Sweetney

website stats as IQ test.

i ask you: just how dumb do you have to be to perform an actual search engine search for “www.sweetney.com”?

people, please. you have a brain. use it.

storytime nervous breakdown.

well that didn't go so well.

what with the screaming and flailing and whining.

its not even noon yet, and i have a stress-induced headache this big.

somebody please act as my toddler interpreter and explain what these random acts of public histrionics are about. because i'm, well, dumbfounded.

to sum up: bah.

separated at birth.

i finally realized why i like brian & greg from this season's amazing race.

its because they remind me of the richie character in the royal tenenbaums. witness:

ps: that “MELTDOWN!” magazine cover cracks me up every time.

he was a poet, man.

shamelessly swiped from defective yeti...

he who embodies the lead singer of every sub pop band circa 1992.

i can't believe that constantine dude on american idol just said “during the 90s i was really into grunge.”

dude, that was BEYOND stating the obvious. like that was so stretched past stating the obvious that it now exists in a future temporal dimension of the obvious. yeah.

since u been gone redux.

[this is mostly for joel]

much has been made recently of the earwormish quality of kelly clarkson's “since u been gone.”

and so i present the related annual report from clarkson industries.

upward.

for the moment my doom and gloom is over. today its 50+ degrees and only partly cloudy. i see actual blue in the sky. things seem lighter and more manageable.

plus, well, jamie's coming home tonight TO SAVE ME.

aside: i was just outside in the backyard and found, inexplicably, a pair of tennis shoes (seemingly in decent condition) and a very old-looking rusted metal trash can stuffed with newspaper and other trash-like items (all ancient-looking, incidentally), both stashed behind some shrubs and trees in the front corner of our yard. additionally, on the other side of the fence in our neighbor's yard, there was a pink girl's bike, complete with training wheels and those handlebar streamer thingies. i can't explain why, but this arrangement of objects seems somehow sinister, and i've been thinking about it for a good while, trying to decode the significance of and relationship between these items as if they were a part of some secret language of inanimates. i'm coming up with nothing, but i felt like an archaeologist as i picked up the trash can and its bottom burst outward, showering the mulch beneath it with wet paper and flakes of corroded metal.

in other words (a condensation of my last post).

Commuting

We understand well that we must hold
our lives up in our arms like the victims
of solitary, terrible accidents,
that we must still hold our lives to their promises

and hold ourselves up to our lives
to be sure always they are larger,
wholer, realer than we ourselves, though we
must carry them.
We on this train with our lives in our laps

are waiting patiently for the next moment
and maybe we will be lifted away by our lives
as are the moments we rise up to hold with us,
or maybe we will just slacken
above our drinks in the club car chatting baseball,
all of us headed
to apply for the same job, all of us qualified,

all of us turning now into snowflakes
too delicate,
yet each holding in itself a tiny
stark particle of darkness
and weight, the heart's cinder
turning over.

-- Denis Johnson

chock full o' complaining.

boring whining ahoy! [you can just skip all of this]

as i was just saying to beth in an email, i'm totally uninspired blog-writing-wise, in case you hadn't uhhh noticed (yes, today is friend linkage day, what of it?). i think 50% of this relates to the past 4 days being a fucking marathon of primary caregiving, while the other 50% i put squarely on the shoulders of the shitty weather we've been having (shut up, weather can have shoulders if want it to -- roll with it). normally i'm not one to whine about our atmosphere and its products, but jesus fucking christ its supposed to be SPRING with average highs in the 50s-60s, but instead its been in the bone-chilling 30s-40s, with a ceaseless deluge of rain (alternating with periods of cloudy gray dullness, the kind to slit your wrists by). i just feel BLAH. specifically, that feeling of blahness that is like an itch you can't scratch... and so you're left feeling irritated and annoyed with pretty much everything and everyone. its also a form of paralysis: i can't be bothered to do ANYTHING today. goldfish crackers constitute a lunch, right?

basically, the world sucks and i'm ready to get off.

the most excitement i've had in the past few days is watching michigan state beat UK to make it to the final four last night. but of course there HAD TO BE a depressing side to this, which is that though i had two different opportunities to complete a bracket and get in on a pool this year, i didn't. man, NOBODY would've picked michigan state except me -- i'd be king of the world! woohoo! but no. and now i must suffer with the knowledge of what could've been. sigh.

jamie, if you read this, please come home. sniff.

yeah, what he said.

i'm so ridiculously sick of the schiavo thing that i'm going to let eebmore do the talking for me.

there. i feel so much better having gotten that off my chest. heh.

for my grad school pals.

some of you probably want to check this out (its the “Academic Freedom Bill Of Rights” legislation).

