music: july

I can't believe July's almost over! I can't believe how hot it is and that it's only going to get hotter!! I can't believe how much sweat my body can produce!!! I can't believe I found myself daydreaming about snow earlier today!!!! Gaaa!!!!!

Perhaps heat exhaustion has been a contributing factor, but I couldn't seem to find much music to get excited about this month. In fact, I still have quite a few e-music downloads burning a hole in my pocket. Suggestions? Anyway, there have been a few things I've enjoyed this month, and here they are:

Alright, Still; Lily Allen
I went through a bit of an ordeal to get this (I don't think it's been released in the US yet) but it was definitely worth it. At times sounding a bit like a female version of The Streets, Lily Allen is adorably perverse, endlessly catchy and musically diverse. I know she's oh so trendy right now, but I guess I'm joining the bandwagon in saying that this album is awesome and I'd recommend it to pretty much anyone. Unless you hate rainbows and puppies and ice cream sundaes - perhaps then you should pass.
Favorite Track: "Everything's Just Wonderful" (Although the entire album is one great single after another.)

Bottoms of Barrels, Tilly and the Wall
When Carrie first posted about this band from Omaha that uses a tap dancer for their percussion I must admit that I was a bit skeptical. It sounded like it had the potential to be gimmicky and hokey, but I was wrong. The sound of this band is a bit folksy, a bit poppy, and totally infectious, with the tap dancing adding an interesting complexity to the overall sound.
Favorite Track: "Bad Education"

And that's about all I have the energy for. Please excuse me while I drink a gallon of water, rinse out my hair, and put my head back in the freezer.

my first post (a bit late, i know)

This is my 150th post, which is quite a feat when you consider the fact that my original objective with this blog was to post for about a month or so and then delete it. You see, 6 month before this blog was born I had completed a rather intense, 4 week-long writing workshop. I had enjoyed writing regularly, but without an audience my writing had stopped almost entirely. Furthermore, I had just gotten a computer again after going two years without so the Internet was this novel thing once again. I was vaguely aware of what a blog was, and thought that it might be a way to get writing again by providing me with some form of an audience (not that I expected many people to find it and read it). However, I wasn't sure I'd have the time, desire, or knowledge to maintain a blog at first, so I decided to secretly start one, post for about a month to figure out what the hell I was doing and whether or not I really wanted to do it at all, then delete it and maybe start a new one once I'd figure things out. Things didn't exactly go to plan once word leaked out and so, well, here we are - warts and all. Fortunately, I find maintaining a blog to be a mostly enjoyable experience, obviously since it's been seven month and 150 posts, so I don't really regret much. Well, I do have one regret - I never gave my blog a proper first post. Most people begin their blog with a post explaining who they are and what the objective is, you know, something to give the audience perspective. My first post was this, which is pretty lame. So, I think it's about time that I give my poor Frankenstein blog a proper first post, and here it is:

Hi. My name (or, rather my initials) is MAW and I am jumping on the blog bandwagon. Yes, I'm mildly concerned that many people consider bloggers to be a rather narcissistic sort, but I live a decent part of my life masking a 12-year-old's feelings of insecurity so I know that that's not so. Furthermore, most people who read blogs write them too, so what's the harm in one more blog in an already saturated market? What will my blog be about you ask? Well to be honest, I don't really know yet. Let's see...

Although I enjoy writing and have named my blog after a ee cummings poem, I don't really see this becoming a writerly blog. I really just chose the title because I was stumped. It sort of fits though, seeing as I enjoy poetry, I enjoy traveling and I've been without the Internet for a few years, making it a place I've rarely traveled until recently. Fortunately for you, despite the poetic title, I'm a bit too insecure to share a lot of my personal writing so, no, this won't be a writing blog.

I am a teacher, but I don't see this becoming a "teacher blog." Most teacher blogs are written by earnest folks who keep abreast of current educational movements and political issues and, well, that just ain't me. Furthermore, my sense of humor is a bit more wry than many of the teachers I've come in contact with, and while sarcasm works when you're a flight attendant or a waiter, when teachers talk about their job with a sarcastic tone it is often interpreted as cynicism. Funny, frustrating and sad things do happen to me pretty much on a daily basis at work so I'll probably relay a story or two but, no, I don't see this becoming a teacher blog.

I enjoy pop culture - movies, books, television, music - but I don't really see this being a pop culture blog. Those kinds of blogs are mostly written by insiders who make it their job to scour the media looking for stories to post on. My job makes it a bit impossible to dedicate that sort of time, so although I might relay some of my humble opinions on music, tv and the like, I don't see this becoming a pop culture blog. Consider yourself lucky there, because it would probably just deteriorate into lyrics from The Smiths and quotes from Raising Arizona and Clue.

So what's my purpose here? I guess I don't know. Most personal blogs are like diaries, but I've never been very good at keeping a diary. Furthermore, I doubt even my own mother cares about the mundane details of my daily life such as what I ate for dinner and what I bought at the grocery store. So I guess I'm left with nothing, making this a blog about nothing. I'm not exactly sure how that will turn out, but it worked for Seinfeld, right? So let's give it a go and see what happens.

Alright then, I feel a bit better. A very sincere thank you to those of you who are regular readers of my blog about nothing. I'm planning on keeping this train moving so I hope you continue to humor me for a bit longer. I've got plenty more bits of nothing to say.

not that there's anything wrong with that,

but did anyone else know that Lance Bass (formerly from 'N Sync) is gay and currently dating Reichen Lehmkuhl, my favorite former Amazing Race contestant and fictitious gay boyfriend? I'm still holding out hope that Reichen will switch teams, meet me and I can have 10,000 of his babies, but this just gives me one more reason to hate Lance Bass. (Stupid, lucky, talentless boy-band geek)

(Via Pop Candy)

brits do it better

For the most part summer television sucks, which is rather unfortunate seeing as I have all this extra time on my hands. Don't get me wrong, there are a few bright moments - Last Comic Standing (Go Josh Blue!), Deadwood, Project Runway, and my new favorite It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia (FX, Thursday nights at 10pm. Watch or I'll throw a temper tantrum.) - but for the most part summer television blows. And if you try to tell me that Dancing With the Stars and America's Got Talent are really quite good I'll punch you in the kidneys.

This is all why I'm glad that I've been able to find television solace in my new favorite channel - BBC America. Aside from the occasional Benny Hill block I can be fairly certain that turning to this channel will put me in a splendid state of television bliss for most of the day. Sure many of the shows that I enjoy are actually several years old and have already been cancelled across the pond, but so what? They're new to me, and way better than much of the tripe American network execs are currently putting out there. Here's a few of my favorites:

Footballers' Wive$ (Sundays @ 10 pm)
This show is what Desperate Housewives wants to be. Or so I assume. Honestly, I've never watched a single episode of Desperate Housewives. Rich footballers (foot fairies in America) and their wives fight, cheat, plot nefarious plots and occasionally play a football match. It's trashy and tasteless and I absolutely love it. Too bad it recently got cancelled, but that doesn't mean you can't watch the last couple of seasons. In fact, the season 5 finale is this Sunday and you should watch because Tanya's coming back and I'm fairly certain someone is going to die.

Black Books
A wry, witty comedy set in one of the worst-managed book stores on the planet, and one of the most brilliantly funny shows I've seen.

Spaced (Fridays @ 11pm)
A delightfully silly show about two singletons who fake being a professional couple in order to rent a flat while hilarity ensues. The show originally aired in the late 90's and is chock full of pop-culture references from the time, adding an extra element of fun by trying and remember what the heck they're referencing.

Finally, here are two new shows that have caught my fancy:

Life on Mars (Monday @ 10 pm)
I just caught the premier of this yesterday, and although the premise sounds a bit ludicrous - a detective gets in a car accident and wakes up in 1973 - after watching the first episode (which will be aired again this Sunday @ 9pm) I'm pretty sure it's going to be brilliant. If this were a sci-fi time travel show I'd probably pass, but it appears that Tyler's mind is only fabricating this 1973 world while his body is really still in a coma in 2006. This show is the very reason why I hate philosophy; secretly, I'm a bit afraid that we're all living in a Matrix-like world and I'm only imagining my reality. (Don't tell anyone though. It's a bit embarrassing.)

Shipwrecked (Premiers July 26th @ 9pm)
I'm fairly certain one of two things is true: 1. this show is a total rip-off of Survivor, or 2. Survivor is a total rip-off of this show. Either way, I'm craving some (good) reality tv and the premise sounds like my cup of tea:

In this new reality competition series, two groups of 18-23 year-old castaways are left stranded, divided across two islands in the Aitutaki Atoll in the South Pacific. Each week a new castaway arrives. The two island tribes try to woo the new castaway to join their tribe. The island with the most inhabitants at the end wins a huge cash prize to be divided among the group. The trick is to have the most tribe members, but not so many as to divide the cash prize too many ways.

So what are you on about? Cheers love, not all summer tv is bollocks!

our haunted anniversary

I know that I might be setting myself up for ridicule here, but I seriously think that I just saw a ghost. (Paul, perhaps you should skip this one.)

Nathan and I went to the city to celebrate our anniversary weekend - Saturday we booked a night at the Marriott inside The Renaissance Center, enjoyed a lovely dinner at The Whitney, and spent Sunday wandering around Mexicantown. I sat down just now to write a post highlighting the weekend but decided to scrap that plan after uploading our pictures onto the computer.

First, let me just say that I am not someone who is ghost-crazed. I have caught an episode or two of Ghosthunters and have been known to watch my fair share of ghost sighting documentaries, but I'm usually the person who thinks that what the people on those shows think they see or hear is suspect. In other words, I'm not looking for ghosts but I'm also not so skeptical as to dismiss the possibility entirely. Furthermore, I had no idea that The Whitney has a reputation for being haunted. The restaurant was originally a mansion built in the late 19th century by David Whitney, Jr, a very wealthy lumber baron. The three-story mansion is absolutely gorgeous, so it' s the perfect place for its current purpose as an upscale restaurant. Since it was our first time there and we're too poor to return anytime soon, we felt compelled to take plenty of pictures of the grandeur inside. After dinner on the first floor Nathan and I wandered up to the mostly deserted second floor to take some pictures. Having no previous knowledge of the paranormal activity that have supposedly happened inside the mansion (table settings moving, doors opening and closing on their own, disembodied voices, the elevator being operated when there is no one there, that sort of thing), we were neither looking nor expecting to see or hear anything paranormal and nothing odd appeared on our pictures while looking at them through the tiny viewfinder of our digital camera.

After uploading the pictures on my computer today and seeing them enlarged I noticed that there appears to be orbs in two of the photographs.

Picture #1: Main Stairway Looking up to the 2nd Floor:

I see one orb in this picture. It appears to be floating at the top of the handrail on the right-hand side. To me, it looks to be emitting light rather than a transparent, reflection of light.

Picture #2: The 2nd Floor Main Room

I see at least four orbs of various sizes throughout this picture. They are more muted than the orb in the first photograph.

So maybe it's not a full-fledged human-like form, but orbs are considered a form of paranormal activity nonetheless. Honestly, I'm not sure how I feel about these pictures. Perhaps it's nothing, but my camera has never taken pictures like this before and the fact that there are two pictures with the same phenomena taken in the same part of the house is enough to make me wonder.

So, what do you think: Paranormal or Fluke?

even steely dan hates you, me and dupree

At nearly thirty years old I am a bit too young to know much about Steely Dan. I know of them, and could hum a line or two from "Reelin' in the Years," but that's about the extent of my knowledge of the band. Furthermore, I'm assuming that - although they were popular in the 70s - by the year 2006 they have become pretty much irrelevant. It's that very insignificance, along with the obvious copious amounts of marijuana that they must have smoked over the years, that makes this story so funny to me.

