February 27, 2003
"You stare into the mirror That held her painted eye" -Michael Ondaatje
She sees him through the restaurant window, uncertain through the wavering glass and grime. He finishes eating and pushes away his plate, carefully untucks and folds his napkin, lays down some money and leaves the table.
She skulks inside when the waitress isn't looking and his plate is hers. She brings it and his glass behind the restaurant and sits them on the metal lid of one of the trash cans to study. Some strings of meat left on the bone. A lot of green beans. Two untouched potato wedges. She unbuttons and rolls up her sleeves, then slides the potato wedges down the insides of her forearms in slick trails. She circles the meat around her ears. She unbuttons her blouse halfway and scoops up a large handful of green beans which she rubs into her chest like camphor; what’s left of his beer gets sprinkled onto her kneecaps. She takes off her shoes and stomps the soles of her feet into his napkin, feeling tiny food particles getting stuck between her toes.
She redresses herself and goes back to their room; removes her clothes and climbs into bed. The scent of food will mingle with the smell of her skin. When he comes home, he will know immediately: like a dog, she has rolled herself in his dinner.
Posted by didofoot at 07:03 PM | Comments (3)
Some of us just don't have time for a week-long exploration mission in there
In the beginning, there was the male orgasm. The female orgasm was sort of a fortunate afterthought when it happened.
Then my mom's generation came, pun intended, and started squawking about equality in all things. Suddenly, we had noticed we were getting the short end of the stick and men were to blame.
Research began. We discovered, or anyway named, the G-spot.
Don't know where your G-spot is? No problem.
Here is a pamphlet.
Here is a book.
Here is an instructional video tape.
I am teaching a seminar on how to find your own G-spot.
Here are some conveniently shaped toys designed to discover that spot.
Check this out! A map to your G-spot!
In 3-D!
With convenient labels!
For $20, a woman will come to your house and show you where yours is.
Some universities now offer a G-spot major.
Hurray! Success! Now every woman can find and use her G-spot. Sort of like teaching a Girl Scout troop how to use a stud finder. So what's the problem? We provided you with all kinds of instruction. You STILL haven't found it? No, you definitely HAVE one. We all have them. Just root around in there. There are special plumbers you can call. Here's a dowsing wand. Go to town. Take your time. Use mirrors.
Still nothing?
Well, I wash my hands of you. Clitoral orgasms are a thing of the dark ages. A straight woman who doesn't use that G-spot - look, I don't know what to do for you at this point. It probably atrophied and fell off. Or maybe you're some kind of genetic freak. Or more likely just stubborn. And repressed. And Republican. And Catholic. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a self-actualizing seminar to teach about the dangers of meat, eyeshadow and Jane Austen novels.
Posted by didofoot at 12:04 PM | Comments (5)
February 24, 2003
A Year and Six Days
Happy birthday, Carthage!
Pisces Horoscope
A pleasant outing could get delayed or cancelled due to an event entirely out of your control. Rather than having a fit, dear Pisces, you and your friends could seize the opportunity to do something completely wild and different. You could take in a matinee of the scariest movie in town, for example, or finally try out that Ethiopian restaurant you've been hearing so much about. Today brings a perfect opportunity to make lemonade out of lemons.
Posted by didofoot at 07:59 AM | Comments (6)
February 23, 2003
The reason I never leave my house
I pre-ordered season four of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on DVD.
It's that kind of life I'm having.
Posted by didofoot at 08:46 PM | Comments (2)
From the last two minutes of a very special episode of "The Fresh Prince of D.C."
"Son, what you and Tony did to Iraq was wrong. Do you understand? You just can't always go to war. Sometimes it's better to talk things through, and ask me for help if you need it."
"I guess I really messed up this time, huh, Uncle Voters?"
"It's okay, son. Everyone makes mistakes, and I think you and Tony learned a valuable lesson."
"Thanks, Uncle Voters. Well, I'm glad we had this chat. I guess I'll get back to those tax breaks..."
"Not so fast, son. I'm still going to have to impeach you."
"Aw, MAN!" (laughtrack.)
"Hey, don't sweat it. And you know, if you and Laura get cracking now, maybe in forty years or so I'll be having this talk with your son."
"That's a long time to wait, Uncle Voters."
"It'll go a lot quicker than you think, kid. Here, have a pretzel." (laughtrack and credits.)
Posted by didofoot at 10:33 AM | Comments (1)
February 21, 2003
Insomnia last night makes for a pissed didofoot
For a while now I have been unhappy about my eyebrows, mainly due to how several of my friends have in recent months expressed in one form or another their intense hatred for the caterpillars quote ruining my face. I look around and see how every woman I know without exception (and even some of the boys) are plucking and shaping away like sheep in shearing season.