Unbelievable legislation attempting to be passed in Florida and California (it's pending in Ohio too) It's a law that requires Professors to teach, “serious academic theories” and allows, “students who think their beliefs are not being respected legal standing to sue professors and universities.”

RE: the Florida bill: While promoting the bill Tuesday, Baxley said a university education should be more than “one biased view by the professor, who as a dictator controls the classroom,” as part of “a misuse of their platform to indoctrinate the next generation with their own views.”

RE: the CA bill: The issue of ideology on college campuses has been sweeping American colleges for the past year, promoted by Los Angeles-based conservative activist David Horowitz. Horowitz's proposals include expanding “intellectual diversity” by mandating that colleges increase hiring of conservative professors.

yikes.

song of the week.

while an awesome song, you wouldn't really expect a toddler to dig it. yet M_ does. she even sings it, and says “YAY!!!” in applause-like fashion at its close.

that's my girl.

i'm so punk rock.

an interesting article snatched from the pitt city paper on punk home ownership.

thanks to kdiddy for the heads-up.

in which life gives me the finger.

yesterday was the last day of truman's manhood. i was going to write something mourning the loss of his boyish virility, until i thought about it for oh two seconds or so, and realized what a boon this was for our family. you see truman has, for the past month or so, been going through the dog version of male puberty, and here's what that's like: its like being trapped with a crazed lunatic midget crackhead, one who constantly rushes at your heels and nips your pant legs, repeating the same two phrases over and over again (wanna play?!?! and is it time to eat yet?!?!?). i know those of you who have met truman will find this hard to believe, but he's actually MORE insane than he was before. so yay for the snip-snip -- perhaps the loss of testosterone will take the truman volume (which now goes to eleven) down a couple notches. or ten.

fingers crossed.

in other news, jamie left last night for his best friend ravi's bachelor party in miami, where daytime highs are presently hovering around 85 degrees. [shoots self in face] he'll doubtless be whooping it up in ways i don't even want to contemplate for the next several days (oh, did i mention this “party” goes on until NEXT TUESDAY??), whilst i tend our psychotic post-op dog and [ahem, cough] “spirited” toddler.... alone. all by myself. until tuesday. oh yes, and i believe its supposed to rain like *every single day* between now and then. is it just me, or does this sound like the prologue to some sort of horror movie?

at least i'll have aqua teen hunger force (vol.1, disc 1) to help keep me company, thanks to our most beloved netflix. and its sad commentary to note that, in all honesty, its likely that watching a cartoon meatball, milkshake, and side order of fries fight crime may in fact constitute the sanest moments i'll have this weekend.

pat o'brien, we hardly knew ye.

this post from low culture, in conjunction with the actual voicemail it references (which can be obtained here), win the sweetney.com award for Funniest Shit So Far This Year.

WARNING: not in any way work safe. not for the faint of heart. don't say i didn't warn ya.

you are witness to history.

i'm sitting downstairs at our dining room table, typing this.

meanwhile M_ is upstairs in her playroom with shannon, OUR NEW BABYSITTER.

i think the word for how i'm feeling at this moment is verklempt. and oh yeah, relieved.

public service announcement.

rockheals has got some new shizzle up (jamie plans to post new content every wednesday). and again, don't be shy about submitting! any/all writing, photos, drawings, songs, what-have-you....we're all multimedia and shit! send submissions/questions to: jamie at rockheals.com

oh who are the people in your neighborhood?

we live three-doors-down from an all-black evangelical baptist church (and man can those people KICK OUT THE JESUS JAMS on sundays!), and last night i just happened to be out on our front porch as several members of the congregation left some sort of church-related gathering and proceeded to their respective cars. two older black ladies happened to have parked their super generic-looking subaru hatchback directly in front of our house, and i watched as they waddled to it, climbed in (with some difficulty), and i swear by all that is good and right in the world CRANKED Welcome To The Jungle by GnR.

cockles of heart officially warmed.

the OED defines the term 'random' as follows.

do you have a name for your computer? as in:

all of my macs* have been named 'singularity' (fitting, no?). and i've used gort's icons to symbolize it. always.

am i alone in this dorkiness?

*i suddenly feel as though i should break out into some julio englesias inspired tune, "to all the macs i've loved before..." oh bondi blue imac... oh g4 cube... oh g3 ibook...

par-tay(s).

on saturday, M_ and jamie went to our friends debbie & dave's boy nate's 1st birthday party (wait -- did that make sense?)... i was of course unable to attend due to my elderly decrepitude (i laid on the couch all afternoon watching various cable television manifestations of “show about unsolved mysterious cold case fbi files”, downing massive quantities of ibuprophen), so all i have is the following photographic evidence of the fun i was too physically infirm to take part in:

here we have M_ practicing for her role in an off-off-broadway revival of barfly.

my little cowgirl is a fan of carbohydrates + salt. in any form, really.

cupcakes with green icing! topped with tiny farm animals! kid birthday parties are the best....for those attending, i mean. because clearly for those parents putting on the party it is A HORRIBLE NIGHTMARE FROM WHICH THEY ARE UNABLE TO WAKE.

which is precisely why this (below) is one of only 4 pictures i have from M_'s 2nd birthday (thanks, debbie)... both jamie and i were so run ragged by party planning and execution that neither of us took a single stupid picture. but before you berate me for being a horrible mother, take a look at that spread! ice cream cake! homemade cookies! twix bars! let the group sugar coma commence!

next year i think we're just going to hook all the kids up to IV sucrose drips and put on finding nemo. same difference, really.

grandma needs her bengay.

i really, REALLY overdid it working in the garden yesterday.

everything hurts. but especially when moving and breathing.

mama.

song of the week.

i was utterly obsessed with this song while i was pregnant with M_ (a time of large emotional swings for me, as you'd no doubt have deduced). i swung back and forth between this song and elliott smith's independence day, which in my mind resides at the other end of the emotional spectrum.

some awesome trivia for you: the album this song is from was entirely inspired by the diary of anne frank. “know all your enemies / we know who our enemies are...” [shiver]

sharing the love.

a little something from me to you, dear readers.

“god's in his heaven -- all's right with the world.”

the atomic books blog always provides me with the best in today's news:

URBAN RENEWAL: It was touch-and-go there for a while, but sources confirm that HBO has renewed its acclaimed police drama The Wire for a fourth season. New episodes probably won't start airing until early '06, so you've got plenty of time to Netflix the DVDs. (-TV Guide)

now to those of you who have yet to watch THE BEST TELEVISION SHOW EVER MADE, i say to you: stop being such a freaking dork. go. rent. now. you dork.

check, please.

is it possible to be allergic to beer (or, rather, is it likely?)? because after last night's whopping TWO -- count em' -- TWO beers, i came home to the most fitful night of sleep i can remember. my skin felt crawly-itchy, i turned, i tossed, and then the kicker: dreamt ceaselessly about a shadowy masked slasher-type who was stalking my every move, preparing to kill me. nice, huh?

so i've had perhaps a grand total of 3 hours sleep, and hereby call today a wash. i may even nap (presuming, of course, that napping does not mean again confronting a faceless psychokiller).

in the meantime, ask me a question, tell me a story, recommend a book or movie or album... or all of the above, if so inclined.

ps: don't drink the green beer.

we are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world.

the first rule of blog baltimore happy hour is -- you do not talk about blog baltimore happy hour.

heh.

and you will know us by the trail of magazine subscription cards.

a little sumpin'-sumpin' from the NYT about stickin' it to the man, one medium coffee order at a time.

