Le maudit Mo D.

2007 Pursuits

1) I will force myself to read and complete DFW's Infinite Jest, which has been sitting upon my shelf for a decade as of 2007.

2) I will get ripped open and rearranged in the thoracic region, so that I can wear tank tops and breathe.

3) I will complete my novel by June 1 and shop it at Austin Authors and Agents.

4) GGG will go to not one, but TWO festivals and become the darlings of improv that we truly are.

5) Bob and I will remain happily married.

6) I will get a job of some sort.

7) I will apply for a second masters for fall of '08.

8) I will be happy.

Lolita is a roadtrip novel

1) Quaker Oats, SHAME ON YOU. Your directions for cooking Medium Barley left me with overcooked, gloppy, liquidy barley for my soup. The Quaker man is an asshole in a big hat.

2) If you want to write a successful novel, make it a roadtrip novel. Lolita is a roadtrip novel, but no one thinks of it that way.

3) We're on our way to the big improv party and Bob's asleep. Our trip to Mittenland has left us loagy and lethargic. I, however, am pumped like a bicycle tire, because MR DAVID MONTGOMERY OF IO'S JOHNNY ROASTBEEF is going to be at le theatre this eve. That man is a kick in the drawers. Love him.

4) The last week of the year is always a big one for death. Lots of death. At times, I have considered a career in funeral services/embalming, because I find it interesting, but the truth is, if I had to touch a corpse I'd probably throw up. My dad worked at a mortuary for about two months during the Great Depression and indeed, the first time he had to handle a dead guy he threw up.

4a) Being so committed to the funnyman lifestyle, offering sincere condolences might be a bit of a challenge.

5) I made mushroom barley soup and it's not that great. A lot of effort for eh soup.

Time Machine

Sebadoh is playing at Emo's on April 14, in support of their reissue of their 1991 album III. Wow, can I really pretend to be back in college for a $10 cover charge? I'm so there. (They're playing Pearl St., Northampton, on March 29.)

In other news: Happy birthday, Doug!

Must run errands now.

Watch your mouth!

A trying day of air transit, folks. We left Mittenland this morning for points homeward, knowing full well that there were frightening and dodgy storm systems in the Lone Star State that might prevent ease of access to our home. Well, those studhorse pilots at Southwest really know how to deliver the goods and we are here unscathed. But some of us are not so fortunate.

Misunderstanding both the Southwest A-B-C boarding process AND the concept of manners, a woman booked on our flight got into the the C line with a B boarding pass and tried to jump the line by throwing her boarding pass at the gate agent and attempting to go down the jetway until the agent yelled at her that she was going to call security if she went any further. This malfeasant passenger became irate, hurling invectives at the gate agent, whining about "injustices" and inferring that the gate agent was not of optimum intelligence. We boarded the plane shortly after this little showcase showdown, but I did watch to see if this woman would board the plane and NO SHE DID NOT. I suspect that Chi-town's Finest had to teach her some manners and she'll be taking the Dawg down to Tejas.

I think this woman is racist (gate agent was African-American) and perhaps Borderline. I felt a little sick to my stomach after seeing that and knowing that we were in for a bumpy ride. Needless to say, Bob put it best when he said, "you don't make enemies of the people standing between you and the plane." Lesson learned: do not be rude and belligerent as you board a commerical aircraft!

My plans for the upcoming week include losing the four or so holiday pounds I gained through the endless consumption of cheese and starch before GGG's first show of the year on the 6th. Midwestern foodways are not for me.

Corny

Today was the BEST DAY EVER! Taking advantage of the fruits of my tireless and fruitful research into Michigan tourist attractions, we went to Battle Creek today to visit KELLOGG'S CEREAL CITY!

KCC is Kellogg's Corp's museum/family tourist attraction featuring the lovable and colorful characters from Kellogg's brand cereals. You know and love Toucan Sam, SnapCrackle+Pop, Cornflake Cornelius, and of course, Tony the Tiger! And they love you, too, and want you to start your day right with Kellogg's cereals.

The Kellogg's company has its roots in the bizarre world of 19th century health reforms, a la The Road to Wellville. Indeed, they had a preserved copy of WKKellogg's tract by that name. The museum portion of Cereal City alludes to, but basically glosses over, the odd beliefs and teachings of the Kellogg brothers, such as the idea that eating bland food will decrease one's sexual desire. No sexual desire here, folks. Cereal is for KIDS! Indeed, it's a fun place for the kiddies, with a play area and plenty of interactive stuff. They no longer offer a factory tour, so instead they have a simulated production line that you can go through, fully guided by some veteran Kellogg's employee (seems like the cushiest job at K-logs), which at the end of, you are given hot, freshly produced cornflakes from a gumball dispenser-looking spout.

You can pay $20 to have your portrait taken and applied to a box of Frosted Flakes. We passed, in favor of procuring a plush Cornelius and Toucan Sam. We had our picture taken twice with the guy in the Tony the Tiger suit. Cornelius is the green rooster mascot of Corn Flakes. (he represents the boring cereals, Toucan Sam represents the gross ones).

We also saw uncooked Froot Loops. They look like brightly colored balls of Playdoh. Nothing healthy about those freak-ass things. Those are colors nature intended for lizards who need to scare of predators. Not for human consumption.

I highly recommend KELLOGG'S CEREAL CITY if you find yourself in Michigan for any reason.

And you do need a reason.

We had plans to visit the Air Zoo but didn't have enough time to do both, so we ended up going to a pizzeria recommended by Juli in her college town of Kalamazoo. T'was good pizza.

I've been consuming way too much cheese.

the large child

Today was a huge day for Bob, as his longtime desire to dine at a Big Boy was quelled with a saucy Big Boy burger. I had one, too. The cook at BB really likes to apply special Big Boy sauce to burgers. The side salad I ordered left much to be desire--the lettuce was a little brown and soggy around the edges, and the ranch dressing was very gloppy. But Bob was very happy to eat at a Big Boy, and for that, I am happy, too.

We also did battle with the local Best Buy, wherein I snubbed unnamed line mores and took a place in line while Bob and my sis-in-law selected products for purchase. Then they came and got immediate check-out service. Some local shoppers were miffed.

Tomorrow is the truly exciting day of southern Mittenland tourism: Air Zoo AND Kellogg's Cereal City! Flight simulators and anti-masturbation tracts, oh my! Seriously, I am really hoping that they make mention of Dr. Kellogg's health reformer quackery (cold showers, preventing masturbation, calisthenics out in the cold!) alongside the stories of their adorable spokesanimals like Tony the Tiger and Dig'Em. I plan to get a retired Sugar Smacks mascot Smaxy the Seal plush toy. Smaxy, I never knew ye, but I will add you to my family of stuffed friends because you're old and no one my age remembers you.

warm as a mittenland

Merry Xmas! Unlike the xmases of my youth, no one is crying, and no one has been threatened with castration. There is no Mexican girl hired to clean up the mess to call a whore, and people are not hiding in the bathroom. There is tons of food of the Polish variety, and everyone got presents, and I did not get a $5 bill or a pillow in a trashbag. This is a good Christmas!

We're near the elastic part of the mitten. Berrien County is a series of unfamiliar trees, a long and touristy coastline with "beach" (californian must put quotes around beach, as it is sandy and beachy, it's Lake Michigan..come on!) I was hoping for a little snow, but no such luck. It's about ten degrees colder than ATX and everyone's lawn is green.

I'm pretty much obsessed with Bob's mom's pierogis. They are doughy and contain cheese and sauerkraut and fried in butter and onions until delicious. The entire family stayed up until 2am (my mom would have been asleep by 9:30) opening presents and eating. That's Christmas!

Le maudit's year-end clearance sale

1) Where did you ring in 2006?

ATX, baby!

2.) What was your status by Valentine's Day?

Engaged to be wed to BOOOOOOOOOOOB!

3.) Were you in school (anytime this year)?

I worked at a school, and I took some classes, but I was not "maTRICKulatin'" or nothing.

4.) How did you earn your keep?

Inhaling dust, being funny, reading microfilm.

5.) Did you have to go to the hospital?

Not in an emergency sort of way, but I did get a CT scan and a lung functions test.

6.) Did you encounter the police?

Yeah, when the Hideout had a bomb scare!

7.) Where did you go on vacation?

Oakland, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, PEI, Ontario, Northampton, Boston, San Diego, Fresno

8.) What did you purchase that was over $500?

A wedding. Add a zero to that number and multiply by two.

9.) Did you know anybody who got married?

Me.

10.) You know anybody who passed away?

Yes. No one my age, though.

11.) Have you run into anybody you graduated high school with?

Online, but not in the flesh.

12.) Did you move anywhere?

I wiggled around, but I did not change domiciles.

13.) What sporting events did you go to?

Mojo Kickball. OoB minigolf.

14.) What concerts did you go to?

I saw 21,000,000 improv shows and The Diamond Smugglers.

15.) Are you registered to vote?

Yes

16.) If so, did you do your patriotic duty on November 7?

Of course.

17.) Where do you live now?

ATX!!!

18.) Describe your birthday.

Dirty Thirty. There was cake and oldness. And sushi. And we went to see Sinus the night before.

19.) What's the one thing you thought you would never do but did in 2006?

Got married, wrote 3/4 of a first draft of a novel.

20.) What is one thing you regretted this year?

This summer's nosedive in the mental health department.

21.) What's something you learned about yourself?

Nothing I care to discuss publicly, but I learned A LOT about myself in 2006!

22.) Any new additions to your family?

I married into a large Polish clan, so I guess me. No babies. I know people who had 'em, though.

23.) What was your best month?

August! I saw lots of my friends AND got to go to atlantic Canada!!

24.) What from pop culture will you remember 2006 by?

I will remember mop culture: wring the head before applying to the dirty floor.

Xmas Pron

I just returned from the annual Xmas Pron show, hosted by local celeb (and Jewish person) Jerm P. I don't know why I dig Ron Jeremy so much. He came to Austin to promote his documentary back in '01 and I stood in line to see the guy. I didn't get an autograph, but he did come out and talk about "fuck films" and ennumerate the ladies he's had on-camera relations with. Indeed, my favorite part of the show was Ron J. beating off in a Santa suit. I'm a sicko.

Inspired by the recent NYTimes article about pancakes, my friend Nadine invited a bunch of ladies over this morning to consume pancakes. She did not use the Times article, but one from Cook's Illustrated that involved separating the egg and beating the whites to foamy peaks and then mixing the foamy peaks with melted butter. And then frying the pancake itself in vegetable oil. As you can imagine, the 'cakes were rich and fluffy and oh-so-buttery.

I have resumed noveling.
Some people are getting gifts in January and that's just how it's gonna be.
I am waiting to make my donations until the new year for bogus tax reasons.

water bottle of destruction

Back in the halcyon days of 1994, Smith College instilled in its students the deep and stomach-churning fear of being "culturally-insensitive." Indeed, say black, say something intolerant of lesbians, forget to attach "-American" to someone's non-European ethnic designation and you could find yourself spending the rest of the season out on the bench for good. In order to beat these tendencies from its crop of first-years, fresh from the racist, sexist, homophobic farm, all new students were forced to spend six hours under the influence of a bunch of future social workers with bad hair trained by Enceebee-I. (Note: a check to their website shows that Smith is no longer their client)

This brand of "diversity training" involved sitting us down in a circular formation and trying to out the lesbians and make everyone cry. Women of a certain skin tone were singled out first, and asked to "testify" to a time that they confronted racism. Then we were asked who in the room identified as lesbian or bisexual. Only a handful of people stood up. Then we were given a huge schpiel about homophobia and how painful and awful it was. "Would someone like to come up here and cry about a time they confronted homophobia?"

There was a woman among us who came from a poor family but had a scholarship to go to a swank private school where all the students had their own BMWs and designer clothes. "I want you to hold my hands and vent," the leader instructed her. I got the feeling that the leader would not be satisfied until this woman started crying. "So you couldn't afford that Gucci handbag, and how did that make you feel? Don't hold back! Let it out!" Was the point of all this to see someone cry over lack of social tolerance so you'd feel something. It felt manipulative. I felt sorry for this girl, not because she couldn't afford a Gucci handbag, but because she was being put over the barrel by these touchy-feely fascists to prove someone else's point.

There was a woman in my house that year who didn't finish at Smith but was hilarious when she went up to talk about how "different" she was. "So you had a punkish hairstyle and none of the kids at school would accept you for it. You just wanted to express yourself. Feel free to vent."

"Yeah," she said in a casual, gum-smacking way. "I, uh, was okay with it. Kids at my school were assholes. I'm over it."

"No," the instructor lept forth for her hands. "Hold my hands and vent! Tell us how you really felt!"

She shrugged. "It's over. I'm really okay with it."

The instructor really wanted everyone to end up a crying, heaving ball on the floor over whatever there was about them that they couldn't change. Please tell me how THAT helps anyone? And what about all the lesbians who wouldn't talk to the straight girls, the turbo-Christian Korean chicks who told the rest of us that we were going to hell, and the sisterhood of sexual abuse survivors who had no tolerance for those who hadn't suffered what they had? I guess Enceebee-I had nothing to offer them in terms of coalition-building. Hmmm.

At the end of the six hours, we were each given a water bottle. I wish I still had mine so I could laugh at it.

vitriol is ironic

FYI, my last post is meant to be "funny" like "funny ha ha." We mean no vitriol to the other distaff musical improv team. Vitriol is meant to be ironic. We fully intend to hang out with them and perhaps consume alcohol with them.

Damn, when you request "expedited shipping" from Apple, those dudes EXPEDITE. I was told my new MacBook would arrive before 10:30am and the FedEx dude came around at 10:24 bearing my new novelizer. WELL...isn't she a beaut. Macs are so friendly. So huggable. So cuddly. Of course, the home network is telling my new Maccy-Waccy to go fuck itself. I think it might work if I walk it down to the coffeehouse. Until there is network and/or Mac-rosoft Word, I cannot novelize on my new pooter.

I feel like a character in a Coupland novel. I love feeling like a character in a Coupland novel. Mac really makes you value design.

In 2007 I will not only be writing my novel, I will also be working on a forthcoming nonfiction project AND getting my chest ripped open and rearranged. All that R + R recovery time will allow me to watch all the movies I've missed out on over the past decade and force myself to be creative while using painkillers.

Yeah, I think I'm going to get my chest ripped open, like a cheap bag of potato chips, and let a qualified surgeon doodle around with my hurt, bendy sternum.

Man, I have been having untoward cookie dough cravings of late.

So...who have you studied with?

My improv instructors have been (in no particular order)

Sean Hill
Shana Merlin
Kasey Klemm
Matt Stanton
Joshua Raoul Brody
Rebecca Stockley
Erika May
Asaf Ronen
Mac Antigua
Jason Chin
Jeremy Lamb
Rafe Chase
Ed Iliades
Karen & Karen from goga
James Bailey (dating back to high school)
Eric Hunnycutt
Jen Cargill
Justin York
Michael Jastroch
Chris Trew
and to a certain, informal extent, Dyna Moe

That's a lot of training. And most of that took place in Austin.

Mittenland Tourism

I've been scouring Mittenland tourism websites, and am pleased to announce that we are going to Kellogg's Cereal City in beautiful downtown Battle Creek, MI. We are also going to the Air Zoo to enjoy fighter pilot simulations and hamburgers.

Saturday was Shana's much-awaited Sex and Improv workshop, in which there was a lot of kissing. In fact, I kissed seven different people yesterday. How's that for improv sluttery? We discussed creating sexual tension through physical closeness as a way to create captivating scenework. Indeed, there was a lot of captivating scenework done, esp. J-Rat and KC's nonpervy babysitter scene. Shana provided Altoids.