Well last night this whole topic was somehow broached over dessert with Em and the Lad. I explained how I feel like a tomboy most of the time, partly due to the fact that I pretty much dress like either a pre-adolescent girl or a teenage boy and don't have a hairstyle - or a hairdryer - and cannot figure out how eyeliner is different from a sharp stick in the eye. But also partly due to my increasing unease with these enormous, unwieldy eyebrows taking up, I am sure, fully half my face.
Em pointed out that Audrey Hepburn of all people had thick eyebrows though, and while I scoffed at the time, I snuck around Google today and looked her up. Sure enough.
Obviously, Audrey shaped hers as well. And maybe I'll still go that route. But in the meantime, I am so pissed off when I think about how long I have wasted feeling ashamed of my own face.
Posted by didofoot at 03:36 PM | Comments (7)
Calling all the gays
I need to interview four gay people for my psych class. The interviews will take an hour each, though possibly some of that hour will just be filling out a questionnaire. You will be audio-taped, but not duct-taped (unless you find that helpful). There will be very stupid questions involved, because psychology is the stupidest of sciences. Bisexual people are welcome, provided you feel you have some feeling for the gay culture, whatever the hell that means. I will definitely be asking you whether you enjoy molesting small children and at some point you will absolutely be accused of communist tendencies.
I was thinking of trying to trick Richard, Erica, Jolie and and Jason (if he's back in time) into doing this, but if you are feeling particularly gay then just let me know.
Posted by didofoot at 09:20 AM | Comments (7)
February 19, 2003
Some useful facts about Tasmanian devils
Tasmanian devil moms give birth to a litter of 20 or so Tasmanian devil babies and as soon as they are born the babies start frantically crawling towards the mother's marsupial pouch. There are only four nipples in the pouch. This means 16 Tasmanian devil babies are born only to die. Personally, I find this wasteful. I do intend to point it out the next time I'm arguing with a religious nut, though. Surely a just God would not allow the death of sixteen cute little devils.
A Tasmanian devil eats a large meal. Its meal is the equivalent of a human sitting down to a 50 lb steak. Plus they will eat just about anything. I think I should start a non-profit organization which hires people to lurk around the birthing sites of these devils and then, when the time is right, rush in and snatch up the sixteen who don't make it in time. Then they can smuggle the devils on airplanes back to San Francisco, where we can let them lose in controlled herds on Market Street to eat up all the garbage and yuck which floats around these days. Plus it would be really neat to see the Market Street businessmen fleeing before a herd of screaming devils.
Who's with me?
Posted by didofoot at 04:29 PM | Comments (19)
What do we want? A lot of water and possibly some food and a nice empty room. When do we want it? Now!
I went to the protest on Sunday all hungover and hating crowds. Despite a niggling concern over whether these protests are ever going to do any good, I still feel that we've entered an interesting time. People are saying the same thing all over the world. That's a new phenomenon, at least for my lifetime. It's nice to know I'm not alone.
Photos are courtesy of a link from Ian's page.
Posted by didofoot at 10:58 AM | Comments (8)
February 18, 2003
I think that racist blogger should be keel-hauled
I wrote the rough draft of what turned out to be a racist paper for my English class. In the paper I (rather successfully) argued that everyone should just speak English if they ever expect to get anywhere in life. When I brought the racist paper in to English to be "peer edited" (ha) by my fellow students, they read it through and then handed it back, saying what amounted to "I am unwilling to criticize this in any way because I'm unsure what all these enormous vocabulary words mean." Since both members of my group spoke English as a second language, I feel that this only proves my thesis and I am considering incorporating this into my final draft.
Seriously though, I'm not racist. I just happen to speak only English, and I just happen to be a member of the ethnic group currently in power, and I just happen to believe that if I don't know what the cock* you are saying to me then I can't be responsible for what happens to you or the rest of your minority.**
*"What the cock" is courtesy of at least Jason and possibly others.
**I regret the necessity of this footnote, but people are so weirdly touchy about this stuff: I DON'T REALLY THINK EVERYONE SHOULD SPEAK ENGLISH. Please don't comment on this entry with some serious counter-argument. And sure as hell don't comment in Spanish or some other god-foresaken language because you know I have no use for that shit.
Posted by didofoot at 07:57 PM | Comments (6)
February 15, 2003
After ten minutes on hold:
"Hello, thank you for calling AOL customer service, my name is James, how can I help to make your online experience a magical one this morning?"
"Well, James, I would like to cancel my magical online account."
"Heh. Okay. Let me just pull up your information."
(Takes all my information, prefacing each question with "Now in order to protect your privacy can you please tell me...") "And can I have your reason for cancelling service with AOL this morning?"
