September 02, 2006
What I've Been Doing
Jewelry design (?!?)
Posted by hissycat at 02:07 PM | Comments (3)
April 11, 2006
My New Favorite Blog: Literally
I'm not-- it may or may not suprise you to know-- a grammer fascist. I am neurotic and self-punishing, maybe, but I'm forgiving when it comes to other people. I'm not like that bitch who wrote that stupid Eats, Shoots & Leaves
The one bad grammer tic that I find really peevish is misusing "literally" so that it means its opposite-- "figuratively" or "metaphorically." Actually, I don't think I think anything of it when someone uses it conversationally-- in telling a story, say. Like I said, I give people more leeway with the things that come directly out of their mouths on the ground that one just has to take for granted that 99.98% of anything that anyone says, self included, at any given time is likely to be just unbearably stupid. The chances for anything coherent coming out at all are amazing. People are literally just making stuff up as they are talking. But it really, really bothers me when I see the misuse in print. In that case, we can infer that time has elapsed since the author made stuff up and the offending phrase is reaching the reader's eyes and mind. There is less excuse, especially if editors and publishers were involved. I remember Alex getting really worked up over a specific example of this-- I can't remember what it was exactly-- that he found in a book he'd just bought in Kepler's. We were sitting outside at sundown and I was wearing my green skirt from Prague, I remember for some reason, that was the Spring Onion Slayer was abroad. Tess and Brett were browsing inside. Alex and I were outside, smoking and egging each other on to get really bitchy and pissed off about absurd grammer.
All this is the long of saying, I really, really love this weblog.
Posted by hissycat at 03:02 PM | Comments (12)
March 30, 2006
From The Dept. Of STOP THE PRESSES!
Breaking news that's fit to print:
"It's really accelerated in the past year to the point where there is a ton of bad information out there," said Robert Massa, the vice president of enrollment at Dickinson College in Carlisle, Pa. "People need to realize that anybody can say anything on the Internet."
So true.
Posted by hissycat at 11:24 PM | Comments (8)
March 17, 2006
Better Hipsterkeeping
Posted by hissycat at 01:04 PM | Comments (2)
March 08, 2006
How I've Been Feeling
Posted by hissycat at 04:13 AM | Comments (5)
March 07, 2006
Painter of Light: A Portrait of Darkness (or, "Codpiece! Codpiece!")
I have always suspected that Thomas Kincaid is a fountainhead of pure, unbridled evil, but now I finally, finally have confirmation. If you are lucky enough to live in America and not know of Thomas Kincaid, he is the "painter of light" whose overpriced Christian schlock sells in, I think, malls, but also, like Pebble Beach and wherever else rich, white people without an aesthetic bone in their body can be found purchasing mass-reproduced "art" to match their wall-to-wall to carpeting. The best way I can describe Thomas Kincaid paintings is: imagine Oprah eating Dr. Phil, a Madame Alexander doll, an evangelical mega-church complete with Power-Point sermon, 839,459 Pixie Stix, then vomiting all that up into a gold-leaf frame and swishing so it will cake into vomity swirls of texture as it hardens. That's what his paintings look like. See:
But now the jig is up! According to the LA Times "Some former Kinkade employees, gallery operators and others contend that the Painter of Light has a decidedly dark side." It goes on about fraud and, I don't know, maybe money laundering, and all sorts of bad things, and blah di blah blah blah blah. "A three-member panel of the American Arbitration Assn. ordered his company to pay $860,000 for defrauding the former owners of two failed Virginia galleries." Right, whatever. This is the shit I live for:
It's not just Kinkade's business practices that have been called into question. Former gallery owners, ex-employees and others say his personal behavior also belies the wholesome image on which he's built his empire.
In sworn testimony and interviews, they recount incidents in which an allegedly drunken Kinkade heckled illusionists Siegfried & Roy in Las Vegas, cursed a former employee's wife who came to his aid when he fell off a barstool, and palmed a startled woman's breasts at a signing party in South Bend, Ind.
And then there is Kinkade's proclivity for "ritual territory marking," as he called it, which allegedly manifested itself in the late 1990s outside the Disneyland Hotel in Anaheim.
"This one's for you, Walt," the artist quipped late one night as he urinated on a Winnie the Pooh figure, said Terry Sheppard, a former vice president for Kinkade's company, in an interview.