After a kissy Saturday, I resumed to my normal kissing diet of Bob Only, and watched the Edmond Bulldogs show. EB are surreal, awesome, and on MTV Overdrive. They are on the up-and-up and I wish them totally 100% The Best in their ascent to stardom.

This week I am acquiring a MacBook, my first Mac since 1991. I'm sure I will love it.

drinko

I don't drink. I just don't like it. I know this is contrary to local custom and rules of social interaction, but it's true: alcohol just makes me feel fat and sick. Apparently both of my parents were like this, too. My dad was an avid oenophile but he never went any harder than whatever Jadot vineyards were offering. So perhaps this is genetic.

The thing is, by not drinking, I am removing myself from the beautiful honesty that drink provides. It seems that not a year passes without being told by a souced friend or acquaintance how much they like me. Would they share that with me if they were sober? Probably not. I generally don't go around telling people how much I adore them, even if I do. Perhaps I should construct a list? I'd probably leave a few people off and hurt some feelings.

The CT party was fun last night. Bob dropped trou. He planned to do this, and double-bagged for the occasion, lest his manparts get cold. Fred B. was his usually flattering self and told me I look "Etruscan." I guess it's the nose, which is of Armenian extraction, which makes me resemble a harvester of olives.

I haven't minded my novel in over a week: BAD. Orson and Olivia must be PISSED, since I left them hanging at the point where Orson and Dahlia disappear... I think I want to start my second draft already. I still don't know how I'm going to swing this crime/kidnapping thing. And I also need a new LAPTOP. ARGH!

more anti-linux quips

1) I can't use Linux unless Bob's around, because I have to keep asking him what things are. If he's not around, I feel like a Hungarian tourist wandering aimlessly trying to find a post office or a cafe. Huh?

2) Linux=a shopping trip to the Seventh Day Adventist food store and being told that instead of a hot dog, I have to have a soy-based GrillerTM. I know what I want but some faceless lame-ass entity has given it a slightly different name. Linux=soy-based false meat analog!

I understand that, as Bob's wife, I am treading on shaky ground publicly admitting that I'm sitting around pining for Windows. Mostly I'm just pining for MY computer, which has all my sexy music and photos on it. Linux challenges my pride and independence.

mystery crust

Whilst in Cali, my mom went to KMart and bought me some prepackaged waffleweave thermal shirts for use during slumber. I run on a deficit of wintery jammies. Living in Roastmont, Texas, I find that my wardrobe skews towards the short-sleeved and -panted. I am wearing one of the waffleweave shirts and I am noticing that it has a mysterious crusty brown stain upon it that I suspect is ear wax. Or perhaps a treasure that fell out of my nose last night. At any rate, I don't know what it is. It's not food--I don't usually eat in my jammies. But there it is: a brown, crusty reminder that the human body is ever-evolving and ever-dissolving.

I went to my old work today. Like old times, only today I had the microfilm suite all to myself, and I made use of my iPod whist scrolling through pages and pages of old New York newspapers. I didn't find what the professor was looking for, but I did discover a product from the 1940s called the Unguent Monique chin strap, which was a product in which youth-seeking ladies of the midcentury applied a fragrant, nourishing ointment to the cottony cradle of a chin strap and then strapped it on at bedtime in hopes of fending off the fearsome spectre of neck waddle. I will now try to score one off eBay.

Speaking of fragrant, nourishing ointment, I like this "liquid powder" stuff T-square "scent" me. She indeed formulated a smell just for me, and it is a good smell, sort of musky Indian spice with a hint of Stevie Nicks singing "Rhiannon." If that had a smell. Actually, the smell reminds me of the yoga studio I used to go to here in Austin.

Thank you cm & kc for your computery advice. I think I might go with the Mac.

working girl

I have a freelance research job. I get to get up early like the good ol' days, report to the old place of employ, and do some research for a professor at a Chicago-area school. I am looking forward to this. Sometimes I miss the world of scholarly work, and it feels nice to get my hands on some archival materials. I prefer to be on this side of the desk, the user-side.