a telling little info tidbit garnered: Some groups are more frustrated than others. In 2002, Harris Interactive, a market research group based in Rochester, conducted a phone survey called the Daily Hassle Scale that asked 1,010 people to rank the aggravations they faced in a typical day. The survey found that poor people and African-Americans suffer the most stress from the everyday annoyances such as noisy neighbors, telemarketers and pressure at work, but it did not explain why.

you want to know why? ummm, might it be because our society is incredibly fucking RACIST and CLASSIST? hmm?

idiots.

rockheals.com is live.

up and running, finally... check it.

springtime in my garden of good and evil.

what i've been doing instead of quality-type blogging this past week, in pictures:

ok, so here is the backyard...FROM HELL. i have an intense love/hate relationship with our backyard, as it is quite lovely in the summer (thus producing the love), but a total bitch to take care of in spring (thus the hate). see those clumpy-looking wads of organic matter sticking out of that center island of mulch (about a half ton of mulch, please note)? that's what remains of the 11 foot tall ornamental grasses i cut down (thank you, mr. hedgehog!). it took fucking HOURS. and though it looks quite unimpressive in this state, by May those wads will transform themselves into lush green grasses that will effectively blot out the entire mulchy island. its kinda cool -- nature and shit, ya know?


here we have just a sampling of the refuse produced in cutting down that grass. we have another 6 black trash bags stacked on the side of our house full of this stuff. and yes, i know we're suffocating our lawn, what of it?

now we move on to the front yard. see all the brown mulch-laden areas? i spent hour upon hour this week clearing out a metric ton of leaves, and cutting down the dead remains of last summer's flowers. you see, all those seemingly barren brown areas will shortly be transformed into a carpet of nifty floweryness. the dude that lived here before us was a master gardener, so he not only planted all kinds of rare, weird, and exotic species, but also has everything in the garden timed: one bunch of flowers comes up, withers, and just then another bunch of stuff emerges to take its place. wish i could take credit for it, but no, i'm merely the caretaker (and a mildly inept one, at that).

crocuses? yes? no? see, i'm a complete idiot about this stuff....

another view of the garden... note the ginormous hydrangea bushes lining the front of the house, in front of the porch. deadheading those mofos was no walk in the park as well. and yes, i want a medal AND a cookie, thank you very much.

my babies! i swear to god these weren't even here a week ago... its kind of startling when living crap just emerges out of the ground from nowhere. but then i've been kind of easily freaked out by stuff like this since seeing invasion of the body snatchers a couple years back.

another view of the aforementioned killer hydrangeas, and a not-so-clear shot of our crazy mechanical bird sculpture thingy. thank you easter bunny, bawk bawk!


so in about a month or so you'll have to come by and see the transformation.... and if you want some clippings of stuff for your own garden, have at it! this shit's just gonna keep growing and expanding anyway... until it reaches the point where i have to put M_ in daycare just to have time to take care of it all.

on deck at casa de sweetney.

a brief, list-style catch-up, cast off into the ether because of current time constraints:

1. insurance companies and those who work for them should be given their own special circle of hell. i was just informed that, due to jamie's fairly minor fender-bender this winter, our car insurance rates will hereafter double. DOUBLE, people. [insert screams of ten thousand souls roasting in fiery torment]

beelzebub, be a dear and hand me the flaming poker, pentagram brander, and jewel-encrusted eyeball gouger, won't you?

2. is it just me, or does it seem to the rest of you that every day now there is a brand spanking new killing spree (new! improved!) taking place somewhere in our fair country? i can't turn on CNN without being bombarded with the details of how some dude or other snapped and decided to off himself and take a whole buncha strangers with him. *booooooooo-ring*.

must be a really nasty case of spring fever going around this year, huh?

3. seen: word wars -- an awesome documentary about crazily obsessive competitive scrabble players....who may in fact be candidates for future behavior akin to that of dudes mentioned in #2. details at 11.

4. i've been doing much trimming, raking and pruning. so why is it not getting any warmer here, dammit?

5. is anybody else watching the starlet, or am i alone in my pitiable shame, forevermore destined to live on the fringes of normal society, head hung low, averting my eyes from the gaze of passersby so they may never know the truth of the grotesque horror residing within the putrefying confines of my twisted mind? [catches breath]

6. arcade fire goooooood.

