasting and unhealthy tasks, such as stuffing your gut."

In other related searches, How to Cope With Boredom: "Make your own armwarmers".

I don't even know what that is.

Oh, leave me alone, Sis...

My apologies. Higgins has been out fighting crime.

So, in the many days since last we spoke, here are some of the things that happened:

• I began a workout class. Just once a week. It is free, provided by my employer which means either I have a great employer, or he thinks we're all getting a might meaty in the drumsticks. It isn't easy, but in only four classes I have gone from 2 push-ups to ten. Why, sometimes I even lift a five pound barbell over my head at home. So that's where my triceps are. I shall call off the search party.
• Had the birthday. I had a surprisingly enjoyable day (large steak, bowling and beer, baseball game on TV). My sister sent me a card saying "I'm sorry the obsessing about your birthday is taking even more years off your life." Har-dee-fucking-har.
• Had my computer go bad, then get fixed. Man, do I not like it when the tech guys start remotely controlling my computer. They are so snotty about knowing how to do cool stuff like that. I just want to point at the sky and scream "Auughhh! IRON BIRD!!!"
• I have now, as of today, been a non-smoker for five weeks.
• In unrelated news, I have gained 11 pounds in the past five weeks.

Let me tell you though, I am really enjoying being a non-smoker. I am saving so much money, I can walk up the extremely mild grade in my neighborhood and have enough breath to bitch about being out of shape, and it has been too damn hot to smoke anyway.

Also, I am unbelievably, extremely secretly smug. I disguise it by saying things like "If you don't want to quit, you won't. When you're ready you will." But secretly I AM STRONG AND YOU ARE WEAK! BWAHH-HHAHHH-HAHHHHH!!!

My only current complaint is, where is the "elation"? All my supportive websites say that my serotonin levels will even out and I will experience "mild elation". I can expect to feel this in "three weeks to nine months".

Three weeks to nine months? What the hell? Is waiting for elation like waiting for the cable company?

Oh, shit. Maybe that maniacal laugh two paragraphs ago was the elation! You don't think I missed it, do you?

It's not my fault...

...I haven't been blogging. My computer is infected. I know this because there is an error message that you cannot click to dismiss that says "You're computer is infected!" The IT guy keeps jumping on and rooting around remotely so I have basically been scared to touch anything. I'm just sitting here quietly and answering the phones while the IT guys earn their handsome retainer by making me feel like a dumbass.

More to follow when I get un-infected.

Sorry, I've been busy

What have you been busy with, you may ask?

• Recovering from my workout class. Oh, yes, one class. It's very awesome, but I am very out of shape. There are my triceps. I have been looking everywhere.
• Not smoking cigarettes. Although this is sort of a daily thing, and not so difficult since I discovered the trick of shoving every single other thing in my mouth.
• Dreading the arrival of what I am calling My Fourth Annual Thirty-Second Birthday. People want to buy me meals (which I am trying not to eat), buy me drinks (which make me want to smoke) or send me to Brave games (which make me want to rail and scream and weep bitter tears of frustration---Spinal Tap did not have the trouble with drummers that we are having with pitchers).
• Dicking around on line.

Yup. Busy.

So we are having this thing here at the Wub this week known as the Summer Hummer. Really. I know you are thinking "Hummer" in the modern, fellatary (? I think I made that up) sense, but turns out the logo is a hummingbird. Who knew?

Anyway, its this huge three day member-guest golf tournament and cocktail party. Picture Oktoberfest, but armed with sporting equipment. Have you ever seen a Vodka slide? If you were ever a person inclined to be intimidated by the wealthy, its reassuring to know that deep down inside they are vulgar little rednecks just like the rest of us.

The Hummer is always exhausting and always the weekend of my birthday, so lets have a moment of applause that this year I merely sit at the desk and look pretty rather than hump drinks and disdain the Vodka slide girls, which we have to contract out since one of our hiring standards is borderline self-respect.

Let's see, I made a little friend at Target last night. It's bizarre the way small children always talk to me. She thinks I should have a little girl so that I can buy her the Barbie Mermaid with silver nail polish. I told her I would get right on it.

I will wrap this up with the all time Greatest Hit of my conversation with small people. I met this small person at the Friends of the Library Book Sale this spring. Enjoy.

Child: Are you going to buy that book?

Me: I think I probably will.

I have twenty four books at home.

Wow, that's a lot of books.

Do you have more than 24 books?

Yeah, I do.

Do you have more than 50 books?

Yep.

More than 100?

Yep.

Do you have more than one...hundred...and EIGHTY TWO BOOKS?

