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December 30, 2003
A list of funny things
Because life could use a little humor right now:
1) A little girl in the store this weekend, chanting “I have a TEMPerature…I have a TEMPerature…” over and over in a delighted voice.
2) The laziest thing ever? A woman in the parking lot of my building this morning put two bags of trash on the hood of her car in order to drive them the 30 feet to the dumpster. I know Bostonians love their cars but this is taking things to the point of surreality.
3) A co-worker’s lunch in the refrigerator today is labeled “Chicken Feature #4.” Which is the fourth feature of the Chicken? The beady eyes? The scaly feet?
Posted by hilatron at 10:58 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
December 29, 2003
Candles for your cake
Happy birthday, sweetie! You're the best, even if you never update your blog.
Posted by hilatron at 07:16 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
December 25, 2003
Merry
The wrapping is the best part.
Mmmm, Beef 'n' Bundt Breakfast.
Posted by hilatron at 02:07 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
December 23, 2003
No place like home.
Can't someone besides the fabulous EV send me some music suggestions, now that I'm feeling all homesick?
Posted by hilatron at 07:56 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
December 22, 2003
What the Kids Are Listening To.
Dear readers:
Do you know how long it has been since I've bought or acquired any new music? So, so long. I don't even know where to start, other than really really wanting UnEarthed.
I humbly request your suggestions as to what a robot might buy (or, you know, liberate in some fashion) so that she, too, can be one of the cool kids. What makes you happy? Why? Is it suitable for rocking out, preparing for a fancy-dress party, or malingering? Any advice you can offer on moving past my rut (however fabulous a rut it may be) of old-time R&B, jazz, classic country, and lady singers is also much appreciated.
Yours,
Hilatron
Posted by hilatron at 07:43 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
December 21, 2003
Record: Straight
So apparently, I completely fabricated the story about my grandmother handing down the gingersnap recipe, the "closely guarded family secret" element, the whole thing. My mom reports that the gingersnap recipe came from a woman in Illinois, whose own gingersnaps weren't that great because she omitted one key step during the mixing process.
This is disturbing because a major feature of my self-image is that I usually have a firm grasp on reality, in distinct contrast to 90% of the human population. Hmm. Perhaps too many heartwarming holiday have scrambled my circuits? Maybe.
Posted by hilatron at 04:29 PM | Comments (4)
December 19, 2003
Martha Stewart wouldn't make it past three a.m.
Don't ask me how "Let's put the final touches on the homemade presents we're sending to family" turned into The Great Christmas Craft Extravaganza and All-Night Marathon of 2003, but there you are. 7:30 this morning found Josh and I, bleary and giddy, sitting in Martin's Coffee Shop giggling hysterically and eating mountains of eggs while we waited for the post office to open.
At some point last night, I talked to a cookie long enough for it to stop being funny and start being alarming. Then Josh invented the Genesis Knot, but I'm sure you'll hear about that when they cover the Nobel Prize. I have pictures, but will refrain from posting them until after Christmas in case any of Josh's clan read this. I would like to personally thank my family for deciding to have Christmas-in-January, because if I had had to mix up another batch of batter I would have cried. Speaking of which, there's something I need to get off my chest, polite decorum be damned:
I do not ordinarily like to brag, but if I don't make the best gingersnaps in the known universe, just you tell me who does. Seriously, all you pretenders to the gingersnap throne? Bring it. I have no fear*. If baking gingersnaps were a money-making skill, I would be freaking Donald Trump by now.
This burst of ego was probably brought to you by my stupid biorhythms, which seem to think I should be awake just because it's a quarter after one. I only went to bed at nine!
Before I blah blah blither my way off to the kitchen for a bagel, let me add the customary plea to the post office gods: Be kind to our packages, please. I mean an ALL-NIGHTER. It would be very sad if all that effort went toward boxes full of crumbs.
*Except of course for my mom, since she gave me the recipe, handed down by my grandmother. Who would probably be royally pissed that I even discussed the recipe in a public forum.
Posted by hilatron at 01:18 PM | Comments (8) | TrackBack
December 16, 2003
Drop This in Your Mailbox, You Bastard.
Dear Insufferable Prick Who Cut Me in Line at the Post Office and, When Verbally Confronted, Blustered, Refused to Make Eye Contact, Offered Paltry Excuses, and Finally Said "Just Stay Put. You'll Be Fine." in the Most Enragingly Condescending Tone I Have Ever Heard:
I believe in karma. (Erectile dysfunction.) I believe in karma. (Neck snapping under the weight of your own entitlement.) I believe in karma. (Computer virus which installs kiddie porn on your work computer.) I believe in karma. (Ass-kicking at the hands of a twelve-year-old girl.) I believe in karma. (Burly, threatening man with time-consuming, but ultimately trivial, problem cuts you in line at the emergency room while you wait to be seen for what is discovered posthumously to be a rare, incredibly painful, but cureable form of food poisoning which you could have been saved from had you only received medical attention five minutes earlier.)
The Frothing, Seething Opposite of Love,
Hilatron
P.S. Stay put? Stay PUT?!?! Fuck you, fucking fuckwit.
Posted by hilatron at 03:48 PM | Comments (8) | TrackBack
December 15, 2003
Bargain Shopping for Science
I recently scored a tube of Lower Body Blaster™ from Blisslabs, known to many of you, no doubt, as that overpriced line of trendy urban beauty products geared toward people looking to extend their trophy-wife shelf life a few more years, investment bankers desperate to figure out what to do with the extra money left over each month after Soho rent, SUV payments and lattes, and those of us in neither category who are nonetheless seduced by the occasional outlandish and sexily packaged cosmetic proposition. Not normally blessed with an awareness of high-end beauty lines, I spotted the brand name amongst the scented candles and leaky bath oil canisters at TJ Maxx because I’d recently browsed through the Bliss catalog at a friend’s house, giggling at the thought of paying $40 for a cream that promises to keep one’s breasts from shrinking when one goes on a diet.
The tube looked all chagrined, like it was wondering what its sleek graphics and kicky color scheme were doing rubbing shoulders with Aunt Heidi’s Country Rose Drawer Sachets and the like, marked down to a positively undignified $3.99. I had to know more.
The back of the tube is somewhat coy about revealing the intended function of Lower Body Blaster™. There is a brief mention of "'problem' areas" (note the "problem" placed in quotes - Bliss telling you that they themselves do not think so negatively, they’re just trying to communicate in a language we all, unfortunately, speak, wink wink, we can be straight with one another, devastatingly intimate). There is a tentative reference to application "from knee to upper thigh." There is the requisite suggestion that one might consider using Lower Body Blaster™ in conjunction with a special kind of Bliss exfoliant. One can glean through inference pretty well, of course: if Lower Body Blaster™ were low-class enough to make promises, it would talk about firming, about toning, about removing unsightly lumps. From your "problem" areas. Sweetie.
I thought, "Scam" and was about to put the tube back when I realized that here was a perfect opportunity to do my part for Science. I could, I thought, make a little experiment of this four dollar find! I could check out the nebulous claims of these Bliss people using the perfect canvas – my own, rather less than perfectly firm-toned-and-smooth, "problem" area!
My brilliant plan, you see, is to apply the Lower Body Blaster™, in "generous amounts," to "briskly massage" the "problem" areas on the right side of my body. I will leave the left side unBlast™ed. For the next month, I will conduct regular examinations to see how my "problem" areas are progressing. Any changes will be recorded here (verbally only, I hope I need hardly point out) for posterity.
I know there’s a risk that I’ll end up all lopsided, but despite my well-documented love of symmetry, I’m willing to take it. Partly because if this stuff actually does "Blast!™" my Lower Body, hells yeah, I’ll pop $30 retail for another tube to even things out; but mostly because I am filled with a strong conviction that nothing at all is going to happen. This feeling has a lot to do with the clever, cutesy little disclaimer which follows the vague directions on the package:
"*Warning: use of this product in conjunction with the frequent consumption of doughnuts, ice cream or similar substances may lead to heightened 'changing-room anxiety' and feelings of bitter disappointment around shorts and flourescent light bulbs."
The marketspeak-to-English translation of this reads, roughly, "Should this product fail to work at all, we urge you to blame yourself. Because you suck. In the event that you wish to stop sucking, please buy more things."
So anyway, wish me luck and continued buttock integrity. Look for further Lower Body Blaster™ updates in the coming weeks.
(Note: the experiment continues here.)
Posted by hilatron at 06:40 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
December 14, 2003
Let's Get the Experts Working on This
Hey, while the minions of commercialism are busy creating holidays and inventing traditions and forcing idiotic trends upon the innocent public and all the other evil things that they do to make us buy more stuff, could I ask that they please take care of something?
I would like someone to create a word or simple catchphrase, suitable for inscribing on a greeting card, and imbue it with the following complex connotations:
"Dear Friend,
I realize that I never call, never write, and so this card might seem like a pretty rote and paltry attempt at communication. But I want you to know that this isn't just an obligatory gesture. I really do wish you well. I really do think of you often. It's just that I am fairly incompetent at taking care of the unending requirements of day-to-day life, and things get away from me, and so it takes outside social obligations such as the yearly Xmas-card dealie to goad me to reach out and say "hi" and all. So I hope that you can be the better person, and see the real meaning behind this inadequate attempt. I mean because if you expect me to be on top of shit, then we can't really be that close anyway.
Love,
Hilatron"
Posted by hilatron at 11:56 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
December 09, 2003
A Word, Please
Boston: let's drop the pretense. I have seen the center of your conflicted soul. I know that despite your blustering pride, your seeming complacency, your Blueblood ways, you're just a little bit annoyed to be part of, you know, dour old New England. You long to be associated with something classier, flashier, than maple syrup and sleigh rides; you feel a bit cheated that a big city like you gets lumped in with all this Olde Worlde Shitte.
But. Still. There are certain realities that you cannot deny. One of these is snow. You might like to pretend that minor, worldly details like the weather do not affect you, Boston, but you know very well that's not true. Can we just be honest for a moment? If we're honest, the outside world looks something like this:
And if you'd just admit it, we could all be a lot happier. For example, Boston, you could stop driving so damn fast. Pedestrians would not have to watch, transfixed, as Jeeps hit their brakes for an intersection, and the wheels stop spinning, but the Jeeps keep on sliding towards the crosswalk anyway. That would be refreshing. Oh, and while we're at it, you might take a moment to work on the concept of going around corners, instead of over or through them. I won't get into the idea that stop signs are anything stronger than a polite request. No need to tax your resources at this difficult time.
And another thing. Your pedestrians, for the most part, are not making things any better. What is with the walking in the middle of the street, backs to oncoming traffic? It makes us all look bad. I mean do we really need to create more hostility between those in cars and those on foot? Now that we need to share traffic space, I would think that that is the last thing we want.
What's that you say, Boston? You want to know why the pedestrians do not use the sidewalk like they are supposed to? Well, if you are so into the rules and things, maybe you could have a talk with your homeowners. It might behoove them, for example, to think about clearing the vast snowdrifts from in front of their abodes. Besides performing a public service, these citizens could then rest easy in the knowledge that they are far less likely to have the wrath of a damp and panicky robot visited upon them.
I know, Boston. There there. I mean, I'd like to be in southern California right now, too. But we're not, and the strongest thing we can do is admit it.
Say it with me now, Boston: I'm in New England. I am a New Englander. I accept that the snow is part of the deal. I promise to stop acting all googly-eyed with shock every time it happens.
Posted by hilatron at 10:03 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
December 06, 2003
More
Okay, that link at the top of the page is true again: six more Monster Stockings are up for sale at the 3WA Crafts Fair. Oh, did I mention that the crafts fair is now permanent? Well it is. Shop early, shop often!
Posted by hilatron at 10:32 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
December 02, 2003
Wish List
If I were to spare the life of a magic fish, or whatever, and the magic fish said, "I can give you the gift of one superpower of your choice," I would not have to ponder or doubt for even one second. Despite my love of teleportation and my frequent desire to bend inconsiderate subway-goers to my will, I would not hesitate before saying to the fish: "I would like the ability to stop time whenever I want, please, with the stipulation that during the time that time is stopped I can move things around, but cannot age or fatally injure myself or anything. Do not try any of that Monkey's Paw crap with me mister, I've read all the stories!"
The ongoing bane of my life is the huge gap between the multitude of possibles and the tiny portion of actuals, the unchecked to-dos, the compromises that have to be made because at some point you have to go to bed or go to work or go do errands or go go go. What I would like right now more than anything in the world, believe it or not, is the luxury of cleaning my house from top to bottom, of organizing the closets and cabinets, dusting sweeping vacuuming wiping, throwing out a truckload of old and unnecessary belongings, and then just sitting quietly in the clean sensibly arrayed silence.
But I can't…or I could, but it would mean giving up some or all of the following: making stockings to sell, planning and making Christmas presents for family, executing the usual Winter Holiday Whirlwind Tour, baking cookies, seeing friends, e-mailing other friends, sleeping, eating, watching movies, making clothes, taking walks.
So I exist like most people in an unsatisfying juggly state: this week the litter box stinks for a couple of days before it gets cleaned, that week I wear the same jeans for the fourth time. Today I go another day with two-inch-long blond roots, tomorrow I put off scouring Filene's Basement for cheap underwear. Tonight I make stockings and go to bed late, tomorrow I get further behind at work because I am tired and cranky. And every day there is the list of things that get totally neglected, ranging in scope from tedious errands to volunteering or doing whatever puny little thing I can do to help prevent this country from descending further into rabid reactionary chaos.
I am not in the mood to hear that "well you could just simplify" stuff right now, either. I am sick of balance and sensibleness and accepting that I cannot do it all. It is no fair and I won't have it. Is there room on my Amazon wishlist for time in a box?
Posted by hilatron at 02:10 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
December 01, 2003
The Weekend In Thanks
Thanks to…
…all parties for ensuring that the meeting of the moms at Thanksgiving dinner went smoothly, with no sitcom-worthy events. Since all parties are good people, this was not unexpected, but is appreciated nonetheless.
…Josh’s mom for the delicious meal.
…the dogs for not starting to fart too bad until Friday morning, when we were getting ready to leave.
…Josh for getting us home safe, despite the best attempts of the accursed sign-eschewing outskirts of Boston and the batshit crazy drivers who haunt its curvy, bewildering, yield-indicator-lacking streets.
…big huge amounts of sleep.
…my own common sense for preventing me from going to Filene’s Basement, thus preserving life, limb, wallet and sanity.
…the resulting and much-needed Saturday of doing absolutely nothing.
…our friend Damien for providing a kickass second Thanksgiving dinner on Sunday, filled with good food and good company and more good food and then some more until the danger of popping became acute and we had to go home and sleep some more.
...my one pair of still-fitting jeans for still fitting this morning despite all the gluttony.
…the returning sense of energy which means that this mean, nasty, no-kidding-around cold is on its way out at last.
…the hopeful and very exciting draining process going on in my left sinus.
…work for being not too crazy today, because although things are looking up I still need my Quiet Time.
…the much-anticipated premiere of the Paris Hilton reality TV show, which excites me more than I like to admit in a schadenfreude sort of way.
Posted by hilatron at 03:03 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
This Just In
HOLY FUCK Y'ALL IT'S DECEMBER.
Who authorized this?
Where do I lodge a formal complaint?
Posted by hilatron at 08:29 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack