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November 30, 2002
A Five-Year Plan, You Say?
In my comings and goings, I tend keep a sort of internal running to-do list of things that I don't have time, money, wherewithal etc. to accomplish at the moment. There are big things, like my vague desire to see lots more of Earth than I have so far (possibly with the added perk of a wall map with little pins or blinking lights indicating where I've been a la your standard supervillain), or the yen to figure out some kind of job I can go to every day, not hate, and make lots of money at. These things are largely too scary to contemplate at this time. Let us, then, turn our attention to trivia: there is a laundry list of smaller things, little goals which may seem inconsequential to you but which would fill me with great satisfaction, were I ever to achieve them. Here are a few of them:
1) I will figure out how to keep new socks from turning gray and dirty-looking immediately upon being removed from the package, or, alternatively, discover that no one can do this and all those clean-looking people are just new-sock-constantly-buying posers. (Quiz time: can you guess which one of these I would prefer? Hmm?)
2) I will spend a week wearing impeccably tailored vintage suits everywhere I go.
3) I will go candlepin bowling with my very own candlepin bowling balls, inherited from my grandfather, and possibly a matching shirt.
4) I will spend a day saying aloud all the things I customarily mutter under my breath at people. Possible pre-requisite: the larger goal of developing supernatural powers, such as force fields, to deal with any potential consequences of these actions. My wit can be biting, my friends, but only because it is true.
5) I will break into song and dance in a public place, preferably one of designed drabness such as a subway platform or doctor?s waiting room.
6) I will own a hat with a light on it.
7) I will get in good with some famous movie person, and get them to take me to the Academy Awards, so that I can wear a dress from the Goodwill and when E! asks me who did my fabulous dress I can say "I got it at the Goodwill! It cost $9.99! In your FACE, Versace!" and I will pronounce "Versace" to rhyme with "her face," like from the movie Showgirls.
8) I will overcome my irrational fear of manicurists.
9) I will learn to whistle. Nope, can?t. Not a note.
10) I will go on a road trip, because I have never been on one. The destination is almost secondary to the thrill of the getting there, and the many diners and strange roadside attractions to be found along the way.
Posted by hilatron at 08:25 PM | Comments (4)
November 28, 2002
What's in that shit?
1 piece of pumpkin pie=warm, sleepy feeling.
2 pieces of pumpkin pie=brief but intense coma.
Gobble gobble gobble! I hope everyone had a nice Thanksgiving and found much to be grateful for. I hope you at least had enough to eat today, failing any obscenely overstuffed festivals. If not, drop me a line. We have pie.
-beep beep glorp waddle-
Posted by hilatron at 10:45 PM | Comments (3)
November 24, 2002
State of the Tron
Current most hated television commercial: Those damn Progresso soup ads because: 1) SO OVER that ?oh, look, I just happen to have brought some Product X with me on our weather research expedition? thing; 2) could those people be more condescending? ?Oh, just because you?re short doesn?t mean you have to act like a small child with your Chicken and Stars, silly bean!? and blah, blah. Hilatron would take their can of damn soup and cold-cock them with it.
Current favorite grocery shopping CD: Patsy Cline, The Ultimate Collection (Disc 2). ?Crazy Arms? is where it?s at, cats.
Current reason to be most annoyed about being broke: new scratch on eyeglasses.
Current compelling reason to remain broke: three-day work week.
Current least favorite personal realization: snacking preferences have outstripped daily caloric demands, thus necessitating hard choice between handfuls of Nestle Butterscotch Morsels and still being able to wear only good pair of black pants without having some socially challenged little gnome pop out of a bush with a digital camera and put picture up on The Camel-Toe Report, accompanied by an ungentlemanly assessment of the robotic physique.
Current most shameful confession: recently laughed during screening of Dharma & Greg.
Current thing missing from life: stretching and bending.
Current element of which there is an overabundance: details.
Current ?I can?t believe I?m asking this question? question: ?What we need to know is, how did the cat poo get there??