I will bet you that I have six..hundred...books.

NUH-UH!

Yeah-huh.

(pause)How many books are on this table?

I dunno, maybe 150?

You have more than this many books?

I have 4 times this many books.

Do you have a lot of tables?

I have a lot of shelves.

I have a shelf in my bedroom and it has 24 books on it.

I have shelves in my bedroom and the TV room and the downstairs room

(interupting) My daddy has books in the BAAATHROOOM!

So does my dad. I guess Dad's do that.

Knock-knock.

Who's there?

I 've got a BUG IN MY POCKET!

"You're maudlin and full of self-pity. You're magnificent."

I hate it when people transfer themselves back to me. It's just obnoxious. "I'm trying to reach so-and so-and I got his voice mail." Well, then I guess he doesn't fucking want to talk on the phone right now. What do you want from me?

I cried like six times yesterday. God only knows what's that about besides my nerves are shot. Thank God I got a solid 3 and 1/2 hours of sleep last night and left all my makeup at home. Otherwise, people wouldn't know I was puffy and pale. Things I cried about:

• My horrible skin and fatness and hair texture, which I'm sure will all blow over when my system detoxifies and I'm no longer premenstrual, but still.
• John Smoltz's shoulder, and don't even try to make me feel like an idiot because I'm not a bit embarrassed about it. I sat at my desk yesterday with an earplug in my ear and burst into tears as this total stranger who has been in my life since I was teenager spoke of life and change and blessings and made me believe he meant it. Amazing guy. Amazing. I'm tearing up now thinking about it.
• I'm about to be in my late thirties. I guess I'm never gonna have a baby.
• Watched Juno.
• Couldn't sleep and tried to distract myself with great memories and ended wading through a knee-high batch of horrible ones.

Anyway, not off to a great start today. I'm about to go accost random co-workers for some lip color. Wish I could have just stayed in bed.

Change of mood, because I must: saw an article on line this week (when I figure out how to add links I'll start doing that) where Spellcheck ran amok in a high school yearbook, making poor Kathy Carbaugh Kathy Airbag and Alessandra Ippolito Alexandria Impolite. It's evil, I tells ya; eeeee-viilllllllllll!!

Hobby options:

• Take back up the saxophone.
• Batting cages.
• Spanish class.
• Flossing.

It's from All About Eve.

Hi, Hi, Hi, Chellie!!!

Something besides Crosswords and Buffin' the Muffin

Here are the few fleeting thoughts that are on mind for the rare moments I can concentrate on anything at all besides actively not smoking:

• I need a hobby. I am opening the floor to suggestions of how to occupy my down time, of which I have plenty. Nothing that requires talent and nothing that will require me to cut my fingernails, please.
• I have never in my life called a number I don't recognize and said "Someone called me from there." Are you kidding me? Why would you do that? If they didn't leave a message why do you want to know? There are about 65 phones here and they are all going to read as the main number so if you don't have a guess as to which of our 160 employees and 900 members called you, I'm not going to be able to help you. It wasn't me.
• Jesus Christ in a Chicken Basket, are the primaries the fuck over yet??!?
• Tennis pros are jackasses.
• I gave blood yesterday and even though she got the vein on the first try I have a HUGE bruise today. The other dude said my veins were so good he could have darted me from where he was and I with great effort refrained from cracking a heroin joke. Just didn't seem appropriate at the time. Making plenty of heroin jokes today, though. (FYI: I don't use heroin. Although I hear it is less addictive than nicotine. Hmmm, maybe that could be my hobby.)
• Ratatouille is a really cute movie.

Do you know where you're going to?

Oh. My. God.

The conversation I just had regarding directions.

This chick called because she was really lost getting here for the MBA etiquette class (yes, that is a real thing. Picture a bunch of Pacific Rim MBA students trying to grasp the idea of a demitasse spoon, and an etiquette teacher who ordinarily teaches seventh graders: "Okay, stop everyone. Everyone stop. Does everyone see what Yong Ping Pong just did with his napkin? What should we do?"...but I digress. Because it isn't really germane, because this chick was 100% American, as evidenced by her appalling failure to grasp basic geography.)

VERBATIM (please, bear in mind that I just quit smoking. And that I'm not especially nice to begin with. Dumbasses are in blue.)