The article goes on for a while about how Kincaid (someone stop me) paints himself as an upstanding Christian before coming back to elaborate on the Sigfriend & Roy incident-- even though you already know about that-- because it is just soo bizarre.
In testimony and interviews with The Times, Sheppard and other former employees said they often went with Kinkade to strip clubs and bars, where he frequently became intoxicated and out of control.
John Dandois, Media Arts Group's senior director of retail operations from 1995 to 1999, testified in a hearing that the artist was a sort of Jekyll-and-Hyde character, whose behavior worsened as the alcohol flowed.
"Thom would be fine, he would be drinking, and then all of a sudden, you couldn't tell where the boundary was," he said. "And then he became very incoherent, and he would start cussing and doing a lot of weird stuff."
Dandois, who left the company to become chief executive of a group of galleries owned by Kinkade's brother, Patrick, recounted that about six years ago the artist was so intoxicated during a performance by Siegfried & Roy in Las Vegas that people seated nearby moved away from him.
"I think it was Roy or Siegfried or whatever had a codpiece in his leotards," Dandois testified. "And so when the show started, Thom just started yelling, 'Codpiece, codpiece,' and had to be quieted by his mother and Nanette."
This is really too much. I think I broke my lung.
In an interview, Sheppard, who often accompanied Kinkade on the road, recounted a trip to Orange County in the late 1990s for the artist's appearance on the "Hour of Power" television show at the Crystal Cathedral in Garden Grove. On the eve of the broadcast, Sheppard said, he and Kinkade returned to the Disneyland Hotel after a night of heavy drinking. As they walked to their rooms, according to Sheppard and another person who was there, Kinkade veered toward a nearby figure of a Disney character.
"Thom wanders over to Winnie the Pooh and decides to 'mark his territory,' " Sheppard told The Times.
In a deposition, the artist alluded to his practice of urinating outdoors, saying he "grew up in the country" where it was common. When pressed about allegedly relieving himself in a hotel elevator in Las Vegas, Kinkade said it might have happened.
"There may have been some ritual territory marking going on, but I don't recall it," he said.
Posted by hissycat at 06:15 AM | Comments (21) | TrackBack
February 28, 2006
What, You Were Expecting A Quilting Bee?
"Alpha Gamma Rho is all about integrity and decency" and goat fucking. Over at the Western Kentucky University chapter two weeks ago, amidst the run-of-the-mill homosexual antics fraternities are chock full of, bestiality put it a guest appearance: a noise complaint resulted in the discovery of a goat (a he-goat, if you care) kept in a closet, mired in its own excrement for the purpose of what fraternity men love to do most in small, dark, excrement-filled spaces.
Further support for my extremely complex theory of human sexuality-- sometimes called the "men stick their penises anywhere they think they'll fit" school of thought-- comes from yet another goat-related news item. It seems a Sudanese man, has not only fucked a goat but also taken the cloven-hooved beast as his bride:
Upper Nile: Tombe, a Sudanese man, has been forced to take a goat as his "wife", after he was caught having sex with the animal.
The goat's owner, Alifi, said he was surprised to find the man with his goat, and took him to a council of elders.
Alifi, Hai Malakal in Upper Nile State, told the Juba Post newspaper that he heard a loud noise around midnight on 13 February, and immediately rushed outside to find Tombe conjugating with his goat.
"When I asked him: 'What are you doing there?', he fell off the back of the goat, so I captured and tied him up".
Mr Alifi then called elders to decide how to deal with the case.
"They said I should not take him to the police, but rather let him pay a dowry for my goat because he used it as his wife," Mr Alifi told the newspaper.
The council also ordered Tombe to pay a dowry of 15,000 Sudanese dinars (about Rs 3,000) to Alifi, whom the considered the “father of the bride"."We have given him the goat, and as far as we know they are ill together," Alifi said.
Those elders went all Pee-Wee Herman on his ass. Like, "If you love that goat so much, why don't you just marry it?"
Ah, how wise the elders are in their infinite elderly patriamalarchy. The punishment must fit the crime and teach a lesson. Look now, what you're doing here-- now, we save it for the ladies. Got it, bud? If you're raping this animal, that means to me you think she is a woman. As long as you insist on pretending that sheep is your fiancee, I guess we'll all just have to see that you get married. Right away. That's right. Maybe next time you'll think twice before you use someone's sheep like a dirty woman again.
