Notes from the Under...stimulated

Nothing Crude About It.

everyone. gather 'round. please, read this The End of Oil by Paul Roberts On Personally Expedited Cognition. (OPEC, for short). enough with the $50/barrel laughs: seriously, read this book. now.

here're a couple of reviews/articles to tap your inner geyser of interest:

Interview with the author, Paul Roberts

a review by bookslut

NPR interview (audio file)

ps. for the Six Feet Under watchers, yeah yeah, i know Geology George is annoying and is constantly talking about the end of oil and water blah blah blah and he's crazy AND boring (a hard combo), but this book is nothing like this fictional character. so, screw james cromwell and his gigantic grasshopper body, and leave your Six Feet Under biases behind.

The city really smells like garbage this morning.

and i mean that literally, it's hot and the trash cooking on the street STINKS. not, like, as a dig at all the republicans in/around town. although everyone's free to interpret what i write in their own way....

BEST THING I SAW THIS WEEKEND: two extremely british, maybe even welsh or scottish, old school tourist gaping at the shiny, swirling rims on an escalade outside my apartment. reckon they don't have 'em in the marshland, eh matey? (so shiny! so swirly!)

ALCOHOL IS A BAD THING.

a very, very, very very very very veryveryveryveryvery very bad thing.

did i mention very? and bad? yeah. i stand by that statement. and by stand i mean sway, nauseously.

She said poop. heh.

A new link begets a new mom. or vice versa. check out Megs The Pregs new blog via the link to the left, The Real Poop.

People I've Not Yet Spotted In My New West Village Neighborhood*:

- Matthew Broderick

- Liv Tyler's husband

- A Beastie Boy

- Four of the Fab "Queer Eye For the Straight Guy" Five

- David Sedaris shopping with his sister across the street

- Frat boys

- Bilbo Baggins

- The parents of the 62 children who live in the rent controlled
apartment below mine

and

- Someone who waits on the line at Magnolia Bakery WITHOUT exclaiming
"I can't believe I'm waiting on line for a cupcake! I JUST CAN'T
BELIEVE IT!"

*dude. if mcsweeney's can post lists. so can i. i'd venture they'd be the first to laud derivative writing. and if not, here's a list of things i'd tell 'em:
-shove it.
-there are more than enough lists to go around.
-DON'T MAKE ME COME OVER THERE.
-shut UP, DAVE!
-i hate you, but i love you. WHY?
-i am NOT buying your book of recycled articles. AM NOT!

Simple Pleasures In Life

-being the lowest floor in an elevator bank, so you never have to stop before you need to get off.

-getting to the subway platform just as the train pulls in.

-not thinking you have an umbrella, only to see that in fact you put one in your bag that morning

-finding some money in your pocket

-being really stressed/orally fixated and having a whole new pack of gum BURSTING with flavor to chew through as you stress and orally fixate

-getting a lot of GOOD internet email on a boring day

-getting ACTUAL mail on any day

-free diet coke

-a pen from bberg with a laser in it

-leaving work early because you took a tylenol pm at 4 in the afternoon.

-waking up to no back pain! (<-- this one i'm speculating on. i wouldn't ACTUALLY know.)

I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream for...

...The Scream.

Munch's Scream (and Madonna) were stolen from a museum in Oslo this weekend. i meant to put this up earlier, but was blinded by the searing pain in my back.

The 'Scream' has been stolen before "in 1994 [where it had] been hanging in the National Gallery, also in Oslo, when burglars entered through a window before opening time." This time gunmen just pulled the paintings off a wall and drove away... in an audi. To which i say "there's Norway people can be Oslo in updating security levels in museum." i also say, that's what socialism'll get ya!

oh. and i also absolve myself of the responsibility of making any sense today.

STATUS: CLENCHED-JAW WORTHY

so this one time? at band lacrosse camp-- lacrosse spring break tournament, rather -- my coach was spending an inordinate amount of time with the offensive* players and the other defenders and I got supremely bored in the hot Panama "The Redneck Riveria" City, FLA sun. so we were jibba jabba-ing something about who could carry whom, in a purely THEORETICAL way, and my teamates Michelle (6'1") and Brooke (5'11") were arguing over whether they could lift each other. Because Brooke "She's a Brick House" B___r had poor self image and needed constant reassurance, she asked me (5'4") if i thought i could carry her. "Sure." i replied, afraid of pushing her over the emotional edge. before i could purse my lips and nod in agreement with my own false, yet affirmative statement, Brick House jumped on me. like right into my arms. unsuspecting, my first reaction was TO INDEED TRY AND CARRY HER. BIG MOTHER FUCKING MISTAKE. my back spasmed. my legs nearly buckled. i dropped brooke and fell to the dusty ground, writhing in pain.

dude. i've done it again. no, not had a wildly inappropriate conversation about the otherwise unlikely event that i'd need to carry someone almost double my height, but WRENCHED my back. i cannot move. i can't walk. i can't bend over. i CAN take advil, but SHIT, even the liquid-love kind isn't cutting it. i'm like an 85yr old lady stuck in a 25yr old's body. i need a massage, a vicodin, and a time machine to tell brooke "NO FUCKING WAY CAN I CARRY YOU!" ouch. the exclamation point was too much *wince*.

*some were truly offensive, actually.

MATCH.COM MIS-FORWARD UPDATE*

they just printed out a life-size, color picture of "i lost my keys" the 280lbs but only "carrying a few extra pounds" guy from her match list. and taped it to the wall.

i gotta say: looks like it's only going to get worse from here.

*this one's for you, AC.

Things I've Done Today. Where Today is A Super Slow Day in August.

- Hit F5* on the gmail homepage like 1,732 times.
- stepped in and out of my macro page pretending to do something in excel when all i'm really doing is stepping in and out of the macro.
- pretended to read some reseach, but really worked on a print-out of the NYT crossword puzzle.
- gone to the bathroom seven times.
- had 7 free diet cokes (i don't think there's any chicken or the egg conundrum going on here)
- Fucked up the one thing i actually had to do.
- didn't care that i fucked up the one thing i had to do and went back to checking if i had email.

ah summer. hot town, summer in the city, back of my neck hurts from pretending to do work for 12 hours a day... la la lalalalalaaaa la....

*DUDE. it's refresh. MEB, at least, i know you're all "F what now?"