Hi, I'm supposed to be there for the MBA class, and I'm so lost.
Okay, where are you?
I don't know. It's a highway.
(Moment) Could you narrow it down?
The Loop?
Okay, are you going north or south?
I don't know.
Well, help me out a little.
It's the Proper Name Parkway.
Okay, can you guess where you are on it?
Its the Proper Name Parkway.
Okay, but that's a parkway. I need you to be more specific.
I don't know where I am!!
What do you see?
I'm at a Marathon station. I had to stop for gas and got turned around.
(Pause) You're at a gas station and you don't know where you are.
No, I'm completely lost!
(Long Pause) Have you considered asking the guy?
He's busy!
What a coincidence. Okay, do you see anything distinctive?
Athens Tech?
Oh, great! I know exactly where you are. Turn back around, get on the Loop North.
I'm on the Loop!
No, you're not. Look for the Loop North.
I'm supposed to be on the Loop!
I know you're supposed to be, but you're not. I promise.
I know I saw a sign that said I was on the Loop.
Dear. You got off to get gas, remember?
Okay. Okay...This sign says 78/10.
Very good! Now, you are coming back to the 10 Loop. You'll want to take the Loop North, the exit before you go under the bridge.
What?
The first exit. Before the bridge.
What bridge? I don't see a bridge!!!
I'm trying to tell you what you're going to see. Before you see it.
But what do you mean, before the bridge?
(Pause) ( Rub forehead) (Slowly, as if to a Pacific Rim student with 6 forks) When you get on a ramp, get on the one before the bridge.
What ramp?
Right. Take the one that goes right!
What does the sign say?
I don't know what the signs say, but its gonna be the only two choices there are.
More than one?
Yes, but Don't Panic. You want the first one. North. Right.
I just don't know what you are talking about. Where's the bridge?
(Loooong pause) I think I have exhausted my helpfulness to you. I'm going to transfer you to someone who can be of more help.

The person I transferred her to was on the phone with her for 12 more minutes. At one point she said "Are you on a divided highway?" and the chick said "I don't mean to sound dumb, but I don't know what that is."

You may not mean to, but...

When she walks in the door I will either a) punch her in the face, or b) say "It's okay; no one really considers an MBA an 'advanced' degree anyway."

Gonna be a long day.

I Kick Butt

Get it?

All I've been doing for the past few days is dicking around on line for inspirational and profoundly disturbing material on quitting smoking.

I gasped and laughed in shock when I saw the pack warning in India. Its the whole front of the pack. It has a skull and crossbones. It has a picture of a tiny little baby with tubes running out of its nose. And it says "YOUR SMOKING KILLS BABIES."

Do you get the feeling that India doesn't have a powerful tobacco lobby?

I'll try not to go on too much about this except to say this: if you are still enjoying smoking and have no real urge to quit, do NOT Google image "diseases of smoking". The World Health Organization has Photoshopped a dude who has all of them, and it is right out of Hieronymous Bosch. Seriously, this creature has cervical cancer, a history of miscarriages and deformed sperm. Unpleasant.

So I don't smoke anymore, and I am fatigued, achy, can't concentrate and want to kill everyone I see.

Or as I call it, Thursday.

Well my goodness...

...so much has happened since I last checked in I hardly know where to begin. These are all the things that I could spend a page on, but instead will just tease you with until I get back to work Wednesday.

• The Braves swept the Mets in four games which seems like ancient history since we got massacred last night. And Bobby Cox turned 67 and signed a contract extension: now there's a guy who's aging exactly the way he wants to.
• My sister and her boyfriend came to town! I was happy to see them but the visit was too, too short, although I am looking forward to taking my bra off the second I get home as is my usual habit when there are no men around the house. Item of note: Boyfriend called me by the name my sister calls me. I thought it was kind of sweet.
• I was diagnosed with some dark and diresome horrific periodontal thing that makes me absolutely disgusted with my own mouth. Very expensive and dreadful which brings me to items three and four.
• I have to get married by July the 30th. Its the only way I can buy into the dental insurance before the first root procedure; otherwise its two grand out of my pocket or wait until January. So talk me up, people; I've got six weeks to nail somebody down and drag him into HR.
• I am quitting smoking forever on Wednesday. You may assume much more to follow as that storyline progresses. But I mean it.

These are the high points, except to add I hate Spellcheck. Its so worthless that it can't tell when a word is spelled correctly but used incorrectly. Apparently the menus I sent out last night advertised a "Skirt Streak", which I agree does not sound appetizing at all.

Spellcheck believes the word most closely related to prosciutto is prostitute, and don't even ask me how that "auto-corrected" menu went over with the kitchen staff. Its been four months and they're still cracking jokes about whore's-radish sauce.

Do you know what makes people insane?

Pool parties.

That's it; that's all there is on that subject. People get way crazier about a pool party for a five year old than they do about a wedding rehearsal dinner. Go figure.