But have fun on the honeymoon!
Posted by hissycat at 07:19 AM | Comments (8115)
February 17, 2006
Awesome
This totally goes in the guest bathroom:
I think I'll go e-mail this picture to my mom now. She's into home repair projects, and this is exactly the kind of thing she finds rib-ticklingly funny-- she and my dad, in fact, should get seconds of laughs out of this one. That's just the kind of people they are.
You know what word sounds extremeley filthy out loud? Spigot.
Posted by hissycat at 07:51 PM | Comments (1)
January 08, 2006
Phone Call With Mom
Me: I'm feeling sort of good about applying for the job.
Mom: What? Why? You still don't have a job. There's nothing to be excited about yet.
Me: I know, obviously, I am aware that I do not have a job. I'm just telling you about a job I applied for, ok? You're the one who's always bitching that I never tell you anything. You are always so doubtful about everything I say.
Mom: Oh, I'd be very surprised if that were the case.
Posted by hissycat at 12:57 PM | Comments (6)
December 14, 2005
Soberlogism
bloglash |blaw'g'laa'sh|
noun
strong feelings of anger, scorn or revulsion felt by the regular reader of a blog upon reading something distasteful in a blog post, especially if post refences reader in (unintentionally!) unflattering light. I'm sorry.
Posted by hissycat at 06:10 PM | Comments (6)
December 13, 2005
Neologisms
This is Part Two in what is becoming an ongoing series.
jewbuse |joo'byu'z|
verb
to berate, belittle, deride, or bawl out while inveighing or inflicting shame or guilt upon another, often in a hyperbolic or exagerated manner over an apparently trivial matter. Onion-Slayer: It was very uncomfortable. Her boyfriends was throwing a total hissy fit because she brought back the wrong kind of burrito. Hissy Cat: Not trouble in Burritoville! He was abusing her? Onion-Slayer: He wasn't abusing her, it was more like he was-- Hissy Cat: JEWBUSING her?! Onion-Slayer: Yes!
ORIGIN Hissy Cat's apartment, Monday night.
yentervention |yehn'ter'ven'sh'on|
noun
the act of intervening undertaken by a gossip or gossips; an action undertaken by meddling friends So is this going to require a yentervention?
ORIGIN From the Yiddish yenta and the English term intervention; colloq. Wine involved.
biblioklept
noun
someone you once lent your copy of Slouching Towards Bethlehem and still hasn't given it back
ORIGIN Kbiz has stolen The Complete Works of Edna St. Vincent Millay and Alice's Adventures in Wonderland from Paly's (Palo Alto High School) Library, The Best Democracy Money Can Buy from the Public Library in Pasadena,
alcologism
noun
word or phrase coined while under the influence of alcohol and/ or the drugs (for example jewbuse, yentervention, biblioklept, alcologism)
ORIGIN street corner, under the influence of alcohol and/ or the drugs
Posted by hissycat at 06:34 PM | Comments (5)
December 12, 2005
In Poor Taste?
I received an email with the subject line 'Peaceful Holiday Protest At San Quentin,' and was deeply amused.
Posted by hissycat at 07:30 PM | Comments (3)
November 30, 2005
The Absolute Gayest Thing I Have Ever Seen
This is it.
Posted by hissycat at 04:07 AM | Comments (15)
November 12, 2005
Update: Mother Still Here
No time to write, so instead I leave you with a paperback of the week (that's the second in two days! Oboy!):
Also, this:
And promises of a story tomorrow.
Posted by hissycat at 11:36 AM | Comments (8189) | TrackBack
October 29, 2005
I'm A Vampire
Well, I live like one, anyway. I'm up all night. Then the sun comes up, and I go away.
I slept through a date to go costume shopping for my fantastic costume, and now I'm too bummed and groggy or something to write anything entertaining. What else can I do but give you this week's paperback a day early and hope for a better state of mind tomorrow?
Posted by hissycat at 06:45 PM | Comments (17) | TrackBack
October 28, 2005
Imaginary Musicals I Never Want To See
While reading the arts section of the New York Times, I had the displeasure of coming across an ad for a musical called Infertility: The Musical That's Hard To Conceive!