7. my phone phobia seems to be transferring somewhat over to email. see, i've never been what you'd call a phone talker. for me, its a device one uses to either gather or disperse discrete nuggets of information in brief, and/or a device one uses to make arrangements to gather/disperse information *in-person*. i do not like talking on the phone, rambling on extensively about my day, my existential dread, my hopes and dreams.... no thanks. i'm more down with: wanna meet for coffee? is 4pm cool? ok, see you then. [click] i honestly don't even like answering the phone. were it up to me, we'd screen all calls -- isn't that what an answering machine is for? but nooooooo, jamie actually wants to talk to people. sheesh. freaking communist.

so anyway, i'm finding that this behavior is slowly seeping into my emailing activities (or lack thereof). while its quite true that i often don't have the time to reply in detail to others missives, i nevertheless find myself accumulating scads of emails that i somehow feel i should respond to but don't -- emails that merit or need a reply because the sender is actually posing a question of some sort, or those i just feel guilty about not responding to because i like the person a lot or something equally touchy-feely -- these dead letters remain and rot at the very bottom of my inbox, just above all those emails with really cool/funny/interesting linkage that i *meant* to click on and review but haven't, and likely never will...WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME?!!?

8. yes, i am going to the bloggity blog blogger gathering on wednesday. and so should you.

the war raging inside me.

napoleon dynamite vs. harold and kumar go to white castle -- who wins?

okay, you're right, who am i kidding....

superman origin comix.

further amusement here.

commercial art.

spike jonze is becoming the picasso of television advertising -- check out his new spot for adidas.

via coolhunting

bloggers disco.

regarding this, i'm going to have to state the obvious and say Nirvana, “Smells Like Teen Spirit”.

because, c'mon -- how perfect would that be?

hi, mom.

this morning i underwent what i take to be a blog rite of passage. via email, my mom wrote and informed me that she has been reading my blog, and that she is not happy about some of its content.

i knew this day was coming -- inevitably someone in my fairly web-facile clan would catch on and read -- but i wasn't fully prepared for the reaction, nor had i constructed any sort of response to deal with today's familial displeasure (since this blog isn't about my family or for my family, and i rarely mention them in more than a passing way*). so, making this up as i go along, let me offer the following thoughts to family members who have happened upon this blog, or might in the future:

this blog is about me. it is not written with the intention to harm, upset or anger anyone. i have not in the past -- and will not in the future -- write anything here about my family and friends that is not meant in a spirit of affection, love and/or good humor. because the overriding tone of this blog is comic to one degree or another, it would behoove the readership of sweetney.com (friends, family, and otherwise) to read posts with good humor and in the jocular spirit they are/were intended, and to not take anything written here too seriously.

additionally, let me state for the record that this space is important to me, and that i will not be editing/deleting content in it to suit others wills. during the course of an average day, the time i spend writing here is frequently the only time i have to and for myself, and this is the reason i started writing here: to have a space of my own that has nothing to do with the daily ins and outs of being a wife and mother and all that comes with that. sure, i may write about those things, but i am writing for myself, and this time spent writing helps me remain sane. it also allows me to remain in touch with actual real live adults, since i mostly don't have the time to write voluminous individual emails to individual people, and this again helps me to feel less isolated and therefore less crazy.

i am sincerely sorry if i say anything here that upsets anyone, but recognize that *you have the option of not reading.* this is who i am, this what i think and feel, and it isn't something i'm willing to negotiate. in other words, read at your own risk.

finis.

[now back to your regularly scheduled expletive-spewing, neurotic, and overly-involved-in-popular-culture program.]

*family outside jamie and M_, i mean.

desperately seeking locals with carpentry skills.

a plea: i need to find someone (or, better yet, someones) with carpentry skills who'd be willing to donate a few hours of their time in april to help us build a stage for this summer's rock-n-romp performances. it wouldn't have to be anything too elaborate, just sturdy and big enough for our purposes.

please, if you can help -- or know someone who could -- get in touch (rocknromp at sweetney.com)!

compensation for your help in this matter will include lunch & beer on the day of the stage assembly, and free, unlimited admission to this summer's RnR shows.