Current fashion ideal: Well-Groomed, ?20s-through-?40s Inspired, Elegant Yet Somewhat Funky and Always Comfortable, Able to Wear Grownup Things Like Skirts and Ironed Blouses, Never Resorting to Target and Old Navy Solid Color Separates Like Hilatron Does Almost Daily Girl.
Current proof that Hilatron is still not a grownup: continuing belief that bedtime is an evil plot against super-happy-funtime, despite circles under eyes and increasing level of caffeine dependence.
Current most-difficult-to-resist annoying verbal tic: saying ?Word!? in order to indicate agreement.
Current top reason why Hilatron is going to hell: thought bad thoughts about woman on phone who kept getting cut off and calling back, even though this was clearly not her fault.
Current nemesis: homeless knick-knacks.
Current household mystery: how to explain the alarming rate of soap consumption?
Current favorite thing about Boston: $3.25 for draught beer in bars, plus being able to sit down at a table in them even when you show up at 10:30 on a Friday night. In your FACE, Manhattan!
Posted by hilatron at 01:07 PM | Comments (2)
November 23, 2002
Miscellaneous bleeps and boops
Hi everyone,
It's time to redesign Blogatron. I'm thinking there are not nearly enough gears. Two things I'm sure of: 1) There will still be teal. 2) Under no circumstances will any version of Blogatron be "cutting-edge," nor will it be permitted to "pop." Otherwise, your suggestions will be gratefully welcomed.
In shameless self-promotion news, my things came from Cafe Press! They are all very thrilling. The printing quality is good. My only quibble is with the baby tee, which is a bit on the translucent side, but nothing a white bra won't fix, I trust. Or I can wear a red bra 'cause I'm so punk rock.* Anyway, the whole concept of being able to make your own t-shirts and things and get them printed on demand is just super-cool, so three cheers for Cafe Press.
*Ed. note: Hilatron acknowledges that she is not in fact punk rock, and would feel all self-conscious if she did the red bra thing.
Posted by hilatron at 01:41 PM | Comments (2)
November 20, 2002
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
In reading the last few entries here, I have noticed a disturbing trend. It seems that I am addicted to exclamation points! They're everywhere! In titles! At the end of sentences! INSIDE sentences! I! can't! stop!
One could make an unflattering comparison between me and that horrid Karyn girl, except for how I have never asked the world to pay for my freaking Prada shoe debt, of course. But the exclamation points? I'm right there with her.
This is especially disheartening because overuse of the little buggers drives me up a wall in the writing of others, and is one of my favorite things to make fun of people for. And here I am, hoist by my own style petard. Blah (see, I had to physically resist putting an exclamation point after that blah. What the hell?)
I started thinking about this problem when my mom gave me printouts of the e-mails I'd sent her while I was on a semester abroad program in Germany. How exciting, I thought, to have this insight into my adventures, a perspective on them that I might have forgotten I ever had.
Indeed. Everything was so exciting! And I did this! And that sucked! And I went there! And my room was small! And the food was weird!!! Any novelty that this window to the past might have held was eclipsed by the chattering presence of that demonic little punctuation mark cluttering up every other damn sentence. Golly gee, how glad I was to have moved on from that chatty and immature mode of communication. Thank goodness that I could express myself without such clumsy measures now!
?uh-huh. Well, my newfound sensitivity to the beastly bang led me to see things with a new eye, and, like a character from Lovecraft, or Rowdy Roddy Piper, my mind gibbered in fear at the realization that they?were?everywhere. All over the damn place, making it sound, like, totally junior high! Shoutouts to my girlz! I loooove you guys! Mrs. Biedermeyer sucks!
Cowed and ashamed, I must accept that I have been in denial all these years. I am still in their seductive grasp. It is my hope that this acceptance will be a first step in achieving a healthy relationship with exclamation points. Any treatment plans you might be able to suggest will be most welcome. I think we all know what the most important priority is here: to restore my feelings of lingual superiority. I implore you to help me get back up on my high horse. That would totally rock! You guys are the best!