I really, really dislike musical comedies that take the names of ailments or bodily functions: Orgasms, Menopause The Musical (which, by the way, does a Menopause The Musical Ovarian Cancer Tour), etc. Not that I've seen any, I just hate them in principle and for triggering awful, reflexivle pun-production in my brain.
Proposed awful names for human physiology-themed musicals that popped into my head, along with requisite tag line:
Conjunctivitis: The Catchiest Thing Around!
Massive Brain Hemmorrage: The Show That Once Started, Never Stops!
(alternately, The Show That Has Audiences Gushing!)
Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder: The Musical You'll Want To See Again and Again and Again and Again!
Syphallis: The Hilarious Comedy That's Burning Up 42nd Street!
Hemerrhoids: The Show That'll Keep You On The Edge Of Your Seat!
--and, perhaps my favorite--
Constipation: The Musical For People Who Don't Give A Crap!
Posted by hissycat at 10:12 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
October 26, 2005
Sometimes The Satire Writes Itself, Part Two
Um, I want to write something funny about this news story. But I can't think of anything as funny as the story itself:
Community mourns chicken Tuesday October 25, 07:38 AMA community mourning the death of a mystery "baby" was told: "Stop grieving, it's only a chicken."
A makeshift shrine of flowers and cards sprang up after a member of the public discovered the remains of a foetus in a back alley in Anfield, Liverpool.
Merseyside Police cordoned off the scene to investigate, but tests soon revealed that it was only a chicken foetus.
(via Feministe)
Posted by hissycat at 08:41 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
Sometimes The Satire Writes Itself
In case you missed yesterday's NYTimes article, which was tucked away in the business section, the White House has served The Onion with a Cease & Desist order against unauthorized use of the presidential seal.
Posted by hissycat at 02:12 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
October 25, 2005
Crap (Something You May Never Want To Do Again)
A family in Malaysia that had thought their child was hallucinating when she'd talked of a giant snake in their toilet have now confirmed that, in fact, there is a giant snake in their toilet. 8 ft., to be exact.
This so soon after the story about that 10 ft. boa constrctor was found in a toilet in Manchester is creeping me kind of the fuck out.
Posted by hissycat at 09:07 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
October 23, 2005
Paperback Of The Week
Yeah, "Una Mujer" is one of my favorite authors.
Posted by hissycat at 03:38 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
October 15, 2005
Paperback Of The Week
Yes, I'm one day early, but I'm not quite up to posting anything written yet.
Posted by hissycat at 03:25 PM | Comments (8299) | TrackBack
October 14, 2005
I'm A Man, Not A Lesbian
Best Craigslist post ever:
Dear Paula-I want you to know you're very special to me, but I have a confession to make. I'm not really a woman. Yes, that's right. I know it's horrible, but you're in love with a man.
You must have known it, in your heart. Didn't you wonder about the ferocious leg stubble? The deep voice? The five o'clock shadow? The consuming interest in sports? The chest hair and, perhaps most telling of all, the fact that I always wanted to be the bus-driver? Honey, baby, sugar-melons...what you felt was original equipment, not plastic. Does that make it any less magical? Not to me. I could tell you liked it by the way you yelled and wiggled.
I hope we can get past this somehow. I really do care for you. I want you to know that in my heart I'm a woman, and never more so than when I'm with you. Your Donna is still right here, in this body. Does it matter what's on the outside? Does it really matter?
Ask yourself this. If I wasn't a lesbian, meaning you, and you were, meaning me, and I, meaning you, didn't even have a dog, which is how we met in the marina this past spring, meaning us, not you and the dog, when your frisbee hit me in the balls, would it matter at all which one of us was a man, even if both of us were? And the dog is a male anyway, you can love him, why not me? I mean not why can't I love the dog. I do, he just doesn't like me because of the thing with the squeaky mouse and the hot plate. Do you see what I'm driving at here?
Call me, sugar-melons
Don(na)
Posted by hissycat at 01:14 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
October 08, 2005
Are They Being Cute?
This is just getting ridiculous.