THANKS!

song of the week.

an early edition, yes. but i couldn't help but spread the good word regarding M_'s new favorite song (and one of mine as well).

helping to prepare america for a fiery death.

more funniness here.

oh, the guilt.

so yesterday was my quarterly “i-am-an-utter-failure-as-a-parent” day. there was an unfortunate convergence of disparate factors: M_ caught a cold of some sort, leaving her simultaneously incredibly needy and completely and utterly unhappy with everything, including my attempts to meet her needs; pms of the psychotic-depressive variety; incredibly beautiful, warm and spring-like weather that -- due to the two previous items in this list -- we could not take advantage of (bitter? oh, a tad). anyway, at some point i just kind of gave up. and in saying that i mean that i actually, consciously thought: i give up -- i'm going to put this kid in front of the tv and let her watch until her eyes bleed. i reached that point where frustration just kind of inexplicably morphs into helplessness and apathy... because i'm a bad, bad mother, and i'd rather let my daughter vegetate before televised spectacle than confront my horrible failure to cope and try to get beyond it.

i imagine that people who don't have kids can't appreciate just how guilt-inducing parenting can be. even on a good day i think most parents are often silently haunted by the nagging sense that they aren't doing enough, aren't good enough somehow, and that whatever they did, they could have done more or better. with that in mind, you may get an inkling of just how demoralizing and shameful a day like i just described can be. it serves to confirm your worst suspicions about yourself as a parent, and consolidates all your accumulated uneasiness about your somehow-deficient-parenting into one mighty suffocating ball of guilt: see, you really are a failure. a good parent wouldn't have just given up. a good parent would've known how to handle this. LOSER! YOU SUCK!!! your kid is gonna grow up to be ______ (insert horrifying person emblematic of your failure, ie: paris hilton, charles manson, the entire population of that fox show “paradise hotel”).

so yeah, that was my past 24 hours. i'm working to get past it.

worst day ever.

okay, that's probably an overstatement. but you get the gist.

more tomorrow, when i'm (hopefully) psychologically, emotionally and physically on the mend.

one year ago.

crazyness.

song of the week.

replaying again and again in my mind, daily.

living it down.

i got an email this morning from my friend debbie, asking if i had dated a particular someone in the past (we'll call him, err, john smith), and telling me to “spill it!” looking at the name in question, i drew a blank, as i often do with names. i'm beyond horrible with names, so i simply replied that it didn't ring a bell and “what's up?”

thus began my unraveling. you see, i have a confession to make, which is that i was a twentysomething serial dater. and by “serial dater” i don't mean, oh, the typical i-dated-xperson-for-a-few-months-and-then-moved-on-to-yperson-for-a-few-months -lather-rinse-repeat. no, i mean i that in my 20s i went through men like water, like they were going out of style, like they were fresh apple pie and i was a member of the donner party. and “dating” may be too common a word for what i did. it was more like “trying people on” temporarily, searching for the right fit. as you might imagine, there was much drama involved, which at the time i kind of thrived on.

anyway, turns out that a friend of a friend of debbie's -- someone i in fact knew during my age of serialing -- had claimed i'd dated this aforementioned john smith person, as well as every other friend of theirs...or something to that effect. in my defense, the person who said this has more friends than god -- YOU probably know this person, or someone who knows them, and no, i'm not kidding -- and it would be practically impossible for me to have gone through ALL of their friends (which isn't to say i didn't give it a fair go). in any case, the disturbing thing that came up through the course of rehashing all of this is the realization that i honestly cannot remember if i dated that john smith person or not, meaning i dated so many people i can't remember them all by name.* though please keep in mind that when i say “dated,” frequently i mean something on the order of a date or two...perhaps a several-week-long ambiguous “hanging out.” but yeah. still scary.

for the record, i'm proud of none of this. i dated some really great guys who deserved more and better, and i lost friends because i was so fixated on boys that friendship was pretty frequently backburnered. i created a lot of drama and therefore mostly didn't continue being friends with those i'd “dated,” despite the fact that some of these people were amazing, brilliant and talented human beings who i'd been right in being drawn to. i regret all that, and wish the person i was some five to ten years back hadn't been so short-sighted and immature. but, well, i kind of was. uhh... sorry?

that said, in retrospect, my sordid past now seems pretty amusing, as most human trainwrecks do at an adequate distance. and what is perhaps even more amusing is that it is still talked about, as though i've achieved some kind of legendary status. i win the maneating fuck-up lifetime achievement award! wheeeee! where's my crown, motherfuckers?!?!

