Month: January 2005

Good book.

The Curious Eat Themselves, by Jon Straley*

“She had the wobble-necked look of a self-aware drunk who fully understands reality is basically an ironic joke that no one else gets. She looked around at the early morning crowd and announced, ‘I need a line of cocaine as long and fat as my arm and I’ll do anything to get it.’

“I have since learned that in the terminology of the recovery movement this is called being ‘really fucked up.'”

–A description of the narrator’s ex, who’s now a born-again Christian social worker.

This is a murder mystery/detective novel. I liked it–okay, mostly I ate up the style and didn’t worry about the who dunnit, so I can’t say whether it was all that hard to solve or not, and it’s not one of the immortal novels whose main character will live on through the ages, but I liked it. Satisfying and writerly. A good book.

*The title comes from a line of poetry by Roethke, The Proverbs of Purgatory.**

**I didn’t just know this. I looked it up. My coworkers have developed the idea that I am the font of all trivia. Dude. If they only knew my friends.

Personality Test.


Wackiness: 42/100

Rationality: 56/100

Constructiveness: 34/100

Leadership: 64/100

You are a SRDL—Sober Rational Destructive Leader. This makes you a Mob Boss.

You are the ultimate alpha person and even your friends give you your space. You can’t stand whiners, weaklings, schlemiels or schlemozzles. You don’t make many jokes, but when you do, others laugh out loud. They must.

People often turn to you for advice, and wisely. You are calm in a crisis, cautious in a tempest, and attuned to even the finest details. Yours is the profile of a smart head for business and a dangerous enemy.

You have a natural knack for fashion and occupy a suit like a matinee idol. Your charisma is striking and without artifice. You are generous, thoughtful, and appreciate life’s finer things.

Please don’t kick my ass.

Of the 83896 people who have taken this quiz since tracking began (8/17/2004), 3.6 % are this type.

(via ***Dave.)


I quit chewing my fingernails.

Now I have to stop sticking my fingers in my mouth so I can not chew my fingernails.

It’s called a nervous habit for a reason. When stuff gets on your nerves, you do your nervous habit so it won’t get on your nerves. When you stop doing your nervous habit, stuff gets on your nerves, but you can’t do your nervous habit, which gets on your nerves. It isn’t the fingernails. It’s finding something else to do.

The first day, I was pissed. At everything, everyone, everywhere. I ate a lot of chocolate. It’s getting better.

The other day, someone was getting on my nerves. I stuck a finger in my mouth. I took it out. I stood up and told her, as tactfully as I could, that it was getting old and she was getting on my nerves.

Damn it.

…And then she stopped.

Waiting for spring.


Everyone was sick last week, then better, and now Ray’s sick again, so I’m stuck home today.


Don’t want to wash any more laundry.

Don’t want to clean smelly, disgusting stains off furniture.

Don’t want to wash the dishes.

Hm…let’s try screwing with the blog code…come up with something more…purple.



How to tell a story, 3-year old version:

Start with “Once upon a time.”

Then something terrible happens.

Then something else terrible happens.

As soon as sommething good happens, say “The End.”

…Once upon a time, the two hand-spiders were chased by terrible bears and terrible snakes and had lots of adventures, but then they escaped and had cake. The end. For some reason, cake is the best thing that can happen in a lot of stories.

New Year.

Finish novel. Submit. Start Best of All Possible Beauregards.

Stay on track for buying a house, shoot for mid-year 2006.

Pay attention, especially to my daughter, who has trouble saying what she means, and to my husband, who sometimes does, too.

In general, do the things I tell myself, wouldn’t it be a good thing to have this done? Unless they’re just too dumb to do.

Tom Waits.

New album, Real Gone. On Rhapsody, the mini-review: “Real Gone sounds like the cut end of corrugated metal: in other words, it’s instant vintage Waits. — Sarah B.” Granted, the review was probably written by someone who considers Bone Machine vintage Waits, but a good assessment. Not as good as Mule Variations, but there you go.

“There’s only one reason you write new songs. You get sick of the old songs.” Tom Waits.

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