Troubled Maker of Heart Devices May Lose Suitor

Original Article: NYTIMES

My edits (in italics) to fit the hintiness of the headline:

Bruce yesterday threatened to abandon his plan to acquire Samantha, a troubled heart, setting the stage for a dramatic and tearful confrontation between the two over the relationship.
The development is a stunning reversal for a deal that was applauded when it was announced in December as both a handsome payoff for Samantha and a way for Bruce to enter the fast-growing market of bachelors.
But along the way, Samantha, the nation's second-most-popular girl, found herself ensnared by safety issues and product recalls that appeared to spin out of control.
Samantha disclosed in late May, for example, that one of her previous boyfriends had repeatedly failed because of an electrical flaw. That led to regulatory scrutiny, a string of product recalls, and most recently, a Department of Justice investigation.
In a statement yesterday, Bruce, who is based in New Brunswick, N.J., said he believed that the recalls and federal investigations had materially affected Samantha's "short-term results and long-term outlook."
Samantha, based in Indianapolis, responded that any effect from the recalls would be short term, adding that Bruce was legally obligated to complete the deal by tomorrow, as originally negotiated.
Samantha's problems also grew more complex yesterday as Scott, an x, accused her of fraud in connection with sales of a heart that short-circuited in some cases. The lawsuit is seeking to force Samantha to disclose device-malfunction data and disgorge profits from sales of the heart.
The deal's breakdown could present a challenge to Bruce's strategy of growth by acquisition. Both Samantha and Bruce did not rule out continuing talks, but with the original deal valued at a lot, any new agreement would depend on the two sides seeing eye to eye on lower expectations. People involved in those talks described the latest moves by the couple as a high-stakes game of "chicken," with neither particularly interested in walking away just yet.
But these people suggested that a gap remained between the price Bruce was now willing to pay and the price Samantha was willing to accept.
"They are playing chicken, and right now it appears that Bruce has the upper hand," said Joanne, a friend of a friend.
The centerpiece of any future fight between the two will revolve around a single but complex issue - whether Samantha's product recalls and related events have had a materially negative impact on her future sales and profits. And not surprisingly, both people yesterday staked out their positions.
In his statement, Bruce, said he believed that developments had clouded Samantha's prospects. For her part, Samantha characterized those effects as "normal."
Courts have found that a significant negative impact must extend beyond the normal to qualify as grounds for terminating a contract. In 2001, a Delaware court ruled that Rick was not justified in terminating his merger deal with Christina, a beef processor, after Rick contended that undisclosed problems rendered the deal invalid.
"We believe that the fundamentals of Samantha are strong and she has attractive prospects for growth," Carrie, Samantha's best friend, said in a statement.

Bruce announced his plan to date Samantha in mid-December, with the deal representing his biggest acquisition by far. The move represented a decision by Bruce to move into the market for actively dating bachelors (ADB), a field that is rapidly growing because of an aging population.
Bachelors send out an electrical charge to disrupt a potentially fatal heart rhythm; datelessness controls a heart that is beating too fast or too slowly.
Until recently, the deal was on track with both sides anticipating that it would close in September or October. But in late May, Samantha disclosed that she had an electrical flaw that had caused her to short-circuit and fail in about two dozen cases.
Samantha's disclosure came as The New York Times published an article about her problems, which are known as bitterness, including its possible role in the death of a college student this year.
All people recall products or have product failures. But Samantha quickly found herself at the center of a broader debate over how and when problems should be disclosed. And rather than seeking to put the issue behind herself quickly, appeared to fumble.
"In retrospect, she clearly underestimated the intolerance for severe events no matter how rare they are," said Dr. Love, an industry analyst with Love.com. "That was her fundamental mistake."
After fixing the device in 2002, Samantha continued to obsess over older models out of her inventory.
"We would not permit this type of conduct in connection with the sale of cars or washing machines," said Bruce's mom. Late yesterday, a friend of Samantha's, Sarah, said Samantha's policy was not to comment on litigation. But Samantha has said repeatedly that she has done nothing wrong.
At a recent party, Samantha also said that she planned to release more detailed data to boyfriends, but she has declined to say when she will begin disclosing that data.

great moments in employment when I have thought to myself "How did I get here?"

The State Disability Clinic
When the 10-yr old "ADD" kid was kicking the glass door and screaming "No!" at me and his grandmother started to have an asthma attack so I called 911 for both of them. I called 911 twice a week on average, but this time was memorable.

Pre-K Tutor
When I found out that Marc-Anthony, who cried all the time, had glasses he should have been wearing all along. (I noticed because he was cutting his snowman shapes 1 inch from his eyes.) I asked him why he didn't wear the glasses and he said they were ugly and stupid. I asked him why he thought that. He cried some more. So I took him in the bathroom and we spent time in front of the mirror talking about how cool glasses are. I felt a lot like Marlo Thomas. I also will always remember the day four of them peed their pants in canon.

La Cocina
When the owner, George, performed Reiki on my bloody heel, after slapping a towel of tequila on it. Then he told me to look at the photograph on the wall of a group of people holding their hands up to the camera. "Reiki camp?" I thought. No. I was later informed that they were "The Force" and no further explanation was offered, simply the question "Do you believe?"

Drama Counselor at A Certain Orthodox Jewish Sports Camp
The whole thing. Perhaps most respectfully the moment when I dared to ask "Why can't Adelaide sit on Nathan Detroit's lap?" and the camp director came whizzing down the hill on his golfcart to reiterate some rules. (Second place goes to the time I flipped my lid b/c the spoiled brats wouldn't quiet down to play some theater games, so I marched back to my cabin to get "Franny and Zooey" and just started reading it to them through tears. They booed me.)

Ice Cream Cafe/Coffee Shop
This lady was like "Miss, there's no milk left in this pitcher." I said "Oh I just filled it; try loosening the lid." She thought I was getting fresh with her so she said "Oh really? You're telling me there is milk in here?" I said "Well, I just filled it, but if you want to hand it to me, I'll check it out." She refused and got this very sad face on. She took a sort of performative stance, with pitcher held high over her head, and repeated, "Are you telling me there is definitely milk in this pitcher?" I slowly said yeeeees, eyes wide. She turned the pitcher upside down and poured a gallon of milk all over the floor.

Current Corporation
When somebody said the amount $800 million in all seriousness in a meeting. And I looked out the window of the 38th floor at the giant 'W' billboard with all of Manhattan "at my feet" and I was like "whaaaaaat?"

googlism.com

sooz is....

sooz is a gentle and vigorous soul
sooz is a website for individually hand created products
sooz is an art & craft gallery based in sidmouth devon and specialises in unique individual art pieces which it supplies to individuals like you
sooz is touring to british columbia in september
sooz is your host and moderator
sooz is a wife and mother of two beautiful daughters as well as a stay at home mom
sooz is neat
sooz is ever easy
sooz is increasingly in demand for performances across the country
sooz is 58 wah wah
sooz is saving up for the white jeweled suit with added foam paunch
sooz is not pregnant
sooz is shocked to get a taste of her own medicine when she finds out seb is in hospital
sooz is the large room itself
sooz is the connecting force between people and ideas
sooz is the one who scrares sasha and nicki because shes different
sooz is the 'odd ball' of the group
sooz is increasingly in demand for performances at schools
sooz is depressed and goes to her place to check she is okay ? she tells him she is okay and he promises her that he will always be there for her
sooz is mad that jamie keeps on lying to her about seeing gabi
sooz is not into it
sooz is cool
sooz is a bit ?other?
sooz is touring to the vancouver fringe
sooz is the pen name of soozi urang
sooz is leaving
sooz is our queen on dt
sooz is here to honestly help you
sooz is that person waddling??
sooz is a wallaby? nandi is a panda emma
sooz is probably the only
sooz is on
sooz is from nebraska and they always crush everyone
sooz is now serving trick
sooz is on form and fragging fluently
sooz is beginning to compile recipes for her "fiat brunch" cookbook for the auction
sooz is a bitch
sooz is creating
sooz is complaining
sooz is a one
sooz is friends with aretha franklin's back
sooz is definitely ready for a nap
sooz is already talking about our decorating masks of our own faces at that time
sooz is the #1 thin handsome smoker backer
sooz is in 1983 deel uit gaan maken van het integraal kankercentrum zuid
sooz is the entrance to the medina

BRAAAAAAINS

What do we want? Brains!
When do we want 'em? Brains!

uh oh, is she ILL?

Then last night Pye rushed into the bathroom ahead of me and sat on the seat, peeing away. I waited until she finished to take my turn, even if she is a nasty line-cutter, but when she finished she just sat there rigidly, almost meditatively. I asked her politely to move. When she didn't I went to pick her up and she emitted a low growl. She thinks the toilet is the seat of power. And is she wrong?

Very Good News

Why am I so happy this morning?

Last night, as I was leaning over the sink, examining my skin, I heard Pye come into the bathroom behind me. She sat on the toilet seat, as she often does. I said "HELLO MY BABY" and got up in her grill for a second. But then I returned to my mirror, unfettered.

Then, in the silence of the night, I heard a slight, yet definite trickle. At first I didn't believe what I was hearing. Then my mouth slowly dropped open, imploring my wide-eyed reflection to be the secondary witness to what was surely happening behind me.

I slowly turned, afraid- so afraid!- that this moment would prove to be unreal. But no. Pye was sitting on the toilet seat, her back to me, facing the wall, peeing into the toilet.