/end true, embarrassing confession. as you were.

*and no, i didn't sleep with all of these people, in case you were wondering. i didn't even smooch all of them. see, i have morals! bwahahahahaha!

well, that was odd.

you may recall that a while back i posted something referencing the song “magnet and steel” by walter egan.

get this: i just got an email from him, both thanking me for the “plug”, and noting his possible availability for rock-n-romp. unfortunately, the week he'll be around these parts isn't a rock-n-romp week. [weeps]*

but i'd like to take this opportunity to give a shout-out to kajagoogoo, dexy's midnight runners, gary numan, and the buggles. ya'll know where to find me.

*for those of you actually wondering if i like this song: 1)who the hell are you? 2)do you think i was born without ears or something? 3)and yet, one cannot deny the exquisite cheese factor, as rendered in its use in the film boogie nights.

corpse bride.

tim burton's next film. looks pretty spectacular, no?

the good enough mother.

some of us probably need to read this.

not me, of course. [cough]

heh.

plug for one of my blog heroes.

warning: this post actually contains sentences like “I must lubricate my vibrating 20-sided dice before the victory wenches arrive.”

just try to not swallow your tongue whilst laughter has its way with you.

yes, i actually just typed that.

ps: and yes, i have blog heroes.
pps: shut it. shut it now.

punishment gluttony.

why do i feel compelled to watch things on TV that i absolutely *know* in advance will upset me?

last night it was a nightline on autism (which had in-depth profiles of these little kids, following them through the development of their disease....so incredibly sad); today its CNN, which i'm discovering is an absolute horn o' plenty o' torment. there's the BTK killer, which -- while fascinating on one level -- gets real unfascinating (shut up, its a word) real fast when they interview the now-adult son of a victim who at 5 years old watched that psychopath kill his own mother. i'll say that again: AS A FIVE YEAR OLD WATCHED A SERIAL KILLER STRANGLE HIS MOTHER TO DEATH. and now, as an adult, he's of course pathetic and haunted -- a self-admitted shell of a man -- who says “i never would've been like this if my mother was alive.” urrrgh. oh yes, and then there's the search for a 9 year old girl in florida, taken from her own bed in the night...and you just *know* those scenarios don't end well. i fucking hate CNN's insistence on heartstring-pulling details: “nothing was taken from the girl's room except a favorite toy, a stuffed purple dolphin.” fuck you, CNN -- why don't you just rip through my chest wall, break off all my ribs, tear my heart out AND FUCKING EAT IT? heartstrings.officially.tugged. bastards.

alright, that's it. time to decompress with some fine VH1 programming (and you don't stop: 30 years of hip hop -- distinctly NOT heart-rending*).

*unless you're all about tupac or something.

housekeeping.

re: the laptop: its now taken. but thanks for the interest and stuff.

re: blogger happy hour thingy: i *cannot* believe you people. is no one going? LAMERS!

FIFTY. FIVE-O.

i have 50 gmail invites. jesus.

anybody want one? or, uhh, 5?

Baltimore Bloggy Happy Hour.

only of interest to locals, natch --

When: Wednesday, March 16th
Time: 6:00 p.m. to 'whenever'
Where: Dizzy Issie’s, 300 W. 30th Street, Baltimore, Maryland

so who's going? c'mon! hump night, man!

i probably won't be able to make it there until 7/8ish -- promise me you'll all still be there (and -- even better -- drunk)....

the runaway bunny.

its currently M_'s favorite book, so i have to read it about, oh, 20 times a day. yet somehow it never fails to dig its talons into my heart:

Once there was a little bunny who wanted to run away.
So he said to his mother, “I am running away.”
“If you run away,” said his mother, “I will run after you.
For you are my little bunny.”

so every time i read this to her, before i even crack the cover, i have to ask her “are you my little bunny?”
and she always says “yes.”