P.S. Anyone who has any advice to offer on my dependency on wintergreen mints, internet discussion sites populated by morons with poor impulse control, and Elvis' Christmas Album is welcome to chime in. -Hilatron
Posted by hilatron at 07:23 PM | Comments (3)
November 19, 2002
Cut it out!
Dear Work Hilatron:
Oooooh, you have to quit doing that!
Quit thinking of things you want me to know about and sending me e-mails about them throughout the day, because I cannot TAKE the "Yay! Nine e-mails! Oh, wait, nevermind..." excitement/letdown rollercoaster anymore. You! are! toying with me!
Yours,
Home Hilatron
Posted by hilatron at 09:45 AM | Comments (0)
November 16, 2002
Meditations Whilst Gardening
Note on the title: you can?t make fun of me for saying ?whilst,? because gardening makes you technically British. It?s a known fact. So pbbbbft.
1:30pm: I think I shall do some gardening! Lah dee tah!
1:32pm: Hmmmm. The patio seems to have gone to seed a wee bit since fall started. Still, I?ll clean this up right quick and plant these bulbs and be done in a couple of hours, no problem.
1:47pm: Worm Startle #1.*
1:56pm: Aiieeee! A w?hey, wait a minute, that?s not a worm, it?s a newt. Awww, cute!
2:08pm: What the?oh. Ew. Um, sorry, Newt.
2:15pm: Wow. Three trash bags full of dead wet leaves, and not a single tree hangs over our patio. The wonder of nature! Ah well, now for the weeding.
2:23pm: Worm Startle #2.
2:28pm: ?Inch by inch, row by row??
2:38pm: Hey, these weeds are all part of one giant root system. Wow, lookit the size of that root I just pulled up. Cool!
2:42pm: Must. pull. giant. root?oof! Ow. Must not pull with entire body weight, due to the tendency to flail and fall over backwards when root breaks.
2:46pm: All the roots seem to lead back to that ?dead? stump in the middle of our garden. It is their leader! And I think it might be looking at me?
2:51pm: If I put myself between the stump and the weeds, maybe it won?t notice me uprooting its children.
3:04pm: Allllll right! Weeding done. Now time for the planting! Actually, first, a snack. Then planting. Must keep one?s strength up?
3:25pm: Back to work. I?m gonna knock this planting out in no time!
3:26pm: Worm Startle #3. [For ease of typing and reading, just insert a Worm Startle every five minutes or so from here on out.]
3:35pm: Ow. Gardening hurts.
3:41pm: Damn root. I hate you, Evil Hivemind Stump Creature!
3:57pm: My goodness, lots of rocks in this part of the garden?
4:08om: And this part, too?
4:11pm: Stupid stupid rocks! And roots!
4:13pm: WHAT is THAT? Okay, whatever that thing is, is it Good for Gardens? I sure hope not, because I would like to smash it please. Blech!
4:29pm: Getting a bit dark out. Perhaps it?s time to knock off for the day, and I?ll plant the borders tomorrow. Plus, ow, I hurt.
4:31pm: Or perhaps not, since it is supposed to SNOW tomorrow. Stupid, stupid weather!
4:35pm: Okay, all I have to do is plant the borders and I?m outta here. Nooo problem. Except that I?m out here alone, in the dark, with the Stump Demon.
4:51pm: Is that part of a shoe? That is part of a shoe. The hell? I am going to be so pissed if I find a body in here, because then police will come and mess up my house and?dig up my bulbs! Okay, look, if there is a body in here, it?s staying here, unless it?s a little girl in a white nightgown, in which case we are just going to move. Plus, I can just see the cops now: "So...you were gardening when you found the corpse, then. In the dark. A likely story indeed. I'm afraid you're going to have to come with us and answer a few questions, Miss..."
4:59pm: Did the stump just move? I think it moved.
5:13pm: I am fairly certain that somewhere, farmers are laughing at me.
5:24pm: Ow. Ow, ow, ow, also, cold and dirty.