Babe, if I'm the bottom, you're the tops

Last night on What Not To Wear Carmindy the makeup artist was talking about mascara and she said "Always, always do the bottom lashes first". That was it; no further explanation. This morning I've been taking a poll sample that is running 100% in favor of nobody does that. Twenty out of twenty attractive women do their top lashes first, with a small statistical anomaly of women who only do their top lashes.

I was staying up late to watch television because I have been kind of depressed lately. No that's wrong; not so much because I've been depressed but because I feel like I could become depressed so I have to distract myself. That's how I ended up being completely baffled by Carmindy's (who, by the way, could occasionally use a little WNTW consult her own self) enigmatic instruction. Is this yet another thing I got to be 35 years old without knowing?

And from there, oddly enough, I got to feeling better. I kind of got to thinking about all the perfectly ordinary things that I didn't know and hadn't done until I was in my thirties and kind of got excited about what might still be out there. Here are some examples:

• State capitals. Finally buckled down and learned them because I was tired of the sensation of "If that had been my question I just blew Final Jeopardy on something schoolchildren know".
• Finally saw The Godfather and The Godfather Part II at the age of 31. Fought it for years and was just shocked, shocked that they really were as good as everyone says they are.
• Went camping with a guy and, you know, did it, outdoors. Just exactly as uncomfortable as I would have imagined it would be if I had given it any real consideration.
• Football. My right hand to God I was 32 years old before I realized a first down was the original ten yards. How can it be first down, I'd say to myself, if a down is ten yards and he just ran 13. The situation was not helped by the fact that I used to only watch the "big" Georgia games in 2004 and every time I'd look up we were first and 23.
• Thong panties.
• I just last summer got the joke in Monty Python's Holy Grail about the "Silly English ka-nig-it." Seriously, it just clicked for me. Huh.

So it helps me with my mid life crisis to think that there are still things to come. Not the big things you have to consciously attack, like apparently I am going to get old and die with out ever learning to play an F chord on the guitar, but small things like I don't know the names of trees and its probably not too late to pick that up.

Side Note: Also helping me with my mid life crisis: Chipper Jones, who at 7 weeks my senior is kicking butt all over the league, and if he is a juicer I am a ring-tailed monkey with the chicken pox. Cooperstown bound.

That mascara thing is just crazy, though.

More word fun

Ever since the mention of capitonyms in the last post, my sister has been randomly calling me at all hours and saying things like "China. You're it."

How's this for a great phrase? Yesterday this guy tripped over his own feet for no reason at all that I could see. He said he must have "walked into a gravity storm." I love it. (When I do that it's usually because of a Terrapin storm. His explanation is much the nicer).

Herb ate an herb

It has been a long time since I have not wanted to finish reading a book. I cannot begin to tell you how much fun The Know It All is. This guy really appeals to my command of esoteric knowledge combined with my need to always be right.

There are so many words I have never heard of in this book. Even types of words. For example, did you know there is such a thing as Capitonyms? These are words where the meaning changes based on whether or not not it is capitalized. The Polish company manufactures shoe polish. This and today's title are the only examples given; maybe that's all there is.

My new favorite thing, which has many common examples, is the miranym. This is the word between two antonyms. I love new words.

• convex/concave: flat
• hot/ cold: room temperature
• acme/ nadir: plateau
• ascending/ descending: level

Fun, huh? Let's play at home!

• a wide, warm circle of loving and supportive friends/ crushing loneliness: monthly poker tournament
• Kate Moss/ Mama Cass: me
• too young to know anything/ too old to change anything: 5 weeks shy of 36th birthday
• Mother Teresa/ Woman I just got of the phone with: Vlad the Impaler

I'd rather steal the pot than turn a trick

I am reading a fantastic book. It's called The Know-It-All: One Man's Humble Quest to Become the Smartest Person in the World. It a memoir of the year he spent reading the entire 124 volume Encyclopedia Britannica. It is chock full of trivia and snark, which I have always considered two of my best things. Such my book. You may look forward to many fun facts based on the Encyclopedia Britannica

For example, according to the EB all card games can be classified as one of two types: games based on rank (like bridge) or games based on combinations (like poker). Now I do not believe any of those "there are two kinds of people in the world..." theories, but if I were given to facile explanations for human behavior (especially as seen around the Wountry Wub) it is tempting and easy to develop a complete theory of people based on what kind of card games they like.

I have always hated rank games. Hate bridge, hate spades, hate pinochle. True story: I once made out with I guy I had sworn to myself not to touch because it seemed like the only way to get him to stop trying to teach me euchre. I like poker, rummy, Uno, where a ton of lucky threes can beat royalty. You see how this social theory practically writes itself?