Perhaps you've heard about this already (I guess it's made the national news for some reason), but apparently the guys from Steely Dan wrote a song way back when called "Cousin Dupree" about a lazy guy who crashes on other people's sofas. I suppose it's understandable that they feel that Owen Wilson's latest bowel movement - You, Me and Dupree - is a direct rip-off of the song. In the pursuit of justice, they wrote an open letter to Luke Wilson imploring him to do them a "petite solid" by talking to his brother Owen about the matter. For some reason they posted the letter on their website rather than mailing it to Luke. (I guess they're delusional enough to think Luke Wilson checks in on Steely Dan's webpage with any sort of regularity.) The letter itself is hilarious. It starts of sorta nice and chummy, turns insulting, then turns threatening, and ends chummy again with two hilarious post scripts. But you really should really read it for yourself. I know you have the time.

(Via PopWatch)

my wife makes me sick

Yesterday was our wedding anniversary. Mags wrote a touching poem and shared it with the world to illustrate her loving and caring feelings towards me. I now believe that this was just one example of an intricate web of lies she has spun as part of an elaborate cover-up to hide her true feelings and devious plot. Last night, our anniversary, my wife attempted to murder me.

I was eager, excited, and hungry when I came home and was informed that she had a great dinner planned for us. She was going to be trying out some new recipes and they sounded delicious. On the menu: Chicken wrapped around tomato-basil feta cheese topped with Italian-style bread crumbs and basil pesto mashed potatoes. She had apparently gotten the recipes from the internet, probably after looking up how to make home-made explosives and gun silencers. She prepared the meal and presented it to me with a smile. Her carefully laid plan was about to be executed and I never saw it coming.

The meal was yummy. Really, really, yummy. The chicken was the best chicken dish to have come out of our kitchen. The potatoes were good as well. I have become accustomed to Hungry Jack instant mashed potatoes so you put some real potatoes that have been jazzed up a bit in front of me and, well, I'’m coming back for seconds.

It was during dinner when I started to feel a little off. My nose started to run just a bit and my eyes became slightly irritated. I told Mags that I thought my allergies were starting to act up and she immediately told me it was because I had spent the previous few hours in our back room on the computer. She told me that the back room was filthy and dusty. I had not noticed any of this apparent dust and dirt that I was surrounded in, but that's not that unusual. I assumed that she was correct and that indeed I had just spent too much time in a dusty room. She was successful at throwing me off her scent for a couple of hours.

I moved out of the supposedly dusty room and watched some TV. After a couple hours things had gotten kicked up a notch and I knew I was in trouble. My eyes were very red and I didn'’t know if it was because they were simply bloodshot or because I had been trying to claw them out. My nose was running a marathon; it had just passed four Kenyan men and was heading down the final stretch. My ears hurt and my lips were swelling. I couldn'’t imagine the perfect storm of pollen, pet dander, and dust that would cause me to have such a reaction.

I drove to Kroger and immediately grabbed some Clariten, purchased it at an U-Scan, and ran to their drinking fountain. I downed the pill and then ducked into the bathroom to see if I looked as bad as I felt. Inspecting my face in the mirror I saw that I was all blotchy and red. I was no longer able to breath through my nose and my throat made a wheezy sound with each exhale. I was a miserable wreck and was begging the Clariten Gods to grant my prayers for relief. I did not want to go back to my "dusty"” house until the Clariten kicked in a bit so I decided to walk up and down each aisle of the store and focus on my condition. I tried to think of alternative events that may have caused my rapidly deteriorating state. I wondered about an allergic food reaction (I am allergic to nuts), but ruled that out because I knew all of the ingredients in the meal I had eaten three hours prior. I then recalled a program I had watched on the Discovery Channel the day prior about how detectives were able to crack the case of the woman who put cyanide in her husband's Tylenol and killed him. Had my wife poisoned the Aleve that I took when I came home from work with a headache? I didn'’t have a clue but knew that something was definitely wrong with me and perhaps the best place for me was not strolling around a grocery store but maybe the hospital. After 45 minutes at the store I was about to leave and go seek some medical advice when I began to think that perhaps I was possibly starting to feel slight improvement. I headed home and started looking for answers.

Upon arriving home I began my interrogation. As expected, she played dumb for a bit but eventually she agreed to inspect the label on the container of pesto sauce. Feigning surprise, my wife admitted that she cooked the potatoes with a pesto sauce that contains walnuts. Who puts walnuts in pesto?!? She must have sought this particular brand out. She claims it was an accident. I have doubts. I offer the following exchange as an example of her contempt:

Me: "You'’re not allergic to anything, are you?"

Her: "No, because I'’m not weak."

Am I considering divorce? No. It takes three attempts at my life to warrant such a drastic measure.

I now return this blog to its rightful owner.

i only wish this picture came with scratch-and-sniff technology

My Favorite Flower: Stargazer Lily
(you know, for next time you want to buy me some)
(pretty, pretty)

for nathan

No, there aren't fireworks every day.

Try as we might, most days are burnt popcorn
and bad television on tired sofas.
But these are the moments,
mundane and simple,
that I want only to share with you.

So, no - every day is not a fireworks display -
brilliant and blinding light that soon fizzles and fades.

Ours is a slow, steady flame.
An ember that we nurse over time,
producing a lasting fire.

(Happy Anniversary, babe!)

detroit zoo: field trip #3

My, but it's far too hot for polar bears.

My love for prairie dogs knows no bounds.

What you lookin' at, punk?

Lord, when I die please let me come back as a sea otter.

The End!

words i hate

My husband thinks it's odd that I have a laundry list of words that I hate. And when I say hate, I mean they make my blood boil, my teeth grate and my hands turn into tiny fists of rage. It's not really the meaning that gets to me as much as the sound of these words that I find so irksome. I am particularly bothered by the letter "p" for some reason. Hmm.

Anywho, i hate, hate, hate these words:

• panties
• tweak
• mature (when pronounced 'ma-tour')
• moist
• chuck
  
• piss (although, for some odd reason, when used as British slang for drunk, such as "let's get pissed," it's fine)
  
• puke
• barf
• poultry
• pussy (just typing that one made me throw up in my mouth a bit)
• crunch (although 'crunchy' is fine)
  
• goo
• scrumptious
  

There's hope I suppose, because "boobs" and "poop" used to be on the list, but I've since embraced them and now sorta like them.

I know you've got your own. Let's have 'em already. (Just don't speak them out loud if you know what's good for you.)

a book club of one: self-made man

One really nice thing about summer vacation is that it affords me the time to read something other than student essays and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn for the upteenth time. Although Norah Vincent's Self-Made Man has not been the best book that I've read in the past month, it certainly has given me the most to think about. If you're not familiar with the book's premise, Vincent poses as a man for a year and a half so see what it would be like (think Black Like Me). She tries her hand at such common experiences as dating,interviewing for jobs, and joining a bowling league as well as infiltrating "male-only" experiences by posing as a monk to live in a monastery, joining a men's group and going to strip-clubs. I found the book to be fascinating and could ramble on at length about various aspects of it, but for the sake of my readers (who have most likely not read this particular book) I'll try to keep things brief and limit myself to only a few musings.

Eye Contact
First, I never realized how important and telling eye contact is between people. As a woman, Vincent notices that when men pass her on the street most men tended to lock eyes with her for a prolonged period, sometimes even looking her body up and down before looking away. She contrasts this with her experiences as a man passing other men on the street. As a man, Vincent notices that when other men look at her eye contact between them is very brief - a short glance, perhaps a nod of respect, and then a quick look away as if maintaining eye contact for too long would be dangerous. Later, she theorizes that prolonged eye contact between two men means two things - "I want to f**k you or I want to fight you." As a woman I'm occasionally frustrated by leering men, but I wonder if it might not be worse to be a man, constantly aware that my glances can result in getting my butt kicked if not given with the proper respect. When women look at other women it can mean a myriad of things - I like her shoes, her make-up is awful, she looks exactly like my friend, I'm so jealous of her legs, etc - and at its worst a disrespectful look might result in a snide comment. I find myself feeling thankful that as a woman it never occurs to me that I might be challenged to a fight for simply looking at someone the wrong way.

Dating
Vincent described one of her most difficult times as Ned (her male counterpart) was when she went to bars to attempt to flirt with other women. Surprisingly, what she described made me feel quite sympathetic to all those "pesky" men who have approached me in the past. When I was a single woman, I usually found myself frustrated that the men who I wanted to approach me rarely did and those who did approach me were often viewed as annoyances. I was socialized to respond to men who I was not interested in by turning my back, responding in clipped sentences and keeping eye contact to a minimum. Of course, it's occurred to me how stressful it must be to be a man with most of the pressure on him to approach the opposite sex, but I never really cared. Vincent describes feeling frustrated and angered by women who never even gave her a chance, dismissing her instantly based on her looks or assuming she's just some creepy guy. I can't imagine the ego blows single men must have to endure in the dating world, and it seems like the successful male daters would have to be the ones with the thickest skins, enabling them to endure rejection after rejection before finding success.

Emotions
Even though she was always a woman, Vincent felt like she had to subdue and limit her emotions after posing as a man for so long. Even when she was posing as a monk, Vincent had to constantly watch what she said and couldn't hug other men without fear that they'd misinterpret her, labeling her a "fag." She described most of her time as a man as being lonely, only able to share so much, show so much and feel so much. As a woman, I can cry when I'm sad, scream when I'm scared and hug my friends when I want to show them affection, and I'm grateful for that freedom.

Finally, a Criticism
While reading this book I kept waiting for her to come across the men that I know. With the exception of her time in the monastery, she seemed to spend most of her time with undereducated, blue-collar, rough and tumble men. Even the monks were a-typical because they have deliberately chosen to live their lives in isolation of women. I was waiting to see her interact with men like my brother, husband and friends - men who are educated, professional, well-spoken and open minded. Perhaps her experiences would not have been different (I've been assured by my husband that he and his buddies act and talk quite differently when no women are around), but I would have been interested in seeing those interactions, nonetheless.

Despite the length of my post I don't feel like I've revealed too much of the memoir and would encourage you to read it for yourself if you haven't yet. In particular, I'd be interested in hearing the reactions that men have to this book. I'll end (finally) with a quote from the novel that I found particularly insightful, yet heartbreaking:

"(As Ned) I have never felt more vulnerable to total strangers, never more socially defenseless than in my clanking suit of borrowed armor. But then I guess that's one of the secrets of manhood that no man tells if he can help it. Every man's armor is borrowed and ten sizes too big, and beneath it, he's naked and insecure and hoping you won't see."

ernest and bertram

I remember the first time that it occurred to me that Bert and Ernie might be a gay couple. The idea was suggested by Ms. Welker, my senior year Humanities teacher, who theorized that childhood cartoon characters and muppets like B and E are Hollywood's way of giving small children an education in diversity and compassion. I dismissed her theory at first, but upon further reflection, it made a lot of sense - the shared bedroom, the baths, the fact that they aren't related...

Anyway, you should watch this video because it's brilliant. (And I'm not just saying that because my muppet equivalent is Bert.) You'd think it would be funny, but then it takes a terrible, terrible turn. Enjoy.



(video via ASWOBA)

an open letter to the managerial staff of bc kennels

I'm on to you. I dropped my dog off last week with one red kong and one burgundy blanket. Yes, I saw your sign saying that any personal items are not guaranteed to be returned but I figured that was more of a "cover your ass" sort of sign, not an indication of your complete lack of intent to return items entrusted to you. I understand that returning the animals safe and sound is your #1 priority, as it should be, but I don't see how difficult it is to also keep track of a few simple items that should have never left my dog's cage. I don't really care about the blanket since it's old and smells horrible, but as dog toys go kongs are quite expensive, making the "loss" of mine quite annoying. But you know all of this because you sell kongs, although yours are suspiciously lacking in their original packaging, making me extra suspicious that my kong was not lost but stolen. That's right, stolen. I suspect you steal kongs from the poor little animals entrusted to your care only to sell them back to their owners. Can I prove this? No. But as I said, I'm on to you.