5:45pm: Done! Woohoo! Now, to haul 500 pounds of rocks, leaves and dead wildlife to the dumpster, and shower off all this mud, and wait six months to see if all my efforts paid off. Yay!
11:00am, next day: Good morn ? ow! Ow! Ow!
*The Worm Startle goes as follows: the caveman part of the brain sees a worm and sends out the ?Aieee, a slimy squirmy thing! Eww, gross, run and hide!? signal through the system. Then the modern part of the brain chimes in and says, ?Oh, quit being a baby, it?s just a tiny little harmless worm. Plus, you?re gardening, stupid, and worms are good for gardens! I learned it in elementary school!? and then the caveman brain looks all sheepish and goes off to hit something and use up the adrenaline it generated. Back
Posted by hilatron at 05:05 PM | Comments (4)
November 13, 2002
Pimpin!
Posted by hilatron at 07:56 AM | Comments (2)
November 12, 2002
Blogatron's Promotion Plan
It has come to my attention that the Blogatron is not receiving the millions of fans and intense, almost frightening adulation which is surely its due. Now, it?s certain that if I could just bring my beloved blog to the attention of the general public, these elements would follow without fail. However, there are a few constraints on publicity. For example, the current maximum advertising budget for such a venture consists of three nickels and a ball of aluminum foil. Also, my letters to the paper and attempts to get one of those guest editorial slots at the local news channel have gone unheeded. Thus, as usual, I am forced to take matters into my own hands. Fortunately, I have a brilliant solution! I will fill this entry with scathing and inflammatory statements on hot-button issues, sure to raise the heart rates and the ire of Googlers everywhere, no matter what their political or personal leanings, and they will arrive at my site posthaste only to find themselves soothed into compliant fandom by my scintillating prose. Here we go!
Politics
Democrats are weenies!
Republicans suck!
Left-wing America-bashing self-hating communist pansy-ass no good traitor!
Right-wing war-mongering fascist racist intolerant bloodthirsty fiend!
The Bill of Rights is in danger!
Quit being an alarmist, the Bill of Rights is fine ? I can still buy a gun, can?t I?
Blowing things up is bad!
Blowing things up is good, as long as they deserve it!
Crime
Crime is really bad and we need more police and prisons and longer sentences so I can sleep in my cozy suburban home and not worry that some scumbag is going to steal my SUV/kill my children/kidnap my wife/break my windows!
Crime is not as bad as you think and could be prevented by a better educational system and more prison reform!
Revoke the death penalty!
Execute more criminals, that?ll show ?em!
Media
The damn left-wing liberal media!
The damn right-wing conservative media!
Recreation
I don?t want my kid to turn into a stupid unmotivated ?dude?-saying pothead, so if I have to take medical marijuana away from some little old lady with glaucoma to prevent that, so be it!
Legalize marijuana now so I can buy perfectly rolled, farm-grown joints at $6 a pack from Marlboro!
Entertainment
You?re restricting my freedom of speech by trying to ban ?Topless Death Match III!?
You?re restricting my freedom of speech by suppressing my right to disapprove of ?Topless Death Match III!?
Economy
Big corporations are stealing from and poisoning the individual American, socialism now!
You?re just jealous. You know, maybe if you worked hard, you could have a slice of the pie, but no, you just want to sit around griping about corporate America ? well, mind your own business and get a job and you?d better like it, health insurance or no!
Environment
Ozone layer, emissions, extinctions, global warming, pollution, overpopulation - we?re all gonna die!
Dude, chill. They?re just natural climactic variations!
Miscellaneous
You?re an idiot!
That ideological structure is for losers!
Ad hominem!
Agenda!
Fallacy!
Pbbbbt!
I hate you!
Go to hell!
No, you?re going to hell, heathen!
And, just to be on the safe side
Fresh young teenage babes supple breasts whipped cream transistor all fours ooh yeah hot monkey love spank tricycle swing splay lip thrust panties panties panties!
Please note that the opinions expressed above are not necessarily those held by this blog. That?s for me to know and you to find out, you goddamn Republican Israel/Palestine prayer in schools leftist agenda arranged marriage gay rights stud, you. Used panties cheap!