I started weeping and hyperventilating at the same time. When she was finished, I congratulated her, hugging her and laughing with sheer disbelief and joy.

Did her previous owner train her to do this? Or (and I really hope this is the explanation)..... DID SHE TEACH HERSELF FROM HUMAN OBSERVATION?

(fyi- if there is anybody out there who doesn't read this blog regularly, PYE IS MY CAT.)

memo: implementation

I would like to implement "watercooler" as a verb. Please advise re: future implementation possibilities. I have included an assortment of current applications:

1. Let's watercooler this later. (replacing "roundtable" and "powwow")
2. I'm gonna have to watercooler with my team. ("consult")
3. I'll watercooler it to you. ("send")
4. Let's watercooler. ("have sex")

As a noun:

1. Can we get a watercooler on that report? ("estimate" or "timeframe")
2. Whose watercooler? Our watercooler! ("streets")

And as an adjective:

1. How very watercooler of you. ("kind" or "presumptuous")
2. This joint is watercooler! ("bumpin'")
3. I want to lick Dermot Mulroney's watercooler lips. ("luscious")

I was just sitting here thinking how true it is that "The world is a vampire."

The smartest man alive

There is so much here, I don't know where to begin.

For Starters: "To Conserve Gas, President Calls for Less Driving"

------Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?
A) I don't even see how driving and gas are RELATED, Mr. President
B) I really hope he came up with this policy himself.
C) I hope when he said this, he had that proud face on that said "Its that simple, people. Thats all we have to do and this big bad nightmare will go away. Doubters use gas. Period."

A little further into the article he says, "if Americans are able to avoid going on a trip that's not essential, that would be helpful."
----Hmmmmmm. A trip thats not essential. I can't think of anybody who may have been doing that recently. Not anybody.

Followed by another GREAT idea:
"to continue relaxing environmental and transportation rules in an effort to get more gasoline flowing."
----Yeah I think we could use an oil spill. Not enough disasters to deal with quite yet.

I know this blog entry has basically been me taking the easiest, most sarcastic shots at the most obvious holes in this baleful, pathetic appeal. But does he really think we live in the kind of non-nuclear, WWII era where Tin-Can-Conservation is going to actually make a difference in our public welfare and economic stability?

I do wonder if those military planes in Iraq use any gas. I wonder.

Ode to Hook

This movie slays me. Tears. Tears down the sides of my face. From the moment the music starts and then they go to London and Toodles has lost his marbles. And then don't even get me started on Grandma Wendy standing on the stairs: "Hello, boy."
And did I mention the music? If tears SOUNDED like something it would be that theme that plays throughout the whole movie.

Oh Jeezus, here are just a few other highlights:
1. Tinkerbell admitting she's been in love with Peter all along.
2. "You ARE the Pan!" with that freaking adorable smile.
3. Why am I still attracted to Rufio?
4. "That was a great game"
5. "You need a mommy very very badly!"
6. That scene where Jack is smashing all the clocks and crying.
7. Maggie singing the lullaby and all the pirates crying.
8. When Peter finds his happy thawt and its being a daddy.
9. That scene where the mermaids french-kiss Peter.

Next week? Either "Father of the Bride" or "Muppets Christmas Carol"

Fulla

Fulla
I love when it seems like a whole social analysis could be based on the wishes and desires of a bunch of little girls. I'm being serious. It isn't that parents are weak. It isn't that little girls are spoiled. It is only that there is something in the nature of a certain age of girl, something that gets exploited and turned into consumerism. But before it is about having possessions, it is this sort of insistence and hunger. They shamelessly become the most powerful voice in the family. And the way they conglomerate and agree with each other! If I needed militants for a revolution, I would definitely start with 9 year-old-girls.

I don't know about you all, but a major part of having a Barbie and Ken was making them have sex. And I'm not just talking about mashing their bodies together. I'm talking about using that slightly cupped palm of hers on his little orange bump. I'm talking about different positions, ya'll. Slow and romantic.

So...if I had a Fulla, it would just up the anty. I would be all "how does Ken get Fulla to raise her ankle-length abaya?" Or, "If they were having tea together, discussing respectable values, and she leaned slightly over him, and her head scarf fell off a little bit, and he saw some of her jet-black hair, and he reached out to touch it, but stopped his hand when he caught her looking at his orange nub..." etc.

Hey Lady

Yeah you. The one who was just in the stall next to me: DO NOT WHISPER IN THE BATHROOM. Perhaps you were on your cell phone. I know you were alone in there, but perhaps you were on your cell phone. Either way, I don't care, because THAT SHIT FREAKED ME OUT.

I don't like hearing whispering echoing in an empty bathroom. If you really need to have a private whisper conversation with somebody, can't you go somewhere else besides the horror-movie-inspired, neon-lit, placidly quiet bathroom?

Poem for the Bloody Hearts

The walls around my heart
like the most porous walls
ever.

The cuts are slowly deepening
until there will be no heart left
either.

The blood rains on the plains.

No more the river.

Just Cute

>NAIROBI (AFP) - A baby hippopotamus that survived the tsunami waves on the Kenyan coast has formed a strong bond with a giant male century-old tortoise, in an animal facility in the port city of Mombassa, officials said.
The hippopotamus, nicknamed Owen and weighing about 300 kilograms (650 pounds), was swept down Sabaki River into the Indian Ocean, then forced back to shore when tsunami waves struck the Kenyan coast on December 26, before wildlife rangers rescued him.
"It is incredible. A-less-than-a-year-old hippo has adopted a male tortoise, about a century old, and the tortoise seems to be very happy with being a 'mother'," ecologist Paula Kahumbu, who is in charge of Lafarge Park, told AFP. "After it was swept and lost its mother, the hippo was traumatized. It had to look for something to be a surrogate mother. Fortunately, it landed on the tortoise and established a strong bond. They swim, eat and sleep together," the ecologist added. "The hippo follows the tortoise exactly the way it follows its mother. If somebody approaches the tortoise, the hippo becomes aggressive, as if protecting its biological mother," Kahumbu added. "The hippo is a young baby, he was left at a very tender age and by nature, hippos are social animals that like to stay with their mothers for four years," he explained.

MJ

Here's something unrelated to the picture at my left. Why do I get home drunk and suddenly decide its "beauty parlor time"? Last night at 12:30 a.m. I did a pedicure, face mask, and put curlers in my hair. Whaaaaat?

Damn

I guess she beat me to the punch

Comedy upon comedy upon comedy makes for sad sad sad

Profjokes. Thats what his email short name was. Its a small world, comedy, so there's an iddy biddy chance someone who reads this will know him.

He "taught" me "comedy writing" at NYU. He came to class on the first day and told us we had to look at the world through "comedy colored" glasses. I suddenly knew what he meant. Because comedy is not a color and everybody knows that.

Then he announced that he would be missing the next class because he was going in for surgery. What kind of surgery? Chin tuck and nose job, thats all.

When he came back from surgery, it happened to be on the very day that a photographer from the Daily News was coming to take a picture of him for an article they were writing on "Comedy after 9/11." (By the way, Comedy after 9/11 soon became everybody's favorite topic in New York, and guess what? It is the least funny topic of conversation EVAR.)

So since he knew he was going to be photographed he covered his surgery bruises in ORANGE make-up. He came up to me before class and, since our "assignment" had been to "look for" comedy (where oh WHERE would I find it?), he asked me, "So...did you see anything funny recently?"

I paused because, try as I might, not a single funny thing was happening to me. Not a thing. Certainly not the unblended orange face with purple undertones in front of me, asking me for funny things. I just stared at him and said "no."

This class soon became the most depressing class I ever took. More depressing than Criminology or The Search for Peace in the Nuclear Age or even Radical Street Performance. Because this class was supposed to be fun and funny and everybody in it, including the teacher, was supposed to be funny and interesting and creative, and just HILARIOUS. But they weren't. They were all just trying to crack these jokes. And trying to convince the teacher they were the funniest. And some of them had gotten special permission to take the class for over 3 semesters. The same exact class.

I would trudge through the snow to my "comedy class" in the most depressed mood. One time one of our classmates did stand-up at a club and the whole class went to watch. The funniest thing about it was the way he was dressed. I will let your imagination run wild.

For my "final project" which I got an "A" on (please don't ask why because I really don't know), I wrote ONE POEM, a limerick really, loosely following the "Night Before Christmas" poem, about a drunk person who thinks they are seeing Santa Claus' rosie cheeks and nose, but it is revealed that it is a hallucination of "Kurt Cobain's ghostly ass." So I really progressed as a writer there.

P.S. You know those days where no matter what you do, the air smells like bile? What IS that SMELL?