It's bad enough that I had to spend $15 to replace the kong you lost/stole, but I think you need to hear the story of the ordeal I had to endure to obtain a replacement for my dog's favorite toy in order to fully understand my ire. Last Friday I traveled to the local PetSmart to buy a replacement. Since dogs are allowed at PetSmart and my dog is a crackhead for car rides, I took her with me. As usual, she was enamored with her short car ride and super hyper at the store, but everything was progressing fine until the check-out lane. There was only one lane open, so I waited in line with my $15 dog toy in my left hand and my leashed dog, pulling for the door and slipping all over the tiled floor in my right. While waiting in line, a very nice Muslim women with a head scarf filed in behind me and attempted to pet Chloe. Perhaps it was due to sensory overload, or the fact that she tends to dislike people with head coverings but she snapped at the woman's hand, making my dog look like a bigot and making the long wait in line a very embarrassing one for me. After several awkward minutes it was time to make my purchase. Since Chloe's leash was in my right hand, I had to transfer it to my left in order to sign the credit card receipt. Unfortunately, it was at that precise moment when a new customer entered through the automatic doors. As previously stated, my dog is a crackhead for car rides and intelligent enough to remember where we parked so she saw her opportunity and when for it. To my horror, the leash slipped from my hand and she took off through the doors and into the strip mall's busy parking lot. Leaving my purse, wallet, keys, a puzzled PetSmart employee and a line 4-5 people long behind I took off after her, horrified of where she may run or that she might get hit by a car. Fortunately, she was not hit by any passing motorists and ran straight to my car (how she can remember the make, model and color of my car is endlessly impressive to me), but imagine my embarrassment when I had to reenter the store to finish my purchase. Chloe, obviously embarrassed at the fiasco, tried to run under the cashier's legs to hide. In her attempt to escape her shame, she knocked over a 3 foot tall display - scattering the tower of dog treats all over the floor. Thoroughly embarrassed, I apologized to everyone in ear shot, signed the credit slip and walked out the door and into the car, vowing never again to reenter this particular store.

Embarrassing, huh? While I could blame my dog for her poor behavior or blame myself for dropping her leash, I choose to blame you. If it weren't for your thievery I would have never had to go to that store in the first place. Unfortunately, I will still have to use your services since you are the cheapest and cleanest kennel in my neighborhood, but I won't be happy about it. And don't expect to steal any more kongs from me. This one is never leaving my house.

-MAW

for all the myspace members out there

Right then, so this story is a bit old, but I've been playing (and winning) bocce tournaments and getting sunburned for the last few days and I just now heard of it. Apparently, Kevin Smith is making a sequel to Clerks. (How do I feel about that? Fine, I guess) Apparently, Kevin Smith also has a teenage girl-like obsession with MySpace. Consequently, he has claimed that the first 10,000 people who add the "Mooby's Presents: Clerks II" page to their list of MySpace friends will be listed on the credits on the movie. Kind of cool I guess. I'm sure that 10,000 people have already done this by now, but it never hurt to try, now did it?

Oh, but wait. I have something that everyone can enjoy, even if you don't have a MySpace account. This spoof of teenagers on MySpace is a longish, but pretty funny, mocking such silliness as the infamous "top eight" friends and the oddly cropped or drunken pictures of themselves many use on their page.

MySpace Movie



So see, now everyone's happy. And that really is what I live for.

back from my hiatus and...

apparently I go away for a media-less weekend and the whole world goes mad. Case in point:

North Korea decides to use America's Independence Day to test their missile launching range,

Ben Wallace jumps ship and leaves the Pistons for the Chicago Bulls,

some crazy Slovakian breaks into a 75-year-old man's house in Britian and bites his finger off Hannibal Lector-style while he sleeps,

and the kicker...

Lindsay Lohan mysteriously got her boobs back.


Life was so much simpler when I was reading Star Magazine on Duck Lake. Oh, to be able to return to that simpler time...