Special thanks to Josh for the idea, however it may have warped along the way.
Special thanks to Tree for the phrase "panties panties panties."
Posted by hilatron at 11:36 PM | Comments (2)
November 09, 2002
Snip snip cringe
So once again the pendulum has swung back and I?ve remembered just why it is that I do things like cut my own bangs.
Yesterday, I went to get a haircut. I dislike getting a haircut, for a number of reasons, both economic and personal. First, there?s the finding a haircut place thing. I am a girl who likes a cheap haircut, and likes to know ahead of time just how cheap I can get it. Yes, I have even been known to choose my haircut place based on the cost, unbelievable though that may sound. All I?m saying is, you?re buying something, you need to know what you?re going to spend.
Well.
The receptionists at haircut places are, I?m convinced, specially trained in that overtly nice, yet utterly snobby and demoralizing tone that is designed to make a girl feel like she?s got a big social booger hanging out of her nose, if you will. Further, this secret haircut place receptionist training cabal has informed all of the haircut place receptionists that people who want to know how much a wash and cut costs are commie bastards, so I always get the snark treatment right from the beginning as I call around trying to find that haircut place that every neighborhood has where you can get ?WASH AND CUT $15 *blow dry extra *conditioner extra *manners extra *chair extra.?
Anyway. That ordeal over, there?s the going to get the haircut itself. The beginning is quite pleasant, because you get to sit in the front and look at fashion magazines while you wait, and sure, I don?t buy fashion magazines because they are evil and oppress women, but that doesn?t mean I?m above looking through a Vogue or a Cosmo now and again. There are principles, and then there is fun. A wise consumer knows the difference.
After waiting comes the shampoo. In theory, I should like having my hair washed. It sounds like it ought to be pleasant. However, I?ve learned that for some reason, most stylists seem to have a heavy hand with the scrubbing. I?ll take a nice scalp massage any day, but damned if it doesn?t usually feel like they are trying to remove most of your hair beforehand to save time. Plus there?s the always-too-hot water, and the inevitable soap splashing in the eye, and the me being too intimidated by all the girly beauty expert authority wielded by the hairstylist, so I never speak up about my wounds. Not fun, so much.
Hair washing over, the next hurdle is my feeble attempts to convey how I would like my hair to look, and boy, do I suck at this. First of all, I?m difficult. Not once in my entire life have I ever wanted my hair to look like a picture in a magazine or, God forbid, something out of one of those ghastly hairstyle sample books circa 1982 that they keep around on a bet to see if anyone will ever pick out one of those sad, sad, overprocessed ?dos. Nope, I always have a mental image of what I want. Fat lot of good that does me since I don?t know squat about hair lingo. I mean, I was 23 years old before I ever used a blow dryer, I?m a little slow with these things. So I?ll say something like, ?Um, I want you to cut it? With scissors? Sort of like this [vague gesture in the general direction of the nape of my neck] and then I want it to angle upward? But not too much, you know? And I want my bangs to be just like this, only I want to be able to see again.? And then the hairstylist will say, ?So, you want a Freudian bob with a 10% taper towards the equator with a shag there and a shiv here, and a bi-angled upthrust near the ears?? And I?ll say, ?Um, sure,? because huh?
Then the hairstylist will start cutting and I can choose from three options: 1) Look in the mirror, fascinated yet horrified by the peculiar effect on my appearance caused by the combination of fluorescent lighting, wet slicked-back hair, and a plastic tent which bisects my neck and gives me a false double chin and the impression that my half-neck connects directly to my plastic tent shoulders; 2) Make feeble attempts at small talk, at which I suck even more than hair talk; 3) Remain awkwardly silent and gaze into my lap, periodically looking up to give the hairstylist a weak and pallid smile to reassure her that I?m not a weirdo. Yeah. That?ll work. Occasionally the hairstylist might ask me how it looks, to which I always say fine because how the hell would I know, lady? Half my hair is piled on my head in clips and the other half is clinging wetly to my forehead and semi-neck.