It could certainly explain the Bridge Coven. This is my affectionate name for the women that come out to the Wub every day---every single day---and play Bridge for 4 to 6 hours---daily. Maybe they love bridge so much because they are obsessed with rank. Maybe they are ranking everything, putting a value on everything, including the quality of the free cookies they get and who else gets to come in and play bridge in the same room at the same time. Whereas I roll with the theory that a lucky combination can hit anything or anybody at anytime and that's all that distinguishes anyone from anybody else.

Like I said, a facile and dumb theory, of course, but a healthy attitude to try to adopt, especially this morning when Mrs. Iwsfhcitdwtw finally made her reservation for Mother's Day.

No she isn't Welsh; its an acronym for "I would sooner fellate a hot curling iron than deal with that woman."

Hmmmmmm...Jamocha Almond Fudge...

A moment of silence in honor of Irvine Robbins, co-founder of Baskin-Robbins 31 Flavors, who died this week at the age of 90. One hopes it was quietly in his sleep, and not from Creamy Delicious Hardening of the Arteries. Original Flavors included Rocky Road, Lemon Crisp, Vanilla Burnt Almond, and Cherry Macaroon. My favorite historical specialty: Baseball Nut, designed to commemorate the Dodgers move to LA in 1958. Vanilla, peanuts and raspberries for the umpires.

One of the original 31 was also Egg Nog. Nobody's Perfect.

On one of my young birthdays, five or six I suppose, I got an ice cream cake from Baskin- Robbins that looked like a watermelon; green frosting with with pink cake and mint chocolate chip on the inside. For that reason alone I hope very much that Irvine Robbins receives free samples in the great Ice Cream Parlour in the Sky forever.

ATTENTION SENSITIVE MALE READERS

This is just a warning to my vast male reading audience (of precisely one): today is not for you, so unless you wish to know all together too much about your girlfriend's sister, I suggest you avert your eyes.

Is he gone? Good.

I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! I knew if I wore brand new gabardine slacks I would start my period, never mind three days early. I averted disaster but now will spend the rest of the day consumed with Seersucker Paranoia.

Crap.

Obviously I am not in much of a mood for new material today, so those of you on the edge of your seat wondering what I think about Ken Griffey Junior (hint: pro) will just have to wait for oh, about five days.

I give you instead a verse from the vast collection of Country-Western Songs I Have Almost Written (and wasn't I in a bit of a mood the day I wrote this one):

The Ballad Of Bloaty McPad-Pants

Bloaty McPad-Pants
McQuiet, McSullen
Her temper's McSharp
Her wits are McDull. In
her toilet bowl there are
McClotties McFloatin';
Her back is McAchin',
her belly's McBloatin'.

And that's as far as I got before I decided to curl up fetal and do nothing for oh, about five days.

You like that, Sister's Boyfriend? I told you to go away.

As a side note, I got a massage last night and it was the shortest half hour of my life. It took me about 20 minutes just to loosen up enough that she could work on my shoulders. She was appalled. Apparently I am naturally pretty tight and tense. Who knew?

I mean besides everybody.

Oh, I saw a great bumper sticker this week: Yoga Is For Posers.

Fast Food, Fast Women

I can't decide if I want to talk about Ken Griffey Junior or the new and appalling commercial for Dairy Queen's Waffle Cone Sundae. One subject makes me wistful and joyful and filled with bittersweet admiration, and the other makes me want to walk into Macy's and light the Juniors section on fire.

I guess I'd better do Dairy Queen while I'm still overreacting. Because as we all know, unless you hold an elected office, moral outrage is pretty comical.

Have you seen this commercial? A girl and her Mom go into the DQ; the girl is maybe 12; she's not all tramped out in attire, but a very pretty blond girl. Mom starts to order 2 Waffle Cone Sundaes, but young Miss has caught the eye of a young kid in the next line. The girl says they should only get one sundae. As they are sitting down, Mom says she's surprised that she wanted to share. The girl says she doesn't think they'll have to. Just then, a DQ employee stops by the table with another sundae, "compliments of the young gentleman in the shark t-shirt". The guy gives her a nod, the girl flashes a smile, then turns back to her Mom and says "It's like shooting fish in a barrel." Fade on Mom looking a little taken aback and a little admiring. The New DQ Waffle Cone Sundae.

Two questions:

• WTF? I mean, W. T. F.?
• Why are you not just this second dragging that child out of the restaurant and taking her home to lock her in her bedroom until she's 21?