"I'm giving up the internet."
"You're...why are you giving up the internet?"
"I'm moving to a commune in Minnesota and they don't have access there."
(Totally floored) "You're...a...commune? Wow, that's a first for me. That's a...really? A commune? Wow. How come...um...they don't...why don't they have access?"
"Well, it just kind of runs counter to the whole belief system."
"And, so, what's the belief system?"
"Oh, you know...getting back to nature, Thoreau, eating lots of dairy. Except the vegans, obviously."
"Right. Right. Right."
"So, do you have a confirmation number for me?"
"Look, are you sure about this commune?"
"Oh yes."
"When do you leave?"
"In a week."
"Okay. Okay. There's no checkbox for this in my 'Reason for Cancellation' section."
"Uh huh."
"Just...okay, well I have your cancellation number ready. And look, if you change your mind, you can always reactivate your account, okay?"
"Sure, thanks."
Gives me my confirmation number. "You know, I'm not going to even bother asking if you want to try our new phone news service."
"That's probably best."
"Yeah. Yeah. Well, okay. Good luck to you."
"Take care, James."
Posted by didofoot at 02:27 PM | Comments (8)
February 14, 2003
V Day and so on
I got attacked by a band of hippies on Sproul (a plaza, not a drug) today and was forced into taking and wearing a black armband to show my non-support of the war. I feel like an animal that's been tagged and re-released into the wild. If you talk to me and I seem a little woozy, it's just that the tranquilizers are still wearing off.
Happy Valentine's day, also. It's odd - the past two years I have had miserable times because I wasn't with someone and really wanted to be. This year I am with someone, who is wonderful, and you know what? This day still isn't so special. Or possibly this goddamn depressing black armband is just bringing me down.
Posted by didofoot at 01:06 PM | Comments (7)
February 13, 2003
Wisdom from my Bio Professor:
On mitochondria:
"The mitochondria produce ATP, which, unlike food energy, can then be used everywhere else in the cells. It's much like using a credit card rather than an out-of-state check. ATP: It's everywhere you want to be."
On chromosomes:
"And what has always baffled me is that lesbian pornography is labeled as 'Triple X' when in fact it should be 'Quadruple X,' as it consists of two sets of X chromosomes."
On plant life:
"So you can see by this diagram that while humans need plants, plants do not need humans. I know a lot of you are living away from your parents' homes for the first time, but I don't care how independent you think you are: there's not a damn one of you who can beat out a banana tree for self-sufficiency."
Posted by didofoot at 11:58 AM | Comments (15)
February 12, 2003
Now who's calling bluff?
This entry has been deleted in case the Federal government is monitoring my website. Sorry for the inconvenience.
Posted by didofoot at 04:36 PM
Everyone hates the eggheads
My English prof looks like a sketch of a human, just three hundred-odd bones stacked together haphazardly and covered with a thin net of skin to keep the mosquitos off. She comes rattling through the door in a tame suit with matching lipstick and I cower and quake in my chair like Jaime Lee Curtis in Halloween. She, prof not Curtis, terrifies me to an absurd degree and I don't know why. It can only partially be ascribed to her status as a walking skeleton, a creepy image even beyond childhood.
My whole body goes on alert when I see her. I start sweating, and my heart pounds to be let out, and my stomach begins inexplicably to growl no matter how much I've eaten before class. I feel like a third grader. I want her to like me. I want her to invite me to join the gifted and talented program; I want her to send the class teddy bear home with me today. I wish we could have back to school night so that I could hover next to her while she says nice things about me to my parents. I wish I could hide under the desk when I see her.
I already hate the teacher's pet, who is, unfairly, a natural blond. Plus, her name is Stevie, a name popularized by the hugely cool Stevie Nicks. She should be stuffed in a barrel and dragged down Main Street by a team of four white horses. I knew that the manuscript was discovered in 1908. You don't have to be such a showoff, brainiac.
Posted by didofoot at 01:03 PM | Comments (9)
February 10, 2003
A Joyous Announcement
Well, we finally tied the knot. They spelled his name wrong, but other than that I think that our wedding site is just perfect.
Posted by didofoot at 03:41 PM | Comments (9)
Happy birthday, Peacock.
When I met him, he had beautiful girl hair and a guitar. He still does though.
He is like twelve hundred fish, but they are rainbow trout. But he smells nicer.
At the end of the fall I think he will move to New York to be with Steve.
I can't for the life of me figure out why he hangs out with me but I am glad he does.
And today is his birthday day.
Posted by didofoot at 02:51 PM | Comments (1)
February 07, 2003
Happy (early) birthday to Michele!
This is getting posted today, since I know I won't have time tomorrow what with the participating in *actual* birthday events. Oh, and sleeping until noon. So here goes.
MY FRIEND MICHELE
(aka Binky the Horse, LL Cool Cat (?), Brother Tupperware, Bambam, Mama Cow Man, Muppet)
You have taught me so many things over the years. To wit: The importance of British comic fantasy novels; how to move a Ouiji (sp) board without your friends knowing; how to cage spare change from high school boys; that brownies from a mix are just as good; how to materially affect the directional tilt of an innocent mailbox; that it's okay not to drink even if everyone else is doing it; that if everyone else has had sex I better jump the fuck onto that bandwagon because now I am the LAST ONE LEFT (um, I extrapolated that one on my own though); that anime can be cool because anime boys are hot.
Yes, My Friend Michele is pretty great. Almost as great as me. Happy birthday!
Love,
didofoot
(aka Mort, Miss Meow, Brother Dimbulb, Boomboom, Cheesehead (?), Piggy)
Posted by didofoot at 02:12 PM | Comments (13)
This day in history
A year ago today the Sicilian dumped me on my lunch hour. We went to lunch, we argued over something stupid, we went into the King Student Union building and broke up in a conference room. I sniffled my way through the rest of the day and promised myself I wouldn't tell anyone. "I don't need their pity," I thought, then emailed the Lad in Germany with the news to get some sympathy. That night I went out on a date with Frank so of course I had to tell him. The next day I called in sick because I felt it would be dramatically appropriate and so had to tell my folks, since I was living with them. That night I came into Berkeley for Sushi's birthday dinner at the (now tragically out of business) Lotus and since I didn't want to ruin the day for her I immediately told her and Nuala while staring straight ahead in a wounded manner. I really wanted this to be an evening all about Sushi, since it was her birthday and she is my best friend, so I waited until a lull in the conversation at dinner before I stood up, tapped the side of my free soda with Jacob's fork and made the announcement to all the patrons of the restaurant. I followed it with a snazzy singing number about heartbreak, then led my fellow diners into the street for a coordinated dance routine.
It's a year later now and I feel fine. But if I didn't, who would know? For you know I never complain.
Posted by didofoot at 11:09 AM | Comments (17)
February 05, 2003
worth every minute
On Thursday night, pre-Allen arrival, I was sitting in the kitchen at the Lad's, pretending to be a cockroach. I had my index fingers pressed to the sides of my forehead and I wiggled them at the Lad's back as he did the dishes. "So are we playing Get Out tonight?" asked the Lad.
"We could," I said. "But what if I'm a cockroach?"
"Well, that would complicate it."
"But see I can touch them," I said, touching the tips of my fingers together. "Not all cockroaches can do that. It's a genetic trait, like with humans how some humans can roll their tongues and others cannot."
"Really?" said the Lad, turning and calmly watching me cross my eyes and tag my fingers together.
"No," I said, "that was a lie."
The next day, I encountered the God of Cockroaches behind my coffee maker. After some consideration, I realized that my imitation of a cockroach on the previous night and subsequent discovery of one surely meant I had been hit with a rare, though temporary, prognosticative ability which the universe sometimes grants to those who are worthy. To test my theory, I tried a game of minesweeper and won without even trying.
Eight hours later, I had used up my entire allotment of foreknowledge, but my minesweeper high score is now out of this world.
Posted by didofoot at 02:13 PM | Comments (4)
Listen to this one, it's by the guys who sang "Lowrider."
This morning my boss, who sits next to me, said "Okay, Ms. Larson, I want to read you this." Then he read me the lyrics to another of his New Country songs. He reads them in a monotone, with a twangy accent which he doesn't posess in normal speech. The interesting thing is that even though he's just speaking, he still pauses and holds the vowel sounds as one would if one were singing.
He's done this before. He's trying to convert me to New Country. After every song I nod and enthusiastically say "Yeah, that one WAS good. I guess you're right about New Country." Unfortunately, it's taking a while for him to process this, so he goes on presenting me with examples. All because I was foolish enough to express a real opinion. That is the LAST time I am genuine at work, I can tell you.
After the reading, he called a staff meeting, by saying "Maria, come here, we're having a staff meeting." Maria also works next to us. She rolled her chair over and we both faced him attentively and he pulled out a book of Chinese stories from the B.C. and read us one about a man who meets a sixteen year old girl and brings her home but she turns out to be a devil and rips out his heart but luckily his wife has him revived by giving a blowjob to a homeless maniac who magically causes her to vomit up a new heart for her husband. It was a pretty good story. When it was finished, he pulled out the original book and read us the same story in Chinese. There is nothing more surreal than hearing Mandarin coming out of this big white cowboy in a Southwestern shirt and boots.
Posted by didofoot at 10:49 AM | Comments (1)