Both of my computers are hurt or dead. Desky is in the hospital receiving a transplant or two. Lappy is headed for the funeral home. Lappy, for being frequently denounced as a piece of shit, did survive four golden years of nearly problem-free service. Most laptops turn into cranky geriatrics well before that. Desky is only a year old, so I expected more from Desky. My most problem-free piece of computer equipment was indeed my 1991 Macintosh Classic, the boxy, tan, and squat guy with the tiny black and white screen. That bugger just kept going. I am considering a MacBook but have heard that they are about as reliable as an '87 Jaguar. I was also considering a Toshiba, having heard that Consumer Reports gave them a thumbs-up, but we have a friend with one and apparently it has required home soldering.

In the meantime, I am using Bob's laptop, which has Linux on it. Linux and this laptop does not support my favorite thing about my computers, which is audio. Using Linux reminds me of what it must feel like to grow up Jehovah's Witness--you can't have the things the other kids have based on some system of religious beliefs you don't really share. I really just want to celebrate Christmas and my birthday, wear normal clothes and use Windows like everyone else. (Sorry, Bob!) Linux just seems foreign to me, and I do not want to learn new tricks based on what an asshole Bill Gates may or may not be. I opened my novel up and it was in (gasp!) AbiWord, and I just wanted to cry. It's like finding carob in your cookie. Linux=carob.

Last night the Geegsters had their end-of-the-year bash, complete with Mexican food, shiny rhinestone rings from Sara F., and a bright pink cake! The D. Smugglers were beyond hilarious and awesome. They really put on a good show.

The return of my beloved Bob into my daily life has risen my happiness levels! I hadn't seen him in over a week until last night, then I only got to kiss on him for a few minutes before I bopped off to my party. He makes the bed warmer and my world brighter. Yay!

not everyone can carry the weight of the world

Women are tired. Yes they are.

I received bad customer service today from two very tired women who just wanted me to go away. And I had to complain. And thanks to the negligence of one woman, I got free sheets. Thanks. I am reminded of the time that our acquaintances the millionaire doctor family won the California lottery and we were all, "fuck them, they don't need to win the lottery." The low-wage earner accidentally gave me, Lady of Leisure, free sheets. And I feel terrible about it, I really do. But I'd rather this corporation eat the cost of my sheets than have low-wage earners mess around with my credit card number and charge me again for the sheets I paid for and then got refunded for even though I still own the sheets.

I am really tempted to go to business school. I have a nose for this shit, and though I'd hate the people, I'd be good at it. RULE #1: hire SMART people at a LIVING WAGE so they don't FUCK UP and not charge people for sheets. The thing is, so many people are just so beleagured and exhausted that all they can do is watch the clock. It wasn't so much that this woman wasn't smart, she was just TIRED and therefore didn't care that she had just given me free sheets. People are so tired these days. People need more sleep.

Arrghh...

I've been in F-town lo these past few days. Now I am home in A-town. Halleluljah. F-town is ugly and plastic as ever. I had a hacking cough the whole time, owing to their atrocious air quality. But I got a lot of good stuff for my novel. Some things I had forgotten about, some things I had to see again. Man, even rich people are tired. They make themselves tired making themselves rich. Being the good liberal I am, having been the grandchild of multimillionaires who grew up on food stamps and public assistance, I am inclined to not compare the exhaustion of being poor with the exhaustion of protecting your assets. But having seen both, the American way of life seems to demand that we ruin ourselves to live. Things that were easily attained many years ago are now only in reach if we make a deal with the credit devil, if we kill ourselves with work. In Fresno, work looks like suicide, when you've got millions on the line, a hundred investors breathing down your neck, and all you can do is drink and try to find redemption in the things you buy.

The thing is, if I went to business school, I'd be in it to make things fair, not to make a shitload of money. Everyone would hate me, because things will never be fair.