Are you kidding me? Really, are you kidding me? This twelve year old girl is already so intoxicated with her own Pussy Power that she does not mind behaving like a Brownie Barfly in front of her Mom?

I know, I know, I'm over the top, but something about that commercial makes me want to kill everything I see.

Now, I am not dooming this Dairy Queen girl to a life of trolling for drinks, but come on. Have we so sexualized the culture to the point that even in prepubescence the relationship between the sexes is defined by how much power one wields over the other, based on attractiveness and buying power?

And Mom thinks its cute. Like, "the good old days."

I swear I sat there with my mouth hanging open.

It's not just me, right? There is something distasteful about this commercial, isn't there? Isn't someone out there besides me that thinks the only possible response from Mom is to take the sundae, drop it on Junior Captain Roofies' table, and say "I give my daughter an allowance. Or I used to. Because based on what I just saw, she's babysitting every Friday and Saturday night until she is seventeen fucking years old. Creep."

And from Dairy Queen, of all people. Thanks for murdering childhood, Waffle Cone Sundae.

It's like if the Hamburglar carried a gun.

This is me blogging

...because I said I would several days this week. Just extremely random thoughts:

• I cannot even discuss yesterday's baseball game. Pitiful. I almost got into a punch fight at Loco's about it.
• I am now allowed back at Loco's. You know how sometimes if you meet a person at a certain place and you try to date them and for whatever reason it doesn't go anywhere and then people are sketchy and strange around you if you keep trying to hang out? We're cool now. I guess my failure to fall in love with their friend is overwhelmed by my total fall-in-loveness with Jair Jurrjens.
• April was National Poetry Month and I missed it. Today if someone asks for a private room for 25 people in one half hour with no room rental fee I shall say "It is good that man's reach should exceed his grasp; else what is Heaven for?" Or, "The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon!"
• Seriously, you ought to consider checking out Eavan Bolland's New Collected Poems.
• Although entirely morally and economic-theoretically opposed to the stimulus package, I am looking forward to spending the shit out of it on nonessentials.
• Hot Oil Massage and Pedicure are not nonessentials. Between my elbows and my feet I look like I should be swimming off the coast of the Galapagos Islands.
• Regards yesterday's post: the results are in. Lamest. Blackout. Ever.

On the plus side, turns out I have some money

Where's Higgins? Where's Higgins? Where's Higgins?

This is why you must never do what your sister wants you to; you just get nagged. For the record, Higgins has dial up at home, is off on Sunday and Monday, and occaisionally is called upon to do some work at work. Higgins stays busy.

Also, sometimes Higgins has nothing to say. Thank God the following tedious incident arose.

Okay, I am going to tell you a story, and I will let you know right now that I want no editorial comment whatsoever about the facts of this story. I deconstruct my own stories for myself, thank you. If there is one thing my life does not lack, it is self examination. If self absorption was an Olympic sport I would take the gold, silver and bronze. So I have already picked this story over for the positive and negative, okay?

Here is the only comment I want: "You know, Higgins, while not revealing you in the best of all possible lights, in some peculiar way this story illuminates your character in a way that is actually sort of admirable, your default position as a person seems to be one of complete dependability, and you are not old and pathetic in any way."

Feel free to cut and paste that right in.

Anyway, I had a drink or two (or nine) at the house last week and I guess suffered a small lapse of memory the next day. I'm not unduly worried about this because how much trouble can you get into drinking with your Mom? I don't drink to excess out anymore, and my blackouts are usually along the lines of "Did I forget to watch Top Chef this week? Oh, wait, I remember, they sent home the other lesbian." Then you get up and go to work. Nothing to get exercised about. So it was an evening where I drank too much and hung out at the house went to bed early and didn't think about it anymore.

On a parallel line, I have been really broke this week. I had to pay a bogus traffic ticket that cashed me out, and when I checked with the ATM it turned out that had about $365 to last me for 8 days, and my car payment was due, which was gonna wipe me out. So I've been staying close to home and not thinking about awesome spring shoes.

Side Note: I also don't want to hear a word about having to ask the ATM how much money I have, my sound financial planning friends.

So, continuing the short novella, I have been putting off the car payment just to make sure nothing comes up. It's not late until the 3rd, and I wanted to have it drafted on Wednesday knowing that my direct deposit hits midnight that night. And I wanted to have some money in case I decided to, I don't know, do something fun.

Well, the week evolved and it turned out I didn't have any fun. Last night is my usual poker night, and for whatever feeling-kind-of-fat-and-the-Atlanta-Braves-need-me-and-as-I-said-I-am-sure-I-am-broke reason I didn't go. And I regretted not going almost as soon as it was too late to get down there because I have been kind of hermit-ty and blue lately, and oh, what the hell ever, I'll just go on and pay the damn car payment because clearly nothing is going to come up.

(I know, GD, this is a long story; get on with it. This is backstory, people; literature students cannot appreciate the full meaning without getting the full context. If you don't know about the boat ride, the Ancient Mariner is just about getting trapped by a boor at a party. And I'm sure you think the Ancient Mariner is telling this tale.)

Long story short (too late): I cannot find my car bill anywhere. Now understand, due to some unfortunate interludes in my past life (the entirety of my twenties) I am religious about putting unpaid bills in the front of my accordian folder and filing them as soon as they are paid. I cannot find this bill anywhere and I am going out of my mind, tearing up the house and generally getting into a state.

You see where this is going, don't you? You know exactly where I found this bill, don't you?

In the paid file. With a confirmation number on it and everything (which was written three times by what looked to be an epileptic with the hiccups). I call the Ford Credit number whereby I pay my bill, and what do you think they told me?

My last payment was made on the night of the Bottomless Cape Cod.

Do we all get that, people? Can you understand why I am feeling this bewildering combination of Whoo-Hoo/Well, Hell/Do I Pat My Own Back Or Kick My Own Ass?

Some people Drunk Drive. Some people Drunk Dial. Some people Drunk Dance, Drunk Karaoke, Drunk Do Something Really Retarded With That Guy From The Bar.

I Drunk Paid Bills.

Even my hideous vices are just as boring as fuck.

I failed the Cosmo Quiz this month

First of all, please don't believe that I am a regular Cosmo reader. One of the little high school girls out here reads Cosmo Girl, and I wanted to show her that it is the exact same rag that Cosmo Grown Woman is (although Glamour is a good magazine).

Anyway, the subject was "How approachable are you?" and the answer is not very. Score: 0-4 points. The words "feral cat" were used, which if you have read this whole blog you will find a chilling coincidence. I guess no one would touch me with a cattle prod, either.

Or any other kind of prod. I'm not getting prodded at all these days.
If you know what I mean.
Heh, heh.

All this to say that the idea that I am a receptionist at a Wuntry Wub where it is criminally stupid to do anything other than be warm and friendly and never say no is pretty damned comical. More so because I'm really good at it.

I receive full points in heaven daily for the things I don't say to people. But since I do have Sarcasm Tourette's they have to come out. Just this week's examples:

Q: Can I speak to Comically Mispronounced Boss Name?
A. One moment. (Transfer to voicemail)
FPH: If you can't speak the name, you may not speak to the name.

Q: I need to talk to a professional.
A: Golf or Tennis?
FPH: Yes, you seem troubled.

Q: I'm the treasurer for the meeting that was out there yesterday and I left the cash and checks on the registration table.
A: Oh, no! Where were you meeting?
FPH: Wow. You are an awesome treasurer.

The point being I don't say these things and many people find me warmly approachable. And the last article I actually read in that magazine suggested that when you have sex outdoors you should wow him by rubbing his taint with a smooth rock.

So it's remarkably easy to forget that I have been criticized by the editors of Cosmo.

FYI: I also failed the Cosmo Girl quiz, "Are you ready for Prom?"

You're trying it right now, aren't you?

So yesterday was an aberration. Not the bad day; my helpless response. Yes, the phone calls are annoying, technology is thwarting me and I get no cooperation from co-workers.

In other words, I work a job.

In unrelated news, it is surprisingly difficult to make the Itsy-Bitsy Spider go back down the waterspout.

I am having a bad day...

...and it's so much worse because I'm the only one who is having one. You know what I mean, you say "Holy Cow, today is busy and hectic and awful" and everyone else says "Really?"

Yes, you are not having a bad day, and do you know why? Because you are not answering your phone. Oh, for the luxury.


Other phone language pet peeves:

"Can you direct me to the bookkeeper?"
Okay, front door, ten steps forward...or would you rather I just connect you?"

"Can I have the Golf Club?"
Yes. And the Tennis Racket.

Already late...

I just started blogging and already I'm slack. The problem is it is twenty five times easier to do this at work than at home, so if I get busy or just want to slack over the weekend, days will go by.

Here are my random thoughts for the day (so far, stay tuned):

There is no way in hell the Atlanta Braves could have taken a three game sweep last year without Tim or Smoltzie starting. Well done, 3-5 starters.

Biggest current English language pet peeve:
"Can I talk to the restaurant?'
Sure. If buildings could talk.

If I had designed the human body, there would be a way to suck in your arms.

...I though it was a goner but....

Regards last night's Braves-Marlins game: that's what I'm talking about! For those of you who live out of market, John Smoltz with 10 K's in 5 innings, and Jones-Tex-Mac go back-to-back with the long ball. Final score: 8, zip, with 15 hits from my boys. Well done.

I promise this whole blog won't be exclusively baseball; it just so happens that I am doing actual work today at work.

I caught another feral cat at work today. Well, technically, I didn't, and technically "another" is the wrong word, but a cat was caught and I'm doing my part.

We have a regular here, a lovely veternarian person who is horrified by the many stray cats she sees running around on our Molf Mourse (brief side note: I'm trying to avoid saying too much about the specifics of where I work in case someone sees it that would be offended, so I am disguising the nature of my place of employ by obscuring the real identifying traits. Clever, no?).

Anyway, this particular cat has laid several clutches of kitchens over the past three years and is very pretty and very evil. The last batch of kittens she birthed in our linen bin, so every time you'd try to toss in a tablecloth there would spitting and hissing and general cat craziness.

Dr. Better-Person-Than-I-Am decided that she would try to catch the calico and get her fixed. My job is to check the cage every day. So far, we've caught two cats, aborted seven kittens, and removed a bullet. The cats have been vaccinated, spayed, and rereleased---back on to the Molf Mourse.

This is the third time this week that the calico has been in the cage in the morning. I guess now she's just grooving on the free food.

This morning there she is again, raising hell in a cage that she has now entered of her own accord four times. Three times, after the operation.

Dr. BPTIA asked me if it was the same cat. I said I couldn't tell from where I was. She said what does it look like. I said they all look exactly like dark, dirty, kinda gross feral cats.

I genuinely could not tell because unless it had a very distinctive characteristic (say, Clean. Or Not Clearly Riddled With Fleas), they all look the same to me. I said I wasn't sure I wanted to get any closer to find out.

This sweet lady actually warned me not to touch her.

Because as if.

I might be the only person in the world who has ever told a sweet veternarian with her heart entirely in the right place: "I would not touch that animal with a cattle prod."

Okay, see, this is why I haven't done this before

I was totally not ready to post that yet. I don't know what the hell happened.

Anyway, in case you are a random person who discovered this by accident (the odds so high and all), here are some of my personality traits, included to help you make an informed decision to keep checking in. Or not. I am a person

• whose whole day is ruined when she can't find her "good pen".
• who will go to the mattresses defending The Sound of Music and somehow end up talking way too much about The Sound of Music.
• who changes from bourbon to vodka in the spring just like changing from ankle boots to peep toe pumps.
• who has a massive historical crush on William Henry Seward and genuine historical LOVE for Abraham Lincoln (in unrelated news, I'm still single)
• who hates emoticons. Hates them. Also, the usage of "whenever" when you mean "when", drinks with too much ice, and the phrase "can of corn" when describing line drive outs. And C.B. Buckner.
• who can't find her good pen because she took it home for safekeeping and then changed purses.
• who knows many jokes, all long, all filthy, and many requiring accents.
• who is secretly saving it all up for her scandalous novel.
• who people at work believe is an OCD neat freak but whose car is trashed, trashed, trashed.

Okay, I have no idea how to wrap this up. The point of the blog is to avoid writing my sister mini-novels that she forwards around. I guess now that the initial getting-to-know-you is out of the way I'll just write here the way I write to her.

Tune in tommorrow for the next exciting episode of Higgins.

Happy Now, Sis?

Okay, okay, here is a blog.

I thought I would call this blog Omphaloskepsis, but I worried it wasn't pretentious enough. I've decided to call it Higgins instead.

• Probably shouldn't use my name in case of indiscreet work story (of which there will be many).
• I always thought if I got a basset hound I would name him Higgins.
• I might get random hits from Magnum PI fans.

I don't know, this feels pretty contrived. I've kept a blog my whole life, I guess, but I've always called it a diary. Of course, I am an unsung eccentric comedy genius, but it's weird to be adjusting my diary for mass viewing.

Oh, yes, mass viewing. Well done with the arrogance there on your first post, Higgins.

What you can expect if you read this blog regularly:

• Fairly regular updates
• Many mentions of Abraham Lincoln
• Books I reccommend
• Serious misspellings, particularly words with double consonants(Spellcheck is for pussies).
• Excessive use of parentheses
• Excessive discussion of baseball, particularly the Atlanta Braves
• A front row seat to my upcoming mid-life crisis, now open in select cities, nationwide in June 2008
• Bullet points
• Many, many work stories because my place of employment is so utterly comical and bewildering(more to follow on that later)
• Cussin'