Posted by hissycat at 04:23 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
Orange Leo
I got the key to my apartment in April, when I was still down at Stanford, finishing my thesis. The apartment happened very suddenly, and although I'd decided in theory that I wanted to live by myself, the reality of sleeping alone after eight months of sharing a bed with Brett every night, and of staying by myself in a studio apartment after three years within shouting distance of Alex and Tamara, was quietly terrifying. At first I refused to stay in the city unless Brett stayed with me, but while I was doing the lonely work of finishing a thesis, Brett still had classes as well as commitments to the peer-counseling center where he worked. I could work properly only in my studio, where there ws a desk, a chair and a mattress Brett dragged in from the street and nothing else, as my dorm room had become too filthy, Brett's place was too distracting. I had to start staying in the city alone.
This was before I got Gerty the cat. Brett flew home to Denver for Passover the second weekend after I got my key, so I steeled myself for the occaision by loading into my car a space heater, several changes of underwear, heavy sweaters, a sweaty old t-shirt that stinking of Brett I planned to pull over my nose like a mask of laudanum to sleep in, the blanket from Brett's bed, also in need of a washing, whisky, valium, my journal and the four stuffed animals we own between us: Doggy and Amabunny (mine) and Shtasi and Cupholder, Brett's otters.
I worked as late as I could so as to avoid the terrifying prospect of sleeping. I smoked cigarettes and jumped in my skin at the slightest noise. No longer capable of propping myself upright, I'd taken my laptop onto the mattress, intent on typing myself into a coma via exhaustion or valium, whichever I gave into first. I saw the light spot of nose, the point of ears in a bottom pane of the courtyard-facing door. A cat.
Although it was well past any hour a reasonable person would come to the phone, even in the Rocky time zone, I called Brett's voicemail and left a message. "I have exciting news," I said, "call me back. It's not an emergency, but call me back. I have exciting news."
I had seen the big orange cat once before. It was the night after I'd signed my lease, when Brett and I were going to stay in my apartment for the first time. We were pulling up to the curb and I saw the cat come trotting up the street. I jumped out and approached the cat in a twisted, hunched down run, my arms extended. The cat had scampered off. I scampered after until it dissappeared behind the bars of a gate.
I went outside to have a cigarette and pursue the cat. He was friendly, this time. Cautious at first, he was soon weaving between my calves. He thumped back on the ground for a petting.
I wanted to lure the cat in, so I opened a can of tuna. The cat came in, but protested louldy if I so much as touched the doorknob, so I piled on more sweaters and let the brittle wet wind snuff out the warmth from the space heater and let the cat sniff out the apartment. While scrathing his neck, I examined the heart-shaped tag. His name was Leo, he belonged to Adobe Books around the corner, and because there was already one Leo cat in my life (a big white and gray boy that lives in my parents' home) I started thinking of him as Orange Leo. Eventually, the cat finished his tuna and went away and I, fully dressed, collapsed on the mattress, clutching all four stuffed animals to my middle and the Brett-stinking shirt spread over my pillow, calmed beyond the need for valium by the visit from the curious orange cat.
Orange Leo returned the next night, and I gave him more tuna. The following night, he relaxed enough to nap on the green armchair I'd purchased that day. He didn't protest when I closed and locked the garden door, only blinked at me with his sleepy green eyes, then buried his face under his tail and rear paws. We fell into a habit. Around two am, when I really was pulling out my hair, Leo would come around. We'd both fall asleep with the lights on, and when, at dawn, he started to howl to be let out, I woke up resentlessly, kissed the golden diamond on his forhead, and let him out. Then I'd get back in front of the computer screen and work more, passing out for the seond time after the daylit world had come to life.
I brought my own house cat, Gerty, home on May 30th, after my thesis had been turned in. Gerty, a three-legged female about half Leo's size, growled at Leo, and Leo kept his distance. He loved the courtyard because of its cornucopia of rats and pigeons, but I never saw him catch anything. Orange Leo like to plant himself at the entrance to a tiny alley and watch the pigeons with an expression of infinte contentment and peace. I would bring him cat food in the yard and sit and pet him there. I stopped in at Adobe to visit him (one time a pigeon had flown in and Leo purred audibly at it from the opposit side of a Japanese screen in the loft) but he no longer liked to spend so much time in my house.
A few nights ago, as I was returning home, a neighbor told me Leo was dead. He had been hit by car. I've been sad most of this week.
Posted by hissycat at 01:44 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
October 05, 2005
Bush Learns New Word, Forgets Old Ones
In yesterday's address in th Rose Garden, President Bush demonstrated he's been following the advice of his SAT tutor by making an effort to work new vocabulary words into everyday conversation:
BUSH: She is plenty bright. As I mentioned earlier, she was a pioneer in Texas. She just didn't kind of opine about things; she actually led.. . .I know people are jumping to all kinds of conclusions. And that's fine. That's part of our process, you know. People are quick to opine.
The thing I appreciate is that she's gotten a good reception on the United States Senate. People can opine all they want, but the final opinion is at the floor of the United States Senate. That's where it's going to be decided whether or not she is a Supreme Court judge.
In directing his efforts towards utilizing the new word, however, Mr. Bush seems to have let the meanings of some familiar words slip his mind:
QUESTION: Mr. President...BUSH: Yes?
QUESTION: ... in our latest poll...
BUSH: The what?
QUESTION: In our latest poll...
BUSH: Latest poll?
QUESTION: Yes. Our latest poll.
(LAUGHTER)
BUSH: Gosh. OK.
QUESTION: I know you don't pay attention to polls. But anyway, in our latest poll...
BUSH: You run one every other day.
QUESTION: I know.
(LAUGHTER)
BUSH: You mean yesterday's poll, as opposed to tomorrow's poll?
Bush, it seems, has not only forgotten the definition of "poll" but also of "latest," "yesterday," and "tomorrow."
Even forgot what "conservative" means:
QUESTION: Are you still a conservative?BUSH: Am I a what?
QUESTION: Still a conservative?
BUSH: I'm still a conservative, proudly so, proudly so.
Posted by hissycat at 11:53 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
October 02, 2005
Paperback Of The Week
Preferably, to Cipriani's.
Posted by hissycat at 05:38 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
September 29, 2005
Sea Creature Smackdown
For the first time ever, a Giant Squid has been caught on film. The rather nasty creature was lured with bait to a video camera at a depth of 3,000 feet. Like so many reality TV sadbags before him, squidy will no doubt come to regret his shameless antics.
I foresee all hell breaking loose when these guys find out. A small but well-armed battalion of military dolphins are still at large following Katrina.
Also, from a certain angle, giant squid sure look a lot like, uh, this.
Posted by hissycat at 02:11 PM | Comments (22) | TrackBack
September 27, 2005
More Wacky Crooks
FEMA is now paying, as a consultant to look into what went wrong with Katrina,-- Michael Brown. Yes, that Michael Brown. I'm not actually speechless, but for your sake, dear reader, I'm going to pretend to be.
Posted by hissycat at 03:34 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
September 09, 2005
Do Dee Da
Da Doo Do De
Posted by hissycat at 11:39 AM | Comments (32) | TrackBack
September 06, 2005
So That Means If I Have Cancer, I'd Better Get A Motorcycle
 | Currently Listening In the Aeroplane Over the Sea By Neutral Milk Hotel see related |
I spent most of today sitting through Stanford 101, the mandatoryorientation and benefits briefing for new employees. It startedoff with a video about "the Farm" (what?), and then a barage ofPowerPoint slides about insurance.
At Q & A, some one asked about the difference between lifeinsurance and accidental death & dismembership insurance. Theresponse of the HR rep, an older woman with grayed hair and a frumpydemeanor?
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Posted by hissycat at 07:37 PM | Comments (25) | TrackBack
September 03, 2005
blah blah blah
blah di blah blah blah
Posted by hissycat at 05:35 PM | Comments (23) | TrackBack
August 30, 2005
Google Loves Your Ass
I'm going to Seattle this weekend! Alex, my sugar daddy, is to thanks.
I visited Brett at the Googleplex last night, where he, on my request,invited me to supper. I spent the evening thoroughly shaminghim. There was free food all over the place, and I acted justlike my mother, sneaking handfulls of little cereal boxes in myhandbag. I took yogurt, fruit, candy and SmartWater, too. It's totally magical funland over there: smiling dogs walkingthemselves around the office and stretching out in the middle ofaisles, massage chairs, tents both big and small, elaborate jokesmeticulously charted on white boards, a life-size pirate made of Legosthat hangs out above Brett's desk, oh, and toilets that clean and dry your ass for you. Amazing. Now that's a future I want to be a part of.
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Posted by hissycat at 11:40 AM | Comments (23) | TrackBack
August 29, 2005
Internz
There are no words for this,but I'll throw a few out there anyway: Microsoft, N'Sync, Interns,Choreographed Dancing. Thank you, Alex. I'll be reliving the magic every night in my dreams.
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Posted by hissycat at 09:32 AM | Comments (20) | TrackBack
August 25, 2005
The Masstige of Salad Tossing
It�s Tuesday night and I�m writing this at home (on my snazzy newcomputer). I realize this won�t get posted until Wednesday morning because Istill don�t have fucking internet in my apartment (for a few months, Iwas stealing someone�s unprotected wireless, but the bastards got wiseand added a password). In part, I am doing this because if don�twrite now, I will be tempted to write when I get to work in themorning, and if I am tempted, I will doubtless give in and any hope ofproductivity will be down the chute. (I have a deadline to meet, and itis noon on Friday. Fuck.) I would be lying, though, if Ididn�t say that, in part, I am writing now because I just can�t waitthat fucking long (what�ten, eleven hours?) to share the followingchoice items culled from the September issue of Vogue:
1. From an article entitled �The Firm� (Sally Singer) about aweight-loss program on which the author lost twenty pounds in eightweeks, or something like that, I give you�this [emphases my own]:
2. Masstige mas'te -'tej 1. n. the combination of mass production and marketing technology, and thewidespread perception image of belonging to the uppermost ranks ofsocial and economic class: Channel No. 5 reeks of masstige.
2. adj. the quality of possessing masstige. ETYMOLOGY: from the English, �Mass plus prestige equalsmasstige.� (Brooks, Amanda 743); ORIGIN early 21st cent.:�Fr�d�ric Fekkai gave me the word, but I don�t think he originated it.�(Brooks 743)
3. Look! Vogue's doing a high-fashion remake of The JonBenet Ramsey Story.
what should I do with the body?
Oh, Vogue-- you've got so much masstige!
God help us all.
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Posted by hissycat at 09:31 AM | Comments (8) | TrackBack
August 23, 2005
Suck it, Grammer!
"The Forty Year-Old Virgin"
The title is even more disturbing than you realized.
It's like a Neverland party. Except for the "virgin" part.
Oooh. . . . Zing!
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Posted by hissycat at 11:33 AM | Comments (29) | TrackBack
August 22, 2005
This Is Too Easy
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Posted by hissycat at 05:15 PM | Comments (23) | TrackBack
August 16, 2005
Unlike Posh, You Will Have To Read It For Yourself
 | Currently Reading Feminisms: An Anthology of Literary Theory and Criticism see related |
Check out the least surprising news of the week.
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Posted by hissycat at 12:57 PM | Comments (131) | TrackBack
August 15, 2005
Adventure Toe-ing
Because it is impossible to see what I was taking a picture of with my crappy cellphone camera, I will explain:
a towtruck with a parking ticket. Yes, a towtruck. with aparking ticket tucked into its envelope and stuck under the windsheildwiper. The namw of the tow company: Adventure Towing.
The Rest Of This Post Is Disgusting And I Do Not Recommend Reading it. Ever.
And on the topic of vehicles (kind of), I want a mobilityscooter. I want one of those mobility scooters with the basket onthe front that obese people use to locomote in big, American amusementparks. My feet are in horrible pain, and I want a mobilityscooter to scoot me around.
I don't want my feet. I totally busted them this weekend. Ialready had this hideous, painful tumor-looking bump growing out of thecuticle on the right side of my left big toe. I've had these onceor twice before. They happen when I cut my cuticles back toofar. On my big toes, especially, my cuticles can get prettygnarly, the more so the more I wear heels or pointy-toes or anythingelse that pinches my toes, and they to be trimmed, so I trim them,perhaps over-zealously. But I don't just trim back the cuticlewhere it grows over the nail. Especially if my toes have beengetting pinched by shoes or boots, the cuticle snakes around thecorners of my nails and sneaks to just underneath the corners. IfI can get a hold of this cuticle, I will yank it right out from underthe nail, which is painful and disgusting and satisfying in the sameway it is satisfying to rip off an unripe scab. Often, the firstpull will get a strip of rubbery dead skin and not too much pain. I know I should stop there but I don't. I become completelycompelled with the taks of continuing to yank up my cuticles by theroots and completely fascinated by the foul repulsiveness of mybody. I will do this until I am in quite a bit of pain, and I cando it for hours. Eventually I become disgusted with myself forbeing so disgusting and doing such disgusting things. And I'mangry that I've wasted time being disgusting, and ashamed andembaressed about my bloody, hacked-at feet.