Hot Dogs

Gold; dust; pools

I discovered last night that I own The Notebook DVD. I made the huge mistake of popping it in even though I have my damn monthly visitor right now.
And then I tried to sew this damn gold dress which somehow SHRANK and now doesn't fit over my shoulders. So I sat there, STUCK in gold fabric. Because although it doesn't fit OVER my shoulders, it fits nice and SNUGLY around them. So I was jumping up and down and crying, and then eventually RIPPING SEAMS.
This after a night of cleaning the whole apartment only to find that the SPONGE ITSELF was the thing that reeked so badly of geriatric breath.
The last time my roommate and I cleaned the apartment we ended up throwing out the whole trash can because the bottom was a maggot nest. So we wrapped the whole thing in garbage bags and put it in the dumpster.
Well our landlady, who has a psychological problem with throwing things away (her house is like an antique funhouse) apparently had other plans for our maggot-can. When I returned from work, it stood, RESCUED, on our front steps. She had WASHED IT OUT.
I don't understand. Does she think we didn't actually MEAN to throw it away? Like we accidentally rigged up the bags AROUND it? Or is this a statement? Is this her way of saying "you do not have the right to throw things away without my permission"? Or is this her saying "This is Phewy. Phewy has a name because he is a person just like you or I. He has feelings and he doesn't deserve to be just THROWN AWAY like that."
In any case, I haven't touched Phewy since his rescue, but I've noticed that since he appeared on our doorstep, he has been placed further and further inside. First the porch, then the stairs up to our part of the house, and then the landing outside our door.

Also, this is the second time I've had a dream about a magic swimming pool that, with a touch of a button, turns into an erotic swimming pool, and everybody in it gets all hot for each other. Then you press the button and it goes back to a normal fun volleyball pool.

I hate Bob Zeltman, Jet Blue, and Launchcast

My coworker and I are regular listeners of free radio at Yahoo Launchcast. We recently spent a little bit of time and energy composing the following complaint e-mail and sent it to the folks at Yahoo....

We accept the terms of LaunchCast being free. However we feel that your marketing of LaunchCast Plus greatly reduces the quality of the free music we so enjoy. In particular, we take personal offense to the jarring and painfully annoying commercial for JetBlue. What happened to the one with the pirate singing and raving about LaunchCast Plus being "3 bucks-a-month, 3 bucks-a-month?" .....and the one that asks us if we like to bang on our drum all day and jump around? We really enjoyed the comforting sound of "Three Blind Mice" and we don't at all enjoy the sound of "Bob Zeltman."
We have also noticed that your "advertising" has now become even more forceful. You inform us that we are over our monthly limit and you are going to lower the quality of our listening if we don't start paying for LaunchCast Plus. Just as an experiment, a good friend of ours signed up for free LaunchCast and was IMMEDIATELY told that they had reached their monthly limit. This is only possible if the "monthly limit" is a lie you've created to try to force people into paying for Plus.

In conclusion, we do respect your efforts to make a profit from your musical services and we can also accept the fact that you have companies paying you to play those ads between songs but honestly, ask yourself this question, is it really necessary for Bob Zeltman to call that girl four straight times to let her know that he applied for an American Express Jet Blue card? Seriously, is it?

Evidence:
(Ring)
Girl: Hello?
Bob: Hi! Its Bob!
Girl: Bob?
Bob: Bob Zeltman, from JetBlue seat 114!
Girl: oh. (incredulously)
Bob: I just called to say I was approved for an American Express Jet Blue card! You helped me fill out an application!
Girl: Ok, Great!
Bob: See you next time I fly Jet Blue!
Girl: See you next time Sooz gathers all the people she wants to murder by razor!

Pye Love Me

Pye love me

She can’t help it. She’s trying to be all “Cat” on me, but then I’m all Holly Golightly on her. And she’s all “fine, then I’ll just keep clawing at this rug over here” and I’m all “Do what you like. I’m going to bed.” And she’s all “Okay…but you know whats coming at 5 a.m.” and I’m all “yeah, about that- what is WRONG with you?” And she’s all “What? I just like running around like crazy and knocking things down and just generally expressing myself in loud ways at 5 a.m.” And I’m all “I’m gonna put you downstairs then” And she’s all “But look at me. I’m so cute and little. Don’t you think you should feed me more?” and I’m all “but look, you have food in your dish” and she’s all “not FRESH food. Besides I like clawing up this rug right here, I’m not hungry.

THEN, I’m all “I’ve got an idea. C’mere Pye! (holding nail clippers behind my back) and she’s all “What? Fun times in bed? Wheee!” and that’s when I’m all “Yeah, lets cuddle. What beautiful paws you have. Can I just hold one for a little while?” And she's all “sure whatever” and we did a really good job with the back legs. But the FRONT legs came along and she was all “rrrrrrrr (like it started in hell)rrrRRRRRrrawRRRooooo” and I was all “that’s ok baby, we’re gonna get through this together” and she was all “I don’t THINK so” and she started kicking and squirming but I held fast.

And that’s when I stooped to a whole new level and started singing “Ol’ Man River” because she likes when I sing to her. And I am not fucking with you, it WORKED! For a second. We got through almost all of them until….

She bit my nipple. Its not nice, you guys. Every chick likes a little nibble, but not a full on fang in the tit. That is just not nice. So I sort of threw her a little bit. And she was all “ooooo look at me! I land on all four feet! I have nine lives!” And I was all, “yeah yeah thank me later.” And she was all, “probably I WON’T and I will still wake up at 5 a.m. and act out Vietnam for you in the living room” and she left my bedroom. And then I was like “Pyyyyyyye. Pyyyyyyyye” and she didn’t come. I was sad but guess what, ya’ll?

This morning there was no rampage. See, I think she really did need her claws clipped, and she just didn’t know how to tell me. And then guess what she DID do this morning? I woke up and she was sleeping on my neck. Now that is just cute.

1

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Originally uploaded by hilarityinsooz.

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Originally uploaded by hilarityinsooz.

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voila

voila
Originally uploaded by hilarityinsooz.

Yes, thats a big wooden gun.

My favorite moment on the Daily Show last night

Ed Helms was interviewing a Bass fish about bass fishing.

Bass: I don't care so much about the fisherman taunting me. I just don't like the hook.

Helms: Let's talk more about taunting.

Bass: No, lets talk more about the hook- in my FACE!


Now for another subject. I'm going to be making a dress soon. I've never made one, I don't know how to use a sewing machine, and it involves GOLDEN fabric. I can't wait. Hilarity (and possibly tears of frustration) are bound to ensue.

A futuristic dream I had in May

I lived in the future, which was apparent because there were moving conveyor belts for sidewalks. I was walking and suddenly I stopped and grabbed this tiny old woman (I think she was Chinese?) and started running with her towards “the edge.” The people of this land had a very fast, very beautiful sunrise, and not everybody got to see it all the time. Only if you were close enough to the edge, did you get to see it. So there was always this mad rush. The edge was just the edge of land. But the sunrise happened at the end of the water, which we thought was the end of the world. Also, it was never really dark. There was all this artificial light and the sun would just rise and set really fast. It was always a grayish daylight. I had grabbed the old woman because she was so slow, I figured she never got to see the sunrise. I thought I was doing her this huge favor by running her over to it. But we were too late. I decided, really quickly, that I wasn’t giving up, and I wanted this old woman to see a sunrise before she died, so I ran down the cliff and stole a boat and started paddling furiously towards the horizon; tracking the sunrise down. All the people on shore were shouting and making this huge deal, because it was very illegal and unheard of and dangerous to leave the land. Then we weren’t in a boat anymore, but just swimming. I was trying to keep all my stuff afloat (two big plastic bags full of stuff) while I helped this old woman swim. The water was getting very stormy and it started raining. She was really scared and weak, and she couldn’t swim. Suddenly we “heard” that there was a tornado heading our way. I told her that was propaganda. She said no it wasn’t, so to make her feel better, I started swimming back towards the land. But we were really far out and I couldn’t see the land anymore. Then I saw the tornado, coming from the direction of the land. It was really thick and dangerous looking. We started swimming away from it. Then there was a new small island ahead of us. We pulled ourselves on shore and started looking for shelter from the storm, really desperately. This was all happening very fast. As soon as we were on the island, the old woman became younger and a different person, but I don’t know who. We were ducking the wind, running under rock ledges, and trying to find places that were low and covered. The other person ran ahead of me down a hill and I called out to him. (Now it was a him.) I saw that there were hundreds of these very sick, leper-like refugees at the bottom of the hill. They looked like zombies and were all huddled underneath this cement boardwalk (A little like the Brooklyn Promenade) that reached over the whole beach, all the way around the island. The idea was you couldn’t touch the refugees, and my friend touched them as soon as he got down the hill. He was dead immediately and disappeared from the dream. I huddled somewhere alone until the storm passed. Then the dream "cut" to months later. I had set up residence on this island. It was a leper island. I was the only person who didn’t have leprosy on the island. The reason nobody else came there is because the lepers were all on the beach; the first thing you saw. So everybody approached the beach and then thought “woop, leper beach!” and turned around. Somebody had banished them to the outer reaches of the island and they had never wandered back in. I had set up this sort of “medicine woman” station for myself. I wasn’t touching them still, but I coaxed them back onto the rest of the island, and we had a whole community. I was just treating the pain from the leprosy, but wasn’t able to actually cure it. Then I discovered that the leprosy was getting worse and it was starting to kill children. Suddenly this real medicine woman (dressed like a pioneer with flasks and such) arrived on the island, and found a miracle cure. The cure was she simply staunched the original “wound” by cutting it off and burning the cut-off ends.

Titles for my One Woman Show

I Ain't Hard but I Ain't Easy Either
Crying in the Workplace
To Wrong You, Thanks For Everything, Truly NewNow
World Peace and Boy Crushes
Drowning in my own sarcasm
Sarcasmic! The Musical
Get off my stage!
Hello World!
Moon River
Princess in a castle: The fairytale myth and its perpetuation in modern cosmopolitan lifestyles.
Zits: I have them
Beckett and Me
Sooz 2005!
The cat came back the very next day
And the streets were full of hotties
Crrrrrash and Burrrrn
Time: Essential (a dance piece)
H & M? Yes, Please!
Cheap, Shallow and Lovin' it!
Witness: A Quaker Testimonial
Little Bottles of Crazy Strewn About the House
These Dirty Razors, They Tell no Lies
I'm the actress/I'm the chicken: Kostya
This morning on the subway...

There is a facilities guy emptying water from the ceiling in one of the conference rooms. Its sort of a biweekly thing, where he has to get on a ladder and pour buckets full of water out into a big tub. I'm sure there's a nautical term for when you have to do that to a boat. Or even a chanty about it? In any case, I think its funny that this is their way of dealing with what is obviously a building repair issue.

Here is what Holiday Mathis says to everyone today (not specifically Capricorns):
"Venus, the planet of love and beauty, is pulling as far away from Uranus as her orbit will allow. Or is it Uranus that escapes the seduction of Venus by fleeing? It's as though Uranus knows something we don't about the nature of romance and chooses to observe the interaction from afar. You might do the same and come to a key realization."

Hehe. Uranus. Venus must be pulling away from Uranus for some reason. Did you have beans for lunch? HAHAHAHAHAHA! Holiday Mathis always his different colored eyes in that picture.

This is a still from the classic film "short circuit." Please note that the open car trunk in the background says "Babies" on it. I thought it was a bit meta, like warning the viewer, "what will happen when robots have babies?" or "this is what Johnny 5 is subconsciously hungry for." But T James proposed that the decision went something like this:


"I think someone was like, how do we make this a scary neighborhood? And some dood was like let's put babies on the trunk so they think that's where babies go."

Kat's guest post

Today just a little something from the famous filmmaker, Kat Parker. Who also happens to be my buddy-bud from high school:

i was at starbucks the other day, and this mini-woman cut ahead of me and Elizabeth and so Elizabeth was like "um, excuse me, we were in line here." The short little indian woman whipped around and stared up at us and said in an angry voice: "someone is very sick, and I need a frappuccino right away." And i was thinking to myself- were those two seperate statements? like "there are children starving in Africa, and i need an iced mocha"? or was she actually suggesting that there are medicinal properties in starbucks' frappuccino? either way, we laughed in her face, then Elizabeth was like "well i need my decaf, get in line." and the lady got all huffy. we wanted to trail her to see if the frappuccino was actually for someone else, or if she took sips off it, but we lost her in the crowd. arg!

Katie, Katie, Katie

I love you for this sort of thing. In a W magazine interview, Katie said...

"Tom is the most incredible man in the world."

So, I've compiled a list of other men in the world who apparently fall just short of the mark....

The Dalai Lama
Nelson Mandela
Lance Armstrong
My dad
Jimmy Carter
Xi Shun
The Pope
Firemen
Kofi Annan

....and I'm sure you can think of a few more. Unless that's it. There's probably only a few who are more incredible than Tom Cruise. I've stuck to the living ones, for all our sakes.

Where the pigeons go to die

My workpal and I spent a good half hour of our lunch discussing why we never see dead pigeons. Finally, Jeeves and the very realistic T. James of the Jolly Roger Orchestra informed me that the dying pigeons crawl under things to die and get eaten by rats and other grossies very quickly. However, Workpal and I decided it was much more fun to imagine the following...

1. Pigeons bury their dead and hold little funerals
2. Pigeons tie weights to their ankles and jump off cliffs into the East River when its time to go.
3. Pigeon cremation, duh
4. Pigeons march down into subway tunnels in straight lines and Karenina themselves onto the tracks.

Vogue Italia's Anna Piaggi

Officially a secretary

I bought a plant for my desk.

KALANCHOE BLOSSFELDIANA ENTRETIEN.

aka Prudence.

printer baby

I am sad and scared right now. A coworker's treatment of a "broken" printer is akin to someone being too rough with my pet.

I have to sit right next to the poor machine as she "assesses" (hits) the machine and announces to everybody that the "toner's low" even though it isn't. I can't step in and save the thing, because it would be a clear indication of how little trust I have in her "fixing" skills.

However, the more she gets her fingers in there, opening doors and talking to herself, the more work I will have to do to actually fix the damn thing.

I have to wait though. I send messages to the printer through telekinesis, whispering things like "I know, I know. It's just a paper jam. I'll be there soon."

I can almost assess what is wrong with it by her mutterings anyway, and I know in a couple of minutes she'll be standing behind me at my cubicle asking me to call "facilities" to fix the printer. Because she obviously thinks that if she can't fix it, we need to bring in the professionals. ("Facilities," by the way, fixes electricity and plumbing; not printers).

Recently, on an airplane back from the midwest, a baby was crying really really loud for at least 45 minutes. Instead of cooing, gently bouncing, singing softly, or FEEDING the child, its mother chose smothering and slapping.

Coworker, and Airplane Medea, here are some bits of advice....

1. The machine/baby is not your enemy
2. It is not trying to humiliate you.
3. The world and all its other people can help you with your "problem"
4. Consider the fragility of what you are working with
5. Ask yourself, "what is this thing made of?"
6. Understand that, just like you, the baby/machine needs help and attention.
7. The world only disapproves of what you are doing, not of the fact that the baby/machine is crying/broken.

Highlights

1. Due to the current "water scare," there's a sign on the office bathroom with warnings and guidelines. But the most specific, and the one that JUMPED off the page at me, was....

"Avoid sexual practices that may result in exposure to feces."

2. I was walking towards a stationary pigeon who decided he/she was ready to get up and fly away. It started flapping off the ground. I assumed it had experience doing this since it was a pigeon, so I just kept walking towards it. "That bird will soon realize it needs to move aside," I told myself. But instead the bird just flipped out. The poor thing just panicked and start flapping mid air, right in front of me. Then it was trying to pick a direction and changing its mind, so essentially it was staying in the same place. I FELT the bird's panic. But I still kept walking towards it because I thought "things like this happen in New York all the time. I just have to stay the course. I have just as much right to be here as the pigeon, and I even have to go to work, while the pigeon just has to perch somewhere, make a white doodie, and consider eating more garbage." I felt the windstorm generated from its beating wings. And then it was gone.

3. I swear to Gah I saw a Nazi on the train this morning. It was only a glimpse because he was in a subway car alone and the train rushed past the platform without stopping. But he was seriously dressed in a dark green wool uniform circa 1940 and was carrying a riding whip! I was starting to feel like I was in "Master and Margarita" and evidence of the devil was appearing all over the city. Then I thought, "maybe I'm just developing schizophrenia," and oddly enough, that wasn't a comforting thought. When you're already tired, depressed, and angry and then you get the notion that you're also going insane, it doesn't improve the mood.

Interns, Dress codes, and Stares OH MY!

We have three interns for the summer so there's hardly anything for me to do. I am BORED.

The only thing going on in the office is this big scandalous hubbub because one of the managers put copies of the dress code on some desks but not others.

Then the manager left the office because she is hiding from the flack that is flying.

I am keeping my head below-cubicle so as to avoid eye-contact that might be taken for an allegiance with either side. I'm secretly so relieved that I didn't receive a dress code reminder.

One girl just emailed me saying that she hopes the manager gets hit by a truck.

untitled

untitled
Originally uploaded by hilarityinsooz.

Taking the "freedom to poo" a little far

Well, its one thing to do it in the bathroom at the office and not be ashamed.

It is another thing entirely to recount the details to a coworker. "Val" just treated me to a very full account of her stomach flu and its ups and downs. On and on and on, penning me into my cubicle.

If you have trouble spotting me...

I'm the one in the tomato red shirt, coral-colored necklace, and peeling skin.

You may see me and ask "who dressed that poor thing?"

It just doesn't match, folks.

Also my shoes are too big so the backs stick out like when little girls play dress up with their mom's shoes.

Complete with wobbling around.

Best Birthday Card

This one makes me chuckle.

The front says, "Did you know the first birthday cards were written on stone tablets?"

And the inside says, "Its easy to know things when you make them up."

I understand this sentiment so very well. I make a lot of things up.

I love when fashion goes in this kind of direction.

Chanel
Originally uploaded by hilarityinsooz.

No really. I am not being sarcastic. I know its ugly but there is something so exciting about it. It's really sick and twisted and has this whole story.

For more creepy Chanel

It's all about the eyebrows.

Aquatic

Last night

I got off the subway

I started walking

A Chinese man was dumping

what looked like

water

on the sidewalk

I walked on it

It was fish guts

The guts squished into all the little spaces in my shoe's

Soul

I was mad

real nice

real nice
Originally uploaded by hilarityinsooz.

'Bloody chainsaw' man enters US

A man carrying a home-made sword and what looked like a blood-stained chainsaw was allowed into the US from Canada, the Associated Press reports.
The news agency says Gregory Despres' weapons were confiscated, before US custom officials in Calais, Maine, let him cross the border on 25 April.
The next day he became a murder suspect after bodies of his two neighbours were found in his hometown in Canada.
Mr Despres, 22, was arrested on 27 April and is now awaiting extradition.

The bodies of Mr Despres' neighbours were discovered in the town of Minto, New Brunswick.
The decapitated body of Frederick Fulton was found on the kitchen floor in his house. The man's head was under a kitchen table.
His common-law wife was discovered stabbed in a bedroom.

'Nobody asked'
AP quoted Bill Anthony, a spokesman for US Customs and Border Protection, as saying the Canadian-born Mr Despres was questioned for about two hours before being allowed to enter the country.
Mr Anthony said Mr Despres could not be detained because he was a naturalised US citizen and was not wanted on any criminal charges on the day in question.
"Nobody asked us to detain him," the spokesman said. "Being bizarre is not a reason to keep somebody out of this country or lock them up... We are governed by laws and regulations, and he did not violate any regulations". Mr Anthony added that officials in Calais did not have a forensic laboratory.
"They can't look at a chainsaw and decide if it's blood or rust or red paint," he said.
Mr Despres was detained, after police spotted him wandering down a motorway in a sweat shirt with red and brown stains.

Christian Surfers

The competition - the Lokomaika'i, or good will, Surf Contest - was co-sponsored by the Hawaiian Islands' Surf Ministries and Christian Surfers Hawaii, and was intended to raise money for a mission to Sri Lanka. At the start of the meet, a native Hawaiian kahu, or preacher, clad in a tropical print sarong and a kukui-nut lei, held a Bible in one hand and a microphone in the other as tanned and toned surfers gathered around him in prayer.
He blessed the ocean and the contest, and told the athletes that while most of them were there to win a prize, the real prize was finding God.
"The world is getting gnarlier and gnarlier," said a spectator, Neil Tsutsui, 38, who is part of a surfers' Bible study group on the North Shore of Oahu. "You get drawn into God with surfing. Surfing is a selfish sport: my wave, my ride. But this teaches selflessness."

From the NY Times

My crazy night

I used to be a world-famous crimefighter. I lived on an island with many confusing and intertwining roads. I drove a beat-up old purple junker of a car, sort of hooptie style, and instead of getting to the crime scenes on time, I mostly drove around getting lost. Everything in the city was very old and reminiscent of a mining town that’s seen many industries boom through it. There was a Submarine system for mass transit below all the canals and rivers. The submarines were very old and made from yellow-painted aluminum. There were abandoned carwashes with big, rusty, cartoon characters everywhere. I was always getting caught on one-ways and having to try to turn around in the parking lots of abandoned motels, etc. The whole time I would be talking to something like a camera or an interviewer about my lifestyle. Then, I realized I had to get home to relieve the babysitter. I have a couple of daughters or one daughter who is always having a slumber party. I don't know.
I live on the top of a mountain in a top-secret location with a lot of security. Or rather, its “supposed” to be really high security but its actually a rickety gate with one guard. Apparently there are a lot of guards but all they do is mill about. So last night, when I got home, I told the camera and interviewer, who is always following me around, that the first thing I do when I get home is inspect the evidence again. The current crime I’m working on has something to do with a Discman. So one of my guards handed me this beat-up old Discman with a CD in it. “This is the killer’s Discman,” I said, “and it contains clues about where his next victim is going to be.” So we listened to the CD. It was a young teenage boy’s voice. He was clearly crazy; it was a ramble of thoughts that sounded schizophrenic. But I sat there trying to decipher all the meanings in it for a really long time. I don’t remember much of the specifics but it was stuff like “The toast is buttery…My friend Rob is a simulation machine…grand staircase….orange eye.” And then I sat there and went “Rob is to orange as buttery is to machine” and tried to make sense of all that. It went on for a long time.
Then I went to my apartment in the city. I am a babysitter for the spookiest family. They have all these rules about where lights can be on in the house, and what kind of activities their baby can do, especially when she’s around electricity. Their house has all these hidden nooks and hallways, and they actually change. Like you’ll walk down a hall towards a door and then you’ll get there, and instead of the door, the little girl is sitting on the floor in front of you. She’s blonde and adorable but has a really creepy smile. I get the feeling that sometimes she is the little girl and sometimes the parents have found a way to watch me from inside of her. At one point I had to go to the bathroom, so I said, “I can’t leave you on the couch alone, you have to wait for me right outside the bathroom door." When I entered the bathroom the lights were on but suddenly she was sitting on the toilet behind me and the lights had turned out. I got a little scared and moved out of the bathroom. I looked back really quickly and she was reaching out for me with her hand like a claw. It happened in a blink of an eye and then things were suddenly normal and she was chatting to me about something very childlike and innocent. Then I found myself back in the bathroom, even though I thought I had left. And the lights were back on. She didn't have a claw anymore. At one point she was watching TV on the couch, and she had to sit very close to the TV. I walked behind the TV into the other room and she flipped out on me, screaming and throwing a tantrum. When I looked at the room I was about to enter, I saw that it was dark and there were shapes of people moving about in the darkness. Soon I discovered a really fun game that became her favorite. It was basically to pretend like we were being electrocuted. We lay on the floor and convulsed our bodies. I found it to be very pleasurable because the hyper-activity caused my body to be very warm. For the same reason, the little girl liked the game. We spent like fifteen minutes convulsing on the brightly lit kitchen floor. I started to feel like such a successful babysitter.

Earring

Earring
Originally uploaded by hilarityinsooz.

Dr. All Cock

Are these two people x-lovers? I love that he didn't read her book:

"Dr. Lloyd said there was no doubt in her mind that the clitoris was an evolutionary adaptation, selected to create excitement, leading to sexual intercourse and then reproduction.

But, "without a link to fertility or reproduction," Dr. Lloyd said, "orgasm cannot be an adaptation."

Not everyone agrees. For example, Dr. John Alcock, a professor of biology at Arizona State University, criticized an earlier version of Dr. Lloyd's thesis, discussed in in a 1987 article by Stephen Jay Gould in the magazine Natural History.

In a phone interview, Dr. Alcock said that he had not read her new book, but that he still maintained the hypothesis that the fact that "orgasm doesn't occur every time a woman has intercourse is not evidence that it's not adaptive."

"I'm flabbergasted by the notion that orgasm has to happen every time to be adaptive," he added.

Dr. Alcock theorized that a woman might use orgasm "as an unconscious way to evaluate the quality of the male," his genetic fitness and, thus, how suitable he would be as a father for her offspring.

"Under those circumstances, you wouldn't expect her to have it every time," Dr. Alcock said."

From the NY Times...full article

Oh God No

Pye

Taking a clue from Dave at ETD, I would like to devote this entire post to my darling cat, Pye. Two nights ago I couldn't find her when I crawled into bed. I couldn't sleep, imagining her out there getting raped and beaten by really mean "alley cats" or skinned by serial-killers-to-be. I don't think some cats should be "outdoor cats", especially not this one because she is a gentle little pacifist who only likes cuddling and gently pawing at my stomach. After a restless, nightmare-ridden sleep, I woke up and got ready for work. Sure enough, when I opened the front door, Pye was on the porch mewing away. Then she limped past me and up the stairs to my bed. Her little paw was swollen and bleeding! Our landlady's car was towed yesterday so she couldn't take Pye to the vet, so when I got home, Pye was still a sleepy little invalid in a lot of pain. My roommate had set her up on a pillow with her food and water next to her. She had been sleeping all day, probably worn out from running for her life. Her little paw is still swollen to twice the size. Last night it was so nice to have her back in my bed. She sleeps curled up right next to my belly, with her head all buried in her front paws. She is just so damn cute. Not as crazy as Dave's cats, I presume, but I love her so much. I can't stop worrying about her.

fyi

This morning, coming out of the subway, I saw...

A seagull wing. Intact and Unattached. With the bloody bone sticking out.

Guest Post: Life's Small Treasures

Brought to you by T James:

This is a true story.

On Friday night I met mike and a girl he liked named Katie (aka Katie from Marshall Feilds) at O'Donovan's for beers. At one point in conversation, KMF mentioned something about pirates, and I said that I have a friend who actually is a pirate; her name is Patra the pirate and she works at the Blue Moon Cafe. KMF asked me if Patra has a treasure chest. Of course, she has several, I replied, but they're buried throughout the small, uninhabited islands of the Caribbean. Doy. Well, said KMF, some friends of mine gave me a treasure chest and I keep my jewelry in it.

Knowing how much Patra---the second coolest smooth jazz singer ever (that's right, I'm talking about Billy Ocean)---would love that treasure chest, I offered KMF $20 for it. She turned me down. I said $50. KMF said no. I said $100. No. $300. No. $500! No! Then I said, KMF, I will give you ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS for that treasure chest.

mike shouted, he's crazy, he'll do it! but KMF said, I won't sell it for anything!

Right away I devised a plan for mike to have sex with KMF and then steal the treasure chest while she slept, but I was pretty sure mike didn't have enough of a criminal mentality to appreciate the diabolical nature of my plan, and thus the treasure chest eluded my possession.

On Sunday, when I went to the Blue Moon, I told Patra the story of how I almost got her a treasure chest. She was very glad that I didn't pay ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS for it, but I told her that KMF didn't know what she was up against and that I would get that chest if it was the last goddamn thing I ever did. I swear on the graves of Billy Ocean's children that I will get that damn treasure chest, Patra, I said.

Fast forward to last night.

I wanted to buy a new black dress shirt to match the sweet skull belt that I bought last weekend, so I stopped into Savers on Lake Street. If you've ever been to Savers, you know that as soon as you walk in the door, the donation bins sit immediately on the left.

When I walked in, in one of the bins, I swear to God, was a treasure chest. I almost shat a brick of gold when I saw it. It was perfect: kind of small, wooden, a round top, rusty latches. I bought the chest ($2), two dress shirts ($6), and a Yoda-shaped drink-topper ($1) for mike that I'm now giving to the first homeless man I can find to punish mike for not going to the Electric 6 show tonight, mike you jerk.

I first went to Target and got some wrapping paper and some note cards, and then over to the Blue Moon, thinking that before I did my homework I was going to wrap the chest, put one notecard on the outside of the wrapping that said "Patra~ I didn't want to kill her..." and one inside the chest that said "... but she left me no choice", and then leave it there for her to open tomorrow. (Had I shat a brick of gold, I would have turned it into dubloons and put into the chest, too.)

What clever and excellent plan, I thought, a clever and excellent plan, indeed. Patra will go into work, see the gift, read the first card, tear open the wrapping to reveal the chest, see the chest, think that something's amiss, open the chest to reveal the second card, and be left wondering how I procured the chest from KMF. HER MIND WILL REEL WITH TERRIBLE UNCERTAINTY! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Yes, excellent indeed.

But Patra picked up someone else's shift and was working. Thinking on the fly, I wrapped my jacket around the chest, walked in and sat down and said, you can't tell anyone about this... and revealed the chest.

Upon seeing the chest, Patra had several violent heart attacks all at the same time, at least three or four or five. I was also pleased; seeing Patra's reaction was like seeing the warm smile of a homeless man drinking through his new Yoda-shaped drink-topper: priceless.

I tried to explain to Patra the story of how I got the chest at Savers, but she refused to believe any story that didn't involve me forming a hot air ballon gang to make a heist from KMF's apartment, which I might still do.

Making lesbians have heart attacks and homeless men smile---it's what I do. Just like Billy says:

'said open the door(Get in the back)Tread on the floor(Get on the track)Yeah (Yeah) Yeah (Yeah)Yeah (Yeah) Yeah (Yeah)Let's goOoooh, woooow, yeahI'll be the sunShining on youHey CinderellaStep in your shoeI'll be your non'stop loverGet it while you canYour non-stop miracleI'm your manGet outta my... Get outta my...WooooooooooooohGet outta my dreamsGet outta my dreamsGet in to my car

the end.

When I grow up...

Things I am not going to be, and I can just give up on:

1. A rapper
2. A rock star
3. A graphic novelist
4. An installation artist
5. Fluent in French
6. A Cirque de Soleil performer
7. A chocolatier
8. A revolutionary
9. A lover of ALL God's creatures
10. Jake Gyllenhaal's sweetheart

And a random scene from my life:
I got up from my desk and walked away from it with my headset still plugged into my phone, thus recreating that scene from My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

And a topic for discussion:
Which is correct:
"be still my heart" or "be still my beating heart"?
If your answer is "it can be either" please weigh in on which came first. Is this a saying from something (literature)? I can't remember. But I have an opinion that one of these two phrases is actually the correct one. And one sounds wrong. Am I wrong? Could be...could be. It also doesn't matter that much. And I really could be wrong. But I just want to find out! Not to prove somebody wrong, but because I want to find out where I got this impression.

For pure robot comedy go to...

Asimo

The videos are quite nice. Especially the one called "Avoiding Obstacles" although it is disappointing that the obstacles are not being thrown at ASIMO and he is having to duck them. He is just going around obstacles outlined on the floor. Still, "Bravo, ASIMO!"

Down at the docks

Yesterday we lazed in the sun on a 2 hour lunch. We went to Uno's at the seaport and sat outside people watching. Turned out to be the best day ever for that, since it was the annual street performer auditions. There were some good ones and some not-so-good ones, and I'm not sure which I liked more. This one hip-hop mime popped and locked to Clapton's In A White Room. Then there was "Walter" whose mike wasn't working and he got really mad at everybody and pitched a fit. There was this hula-hooper who spent 2 minutes of her alotted 3 minutes trying to "win the crowd over with humor." I was like "do what you came here to do! Hula-Hoop!" When she finally did she dropped those hoops all over the place. Also I didn't understand her costume which was black cowboy boots, red tights, a black "dress" (or smock?) and a pink wig. The pièce de résistance was supposed to be this girl dressed like a blue butterfly with a parasol. She was sitting there the whole time and we kept saying "when is that girl going to perform?" She finally did and we found out she was less of a "performer" and more of a "statue" for people to "take pictures with." Sigh. At least the lemonade was delicious.

warning to self

When I get dressed tonight for our fundraiser, I will probably do the following:

1. Drink
2. Try on 6-8 dresses and skirts/shirt combinations
3. Stop to watch Friends or something equally as embarrassing
4. Bother my roommates, let the taller one wrap me in something insane, and then start to wimper and stomp about.
5. Dance to that "Killers" song
6. Decide I should go with a "rocker" look
7. After trying on everything black, realize my legs are somewhat unsightly, what with the pale and the scabs and scars. And realize its gotten colder outside now that its dark.
8. Try to make pants sexy, with tops.
9. Discover the only tops I have are tanktops or sweaters. No way out.
10. Put on jeans and same shirt I always wear.

Ways in which I treat printers/faxes/copiers like pets/babies….

1. Pat them
2. Shush them when they whine
3. Talk to them
4. Console them when they’re injured
5. Wake them up from naps
6. Scold them when they’re being unruly
7. Forgive them
8. Feed them
9. Coo over them with other secretaries
10. Place my hindquarters upon them.

undead in the morning

I saw a hilarious British comedy on Saturday night called “Shaun of the Dead” and the whole time was thinking “Oh this is not so bad. It’s a comedy! I never knew zombies could be so funny! Why, there’s nothing scary about them at all!”
Except that there is. Especially when you wake up in the morning and its very dark and quiet in the house, and it seems like the perfect place to find a zombie. They are not fast. They don’t jump out. Its more like you happen upon them. And then they just don’t stop coming at you. They are persistent is what they are. And also they are trying to eat you alive, which is slightly frightening. I think they’re really strong too, so you may try to barricade yourself in the bathroom, and they’d be like “That’s cool- I’ve got all day. Here I come.” And they’ll just keep pounding away until they get in. Mostly I think you don’t want to trap yourself somewhere with them. Like the shower is a very bad place to be attacked by a zombie. Because they will tear the curtain down, and just throw the big heavy arms around you and kind of fall on you and pin you down. If you have wide open spaces, you can definitely outrun them, but they will probably eventually catch up to you, no matter where you are. Because there’s only so many places you can hide.

I can't dress myself

It comes in two waves:

The first is me at 8:20 this morning, 5 minutes after I should have left. I don't have any clothes on and I think this is the crucial moment where wrong, bad choices began. I stepped into black tights. Purple shoes. A light blue summer skirt with a big frilly thing on the back (it is adorable in the summer). But it sticks to the tights in the front so that it looks like a drawstring skirt. The shirt is a turquoise sweater which, being boatneck, was joined by a white tanktop to cover bra straps. WHA? Business appropriate? I think not. Black hoop earrings. It is kind of Moulin Rouge mixed with NOT MATCHING.

Not realizing the weight of the crisis until a truckload of weird looks on the subway and from all the women in the office, I decided at noon, to take an emergency trip to Century 21. Despite the pain involved in Century 21 at noon (what with its Eurotrash families and "disenchanted" salesclerks), you would suspect some sort of cohesive outfit creation, especially in an emergency such as this. "Keep it simple!" was my mantra. But no. My goal to buy one or two items that would simply correct the issues of the current outfit fell through. I bought a whole new outfit. And I think it is, while at least matching, just as absurd as the first one. It is: a nice tight black and white striped sweater. A gray chinoey-fabric knee length pencil skirt. The problem with this particular item is just the size. They only had size 10 and I was so desperate I bought it anyways. I have wrapped and pinned it, but it is still not really staying on. So its nice and baggy and bunchy. Mmmm, just the way I like it. The tights are gray fishnets (with small eyeholes so still appropriate). I think it really is better. But as I looked at myself in the mirror, I inevitably thought: "Oh no. What have I done?" I haven't left my desk at all yet b/c I'm afraid to face the sad stares of the women in my office. They'll be thinking "Oh sad. That girl obviously went out to buy new clothes and that's what she came up with?"

good news

My boss has specifically instructed me to put up a sign on the microwave that says "NO STINKY FISH!" Love it. LOVE IT.

pathos:hilarity

I am unsure of whether its okay to post the nonhilarious on my blog. Silly, because its my own damn blog and i can do whatever the fuck i want with it. But its personal with me.

I mask a lot of shit with the funny. Obviously everybody does this a little. But my good friend emily and I have been discussing what these online journals mean. We don't treat them exactly like our diaries. Even Emily, who makes no show of telling hilarious stories, but always tries to speak from the heart, purposefully excludes some things. So what do we decide to include?

I wish that the things I call "funny" would read as somewhat sad and truthful. But isn't this because I want somebody out there to understand me? I want someone to think "gosh, that strikes me. This "sooz" has touched me today." I want the pathetic and human and strange behavior around me to read as somewhat universal and beautiful; not just funny.

The problem is I don't really know who is reading this. I can't see their faces. Its not like an audience, where they're sitting in the same room as me. If I could see their faces I would be able to gauge what their reactions are. I would thus be responsible for what I am dishing out. But in this imaginary web space, there is no way to own what you say. So it is safer to try and laugh at things.

Last night I had a very long discussion with my roommate about religion vs. faith. I arrived at a question about "fate" and "predetermined plan." Many people make the statement "It was meant to be." But this ignores time. To say that type of butterfly was meant to change its colors over hundreds of years, is to act like this current stage of the butterfly is the final one. You are not acknowledging where the butterfly will be in 200 years. Roomie said we could imagine God as a constant gardener, always with his fingers in the dirt, always making things work the way they do. Not like a creationist viewpoint. Not like God created the beginning and then just sat back to watch what we would make of things.

I find "God" in everything, but especially science. I find it spiritually exciting that there is an explanation for most things, even the suspicious and "supernatural." I just wish there was a better name for God. Nature? I think the best thing is the action, the drive forward of the universe. And the endlessness of it. Even if it blows up, it was meant to be. Because it was. And that simplest explanation is the most Godly one.

Politically, it is so fucking frustrating when people use their faith to separate the "right" and "wrong." As soon as they take a position of "this should be forgiven" and "this shouldn't be" they are "playing" God. When you leave the Goddening to God, you show your real faith.

Here is one more thought about faith: If you choose to have faith, then are you not admitting that the thing which you have faith in, is not actually there? Faith seems like the biggest choice a person can make. But it is a double-edged sword, b/c by making the choice of faith, you are acknowledging it is a choice. You are saying "I want to believe in this. I don't have any evidence it exists, but I want to believe in it." Its a beautiful thing to do, and humans are so lucky that we have the capacity to think such things, but it also acknowledges that the Jesus, Buddha, etc. is no more "there" than a ghost. I think we see what we want to see or are ready to see; that the volition comes from our brains.

I'll take the "not boring" dish please

I wrote this blogpost, just now, that was so boring! It seriously made me sad that I was trying to make clever remarks about "cubicle behavior" and how it was like comparing lunch condiments to...
It doesn't matter. The truth is, I've got to get out of here! Oh my god, let me out! Please! I am going to scream!
I really thought that at age ____ I would have been well on the way to saving the world, or at least be involved in some sort of theatrical production that traveled to wartorn countries and helped the suffering masses express their pain through the miracle of performance.
I also thought I might have revolutionized "time and space" as measurements in performance, and also that I might have created a new acting training called "pathos:hilarity" and NONE OF THESE THINGS HAVE HAPPENED YET!
I am really not in a good mood today, and I'm trying so hard to cheer the fuck up. Probably too hard. Probably I need to just relax and have a good time, right? Would somebody please point me in the direction of this place of happiness?
Oh my god I want to kick my shoes off and run outside screaming and jump into ground zero like its a freaking swimming pool. I want to get in one of those adorable small cars with a guitar and a jawharp and strike out to the West, and meet Bobby McGee already! I also want to get the fuck out of this office! Did I mention that yet? It's not even so bad an office. I don't want to sit here anymore, though, and its not because I don't get any exercise. I have a hard time buying that the answer to crazy-stir-disease is "going to the gym." I think crazy-stir-disease is a symptom of global rot! Global rot, I tell you!

Nobody heard from that girl ever again. She lives in a cabin on a lake somewhere, all alone. A hermitess. And she holds on to the branch of the tree as she swings. Then one day, many years later, a woodcutter comes along. She is wearing a red cloak, like a riding hood, and she is planting gardens. He watches her for three days and three nights before knocking on her door to ask for supper. And they live forever. I mean like Duncan McLeod, The Highlander.

Is THIS true?

Just now, as I was trying to have compassion for the co-worker who is microwaving a fish (it fills the office with the smell of hot sea and stays all afternoon), he entered the kitchenette and asked me if I got a hair cut. I said "yes."
Him: You can tell. (long pause) Do you cut it often?
Me: What do you mean?
Him: Do you ever let it grow?
(with a hand gesture indicating really long hair)
Me: Yes. I was letting it grow before I cut it.
Him: That's good. If you cut it too much it won't grow back.

Seriously. He seriously believes that. Any thoughts? Is there ANY truth to that statement? Also can we talk about the "You can tell" statement?

Taking on the smells of the world

One of the hardest things about Dzogchen practice for me has been the breathing deep and taking in the suffering of others and and then exhaling nice, comforting thoughts back out to the other beings of the world. It really is hard to do this on the subway because of some of the smells. I've got a real nose for them. Here are some I have identified:
1. dookie
2. crotch rot
3. "I only brush my teeth at night"
4. "If I let this out silently, it doesn't count" (this theory is wrong. You can't compare farting to the "if a tree falls in a forest and nobody hears it" question because trees don't emit noxious gases)
5. peepee
6. Au de Four Days of Drinking and Smoking
7. the soil (is there actually soil in Manhattan still? Yes.)
8. Fish (or is it?)
9. Squid (is that what it is?)
10. Dead animals
11. Rotting Dairy
12. Dredlocks

There is a story of one monk who had not understood compassion fully, so the Buddha presented himself to the monk in the form of a dying dog on the side of the road. The dog's lower half was being eaten my maggots. The monk felt so much sympathy for the animal that he bent down and sucked the maggots out with his teeth. The Buddha transformed from the dog into his customary Buddha shape and told the monk he had now reached a new samsara level. Hmmmm.

A likeable lady

I found the funniest lady in our office today. Before this day I thought of her as the I-Don’t-Like-Gossip-Lady, because she has signs all over her cubicle that say “gossip hurts…don’t do it!”
Today I noticed her mug with our company’s logo on it. I said, “how does a girl go about getting one of those?” (Except I phrased it normally, and not like I was in the film Newsies) She told me when her group was relocated uptown after 9/11, the company wanted to do something nice for them. Then she paused. “So they gave us all coffee mugs….To collect our tears in!” and she burst out laughing so hard, and patted me conspiratorially on the shoulder. We both laughed for an abnormal amount of time, like when you’re both almost sad at the truth of such a thing. I promise I will NEVER gossip about that lady. She rules.

A script to remember

http://www.dailyscript.com/scripts/A_Walk_to_Remember.pdf

A few of my favorite things:

Favorite Error Messages:
"Object reference not set to an instance of an object"
"An unnamed file was not found"
(this one appears only of its own volition, after no attempts to do anything)
"Its not my fault"
(My computer has actually SAID this (with a voice) to me)

Favorite Office Supplies:
Electric Typewriter
Staple Remover
White-Out Tape

Favorite pronounciation blunders made by professional adults:
draw (instead of drawer)
fustrated (frustrated)

Favorite offensive "business talk" used by an Executive:
Pow Wow (used in the context of "let's roundtable this discussion")

XXXV.

No more be grieved at that which thou hast done:
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorizing thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are;
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense--
Thy adverse party is thy advocate--
And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence:
Such civil war is in my love and hate
That I an accessary needs must be
To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.

What Will Probably Happen To Me

I am convinced there is a room somewhere, in the basement of one of the company’s buildings, where all the sensorship people sit, going through all our e-mails and instant messages. There is, almost certainly, a certain sensorship guy, who has noticed the content of some of my interoffice instant messages. But since he is a decent guy who hates his day job, he is not reporting me. He most likely looks a little bit like this. He probably finds my gossip and somewhat inappropriate discussions extremely interesting, and follows my life like a soap opera story. He is probably, in his quiet little way, falling slowly but surely in mad, mad love with me. He also happens to be a novelist and his best friend, a quirky sidekick type, happens to be a publisher. They are probably going to publish my IM’s in a book, but not on the sly. The publishing of the book (undoubtedly the most famous piece of literature of this decade) will act as an invitation to meet with him for martinis some time, in a no-name bar where the bartender knows his name and knows my favorite drink. It is there that he will simultaneously A)announce plans to share the proceeds with me 50/50 and B) begin to date me. Soon enough, the film version of our story will be nominated for an academy award. Having co-written and co-starred, we will be nominated quadrupley, and when we win, he will propose marriage onstage at the Academy Awards. This will probably happen. Its just a matter of time.

the escape

We are trying to get only a certain few people out of our office for drinks right now. It is very complicated b/c we have to avoid certain calls, and there's lots of coordinating. Oh, thats my signal. shiznit.

whoa

this shit is amazing

The most romantic music ever

My Boo
[Usher intro:]

There's always that one person
That will always have your heart
You never see it coming
Cause you're blinded from the start
Know that you're that one for me
It's clear for everyone to see
Ooh baby ooh you'll always be my boo

[Alicia intro:]

I don't know bout cha'll
But I know about us and uh
It's the only way
We know how to rock
I don't know bout cha'll
But I know about us and uh
It's the only way
We know how to rock

[Usher Verse:]

Do you remember girl
I was the one who gave you your first kiss
Cause I remember girl
I was the one who said put your lips like this
Even before all the fame and
People screaming your name
Girl I was there when you were my baby

[Chorus:]
[Usher:]
It started when we were younger
You were mine my boo
Now another brother's taken over
But its still in your eyes my boo
Even though we used to argue it's alright
I know we haven't seen each other
In awhile but you will always be my boo

[Alicia:]
I was in love with you when we were younger
You were mine my boo
And I see it from time to time
I still feel like my boo
And I can see it no matter
How I try to hide my boo
Even though there's another man who's in my life
You will always be my boo

[Alicia Verse:]

Yes I remember boy
Cause after we kissed
I could only think about your lips
Yes I remember boy
The moment I knew you were the one
I could spend my life with
Even before all the fame
And people screaming your name
I was there and you were my baby

[Chorus:]
[Usher:]
It started when we were younger
You were mine my boo
Now another brother's taken over
But its still in your eyes my boo
Even though we used to argue it's alright
I know we haven't seen each other
In awhile but you will always be my boo

[Alicia:]
I was in love with you when we were younger
You were mine my boo
And I see it from time to time
I still feel like my boo
And I can see it no matter
How I try to hide my boo
Even though there's another man who's in my life
You will always be my boo

[Usher:]
My oh, My oh, My oh, My oh, My Boo

[Alicia:]
My oh, My oh, My oh, My oh, My Boo

[Chorus:]
[Usher:]
It started when we were younger
You were mine my boo
Now another brother's taken over
But its still in your eyes my boo
Even though we used to argue it's alright
I know we haven't seen each other
In awhile but you will always be my boo

[Alicia & Usher:]

I don't know bout cha'll
But I know about us and uh
It's the only way
We know how to rock
I don't know bout cha'll
But I know about us and uh
It's the only way
We know how to rock

Guest Post: "Leather!" "Tina Fey!" "Pinochle!"

T James was in town this weekend and I have decided to feature him as a guest poster today. I don't think he even knows my real name. He only calls me Sooz.

T James says:

Okay, Tina Fey.

Okay.

Of course the first things people think of when they hear Tina Fey are Weekend Update and Mean Girls. Mean Girls was a fairly good movie, I guess, for people who aren't teenage girls, and people who aren't interested in staring at the fake breasts of "teenage" girls for like an hour and a half.

Anyway, last Sunday Kat, Tom, Sooz, my friend EKL and I went to see the Upright Citizen's Brigade, the free show, since the other two were sold out. Kat and I waited in the fucking cold for like two and a half hours. Shit it was cold. And snowing.

So we eventually got in, and it was a bunch of people from SNL, including Tina Fey who did the monologue. Horatio Sanz, Seth Meyer, Rachel Drach, Gob's wife Amy Pohler, Ruggles, a few other guys. Holy shit it was funny. It was probably the funniest thing I've ever heard or seen, even funnier than that time my friend Kelly and I were stoned and realized a water pipe froze in the basement and was shooting water all over and that meant the cops were coming and we were fucked.

We got seats at the show, too, since Sooz knew the girl who was interning. I had one of those 'from a distance' crushes on this intern. You know, like sitting at a cafe and there's someone at a table by you who's totally cute, and you want to talk to them, but as soon as you sit down, they look over at you and start to pack up their shit and leave. I never got to talk to her, since we had to quick leave and go to the bar. But if I'm ever back in New York, or if she's ever here, we could have babies or something. They'd totally be cute, since we've both got curly hair.

Tina never laughed during the show, even though it was fantastic. I'm not sure if she was too tired, or was too academic, but she never laughed. She just sat there, looking totally brilliant and hot and amazing, and that's why I had an erection the whole show.

Well, that and the intern.

And because I was touching myself.

But the show was amazing. And that's Tina Fey for me.

T

I also got a tiny erection when I brushed up against this guy's stomach on the way out. He is dreamy.

"Are you pregnant?"

Note to the world: If you are not SURE that a woman is pregnant, do not ask her if she is. Just let her continue on, let her pass you by, and assume that the bulge is an adorable little paunch. Why would you want to know if a complete stranger is pregnant, anyway? Are you taking a survey?

oh yeah

Oh yeah. Its THIS day. I never see it coming, and then suddenly I'm confronted with it. Crosses. Ash crosses everywhere. It is totally disturbing and frightening to me. I always think something horrible has happened and then I remember "Oh yeah, something horrible did happen, just many many many years ago." I hold no animosity towards observers of Ash Wednesday. In fact, I applaud them for their effective visual imagery. It never fails to freak me the fuck out.

A little thing I bet you didn't know about Sooz

There is this uncle I have. He has some anger problems. I've met him less than ten times in my life. He has never called me, asked me any questions about myself, or ever sent a card or gift. I don't really even consider him family, especially since last summer when he accused me of stealing my grandmother's paints. She had given them to me, and as I was packing them in my suitcase, nonchalantly humming, he approached me and said "Nervous about something?"
I said "No."
He said "Then why are you humming?"
I told him I was humming because I like to hum.
He said "Yeah right. I'd be nervous if I were you too." I had no idea what he meant at the time, but it became clear later when he told my grandpa about my "theft". Luckily, my grandma's Alzheimers was so bad at that point that she was throwing beach towels over the balcony to passing strangers, so my Grandpa didn't hold it against me.
Things have taken a turn for the worst. I got news that this "uncle" of mine pulled a gun on a woman in a road rage incident. Great. These are the kind of "warning signs" families talk about after a murder. Its really frightening.

Classic Sooz

What happened to me in the kitchen last night deserves a post: It will not include an explanation, but it will certainly define what happens when your mind is not on the food you are attempting to cook. It is the essence of hilarity ensuing.

The evening began with a shopping trip. Alfredo Sauce? Somehow, after visiting 4 different stores, I came home with only
1)milk
2)mushrooms
3)wine
4)grated parmesan-the kind in the shaker.

Thats it, folks. I had 3 cloves of garlic to use, so I started by putting them in a pan with olive oil (no butter!) and promptly burning them. To cool the burning garlic I did two things: 1)removed the pan from the stove and put it on the plastic cutting board which it promptly melted to. 2)pour cold milk over it. (The milk's purpose was not just to cool; it was supposed to be an ingredient in Alfredo sauce too.) It scalded into a pillow of white bubbles. I threw the whole thing in the sink. I decided to attempt it again. By attempt I mean REPEAT. Exactly the same way, folks. Except this time, instead of using fresh garlic (I was out) I used powdered, and instead of removing the pan from the heat to cool it, I just added the milk to the hot oil and wine. (Was I drinking the wine? Hardly (three sips). If I could blame alcohol for this I unabashedly would, but alas, the cause was not so simple.) My roommate watched as I stirred what looked like lemonade and cottage cheese. Near tears I asked him "Is this what curdled milk looks like?" (I knew it was.) I threw that one out.

Third times a charm, right? He told me to temper the milk and it went fine. Let me be more specific. I didn't burn the milk again. But when I added the powdered parmesan it did something I've never seen before, except perhaps in a movie about aliens. It turned into chunks of hardened brown rubber, that looked like the putty for fake noses (see: Nicole Kidman in The Hours). Despite its weirdness, this last version made it into our "supper."

But lets not assume the dish was "ready". Remember the pasta that I was inevitably cooking over another burner? And remember the glass of wine I was gently sipping from? Well, I took that pot of boiling hot pasta and WHISKED it over to the sink, in a perfect arc that included the wine glass. The glass shattered all over the floor, trapping my bare-footed self in the corner of the kitchen with a boiling pot of water in my hands. My roommate, battling with the "internet" (quotes denote non-connectedness) heard the crash and came to rescue (laugh at) me. Then, as we both broke into gut-wrenching, amazed laughter, I decided I had to get rid of that hot water. I decided to kind of POUR the water into the drainer. The drainer, wishing to get in on the "Erin's such a mess" fun, had propped itself not quite in the sink. So I poured Hot Boiling Water all over the shattered glass. My roommate took my arm, pulled it over his shoulder, and carried me out of the kitchen.

Kicking doesn't work for everything

Things kicking, biting, or hitting don't solve:
1. boredom
2. Uggs
3. When the kids won't come in from the rain and you keep calling them and calling them, but they just won't come in from the rain.
4. Valentine's day
5. When the cream cheese keeps squishing out of the bagel.
6. Computer problems
7. Moms
8. Drug and alcohol addiction
9. When the time comes to put a loved one in a nursing home.
10. "Elections"
11. Math
12. Local trains running express for no apparent reason.

y tu?

Sonnet for Quiet Library....

The sweat, the blood, the tears upon the stage
paint not a valid picture of the heart
that constantly stretches more than with age
as we make our comedy; business; art.

Lifetimes stretch longer than time spent with ya'll.
Old men and their old wives die in their beds,
as mewling newborn babies learn to crawl.
Yet we continue beating on our heads:

"What is good? What is right? What is the point?"
Our tortured cries scream all throughout the night.
Our bodies ache, our hands reach past their joints
to find the Funny; Make the sorrow Flight.

In hopes of landing peacefully in death,
I'll laugh and laugh and laugh with my last breath.

Where does the milk go?

I am not sure if my boss was joking when he asked me that question last week. He wants me to find out why there is so much milk in the office refrigerator. There is always at least 24 cartons each of 2%, Half-n-half, and skim in the fridge. It really is a lot. And they're never expired. So his question is "What do they do with the milk after it expires? Do they just throw it all away?" I felt like I was telling a 7-year-old the truth about the Animal Humane Society (euthenasia) when I said "Yes, I think they do." He asked me if there wasn't something I could do about that. I said I would get right on it.
Apparently he was quite serious. Because today he "followed up" with me on the "milk issue." Where do I begin? The cows?
Back to the animal euthenasia topic: I have a vivid memory of a movie they accidentally showed us when I was in 1st grade. The title was something like "Save the Animals" and some idiot teacher assumed it was about rainforests or something. Without viewing it first, they played it for six classes of 1st graders. It was two hours straight of Humane Society employees