So, we make it through the haircut somehow, and arrive at the part that I dread the most. The styling.
I am not a girl who styles overmuch. I eschewed hair products altogether for most of my life; even now I use just a bit of gel to keep my resemblance to a haystack down to a dull roar. I like the wild abandon that comes with knowing that at any moment I could run a comb through my hair. I?m just a bohemian, I guess.
Hairstylists, on the other hand, seem to see my head as a playground for styling potential, and they are willing to fight hard for the right to partake. One thing they like to do is encourage me to tease and fluff my hair to give it ?heighth.? I do not know what heighth is, but I suspect that it is a quality much revered if you are a cocktail waitress or a porn star*, and also that it requires mousse, so no thanks, and also, did they teach you a special handshake to go with that secret language? Because 90% of the hairstylists I?ve ever met have talked to me about my damn heighth, and I can?t say that I?ve seen the word elsewhere. There?s also the conversation about parting my hair on the side, which would apparently frame my face better. Well, my face ain?t a picture, my hairstyle ideal of the moment is Louise Brooks, and my hair is getting parted in the middle. No ? no mousse, thanks. No. I mean it. No, ?a little? is not what I meant. I meant none. Besides, I know what ?a little mousse? means to a woman who PERMS her BANGS, and it?s not pretty.
Yesterday, I didn?t get off so bad. I escaped with just some leave-in conditioner, and a fairly decent haircut, so all my torment and humiliation was not in vain. I?ll definitely go back there, six months from now when I get my next haircut.
*I think that cocktail waitresses and porn stars are fine people, and I respect their right to choose whatever profession suits their fancy. I?m just glad I don?t have a job that requires excessive grooming, is all I?m saying, because I, personally, would hate that.Back
Posted by hilatron at 03:53 PM | Comments (3)
November 05, 2002
Halloween fun!
Many thanks to my lovely hostess and other friends, online and off, who made my Halloween trip to NYC so much fun! In various social combinations, we rocked the parade, the flea markets, lower Broadway's shopping hotspots, and more tasty dining venues than you can shake a stick at, if you could even lift your arm to shake a stick after eating all that food, you glutton, you. Yum! Also, hurrah to the Fung Wah Bus for getting me there and back in, well, relative safety, anyway, and for half the price of Greyhound.
Look here for The Leisure Agency's official report, complete with pictures, on the Halloween Parade, to be posted tomorrow. What fun! I heart getting dressed up and prancing before an audience, although I sure am glad I'm not famous and have to put up with it every day. Especially since I was wearing a sign with my character's name on it, and realized just how distracting it is to have people shouting your name every few feet. Almost as distracting as the hecklers, who were mostly there to hit on cute girls, it would seem. Here is the standard heckle I received: "Hey, baby, what do you do when I wind you up?" Jeeze! A girl throws on a pink wig and some false eyelashes, sticks a big fake key out of her back, and suddenly she can't take ten steps without comment. What's the world coming to?
I cannot let pass without mention the sheer fabulousness of the movie Pootie Tang, a hilarious blaxploitation/ghetto redemption/kung fu/western/superhero movie which was inexplicably ignored at the box office. Best of all, it's about The Man and how he keeps us down! Thanks to Captain Glitter Biscuit for bringing it to my attention. Sepatown!
Posted by hilatron at 05:48 PM | Comments (0)
November 03, 2002
A Girl's Gotta Do What a Girl's Gotta Do.
Evidence of the increasing housing crisis in Boston: the following personals ad placed in the Boston Phoenix 9/20/2002 issue.
ATTN LANDLORDS An elegant, tanned, sexy refined beautiful full figured brunette, 25 y.o., warm personality, seeking a discreet relationship with a landlord in the greater Boston area. Extension 6xxx
From this, we learn that sugar daddies require coppery skin tones, but not necessarily a facility with punctuation. I'll keep that in mind for the next time I move...
Posted by hilatron at 07:43 PM | Comments (0)