I had a cuticle-snipping spree a few weeks ago and got carried away andyanked up about a half-centimeter of flesh which looks like it camefrom under my nail, but might be just a bit of inflamed cuticle, orsome kind of evil blood blister. I'll call it, simple,"toe-tumor." It hurts like fuck whenever it rubs againstanything, like a boot or bed post or my other toes. It makesstubbing my toes, even when I am wearing cowboy boots, almostunbearably painful. And it is unsightly. Well, like I said,this has happened before, and I just swapped in with antiseptic creamand kept it clean and dry, bandaged during the day, but let out to airto "dry out" when I'm by myself at night. The disgustingtoe-tumors have always gone away on their own.
Last week, however, I did a very poor job of caring for my foot, whichmeans that I pretty much did nothing at all except occaisionally pokeit and be grossed out. It started oozing a little clear,lymphatic fluid at the end of last week, which forced me to finallyclean my foot because I was so scared of, you know, gangrene.
On Friday night, I went out and met up with Brett and his co-workers,and, because I am foolish and vain, I wore my boots even though I knewit was a very bad idea.. We walked around a lot that night, andBrett didn't have either band-aids or anti-bacterial cream at hishouse, and I was tired and didn't want to deal until morning. Ofcourse, on Saturday morning, I had to go pick up a package from thePost Office, which required a good deal of walking, which I did in myboots, because I wouldn't have had time to stop home and changefootwear before the Post Office closed.
Ok, so that hurt, and I was hobbeling around on Saturday night. But, I had gone home after the Post Office, and I'd cleaned and creamedand bandaged my toes and told myself it was already a little betterthan it had been (at least it wasn't oozing-- as much), beforesqueezing my feet back into my boots, yes the same ones as before,because I am vain and thought my boots looked nice with my dress. So, I taxied home that night, but no major bloodspills, more discomfortthan pain.
Oh but then, then, I grew arrogant and fool-hardy. I wanted towear my other new dresss and wanted to wear shoes that would go withit, which just happened to be a pair of black mary-jane pumps. And I wore them. Without socks or tights. Because I am afucking idiot.
OH FUCK. I just tried to hobble to the bathroom. I am nowin my chair and kind of panting to get through the pain. Fuckingfuck fuck fuck it hurts. I have huge blisters on the soles of myfeet now-- those might be the worst-- as well as blisters all over mytoes (two of which are actually painful) and the old toe-tumor, whichis looking worse for the wear.
And to add to the indignity of all of this, this morning, whilesqueezing an extremely bloated, extremely painful, fluid filledblister on my left sole with the naive hope that if the blister woulddrain there would be less pressure and less pain, it finally popped,and squirted me square in the face with an impressive jet-stream ofblister-juice.
Which takes me to my last point. Foot problems are totallyrepulsive. It's not like having back pains, or even cramps, whereyou can ask for a massage and complain without provoking too muchdisgust. But my feet are horrendous monsters, totally unsexy,totally nauseating, totally repulsive, so I can't complain or ask for help or sympathy.
I meant to go to the bank today to apply for a loan to purchase acomputer, as mine is busted and I need one so badly. I can't go,since it hurts too much to walk to the car, and anyway, I think loanapplicants that show up at the bank hobbeling and shoe-less are usuallydenied, I would imagine.
I just want to go home and cry.
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Posted by hissycat at 02:38 PM | Comments (27) | TrackBack
August 10, 2005
I've Been Requesting Informational Brochures for Masters of Library Sciences Programs
 | Currently Listening This American Life: Lies Sissies & Fiascoes By Ira Glass see related |
By the way, I'm not actually listening to the CD of This American Life. I'm just listening to old shows for free on my computer. Ithought the the picture of the TAL CD would be a helpful graphic forconveying my utter immersion. The best/ worst thing about havingmy own office is that I can listen to NPR (and music, too) however muchI like-- just close the door, and turn it up while I'm working, orpretending to work. There have been days when I have listened toeight or nine straight hours of old TALs. That show is Paradise,and Ira Glass is my Beatrice, leading me to goodness and light. Iswear, that show is the origin of hope.
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Posted by hissycat at 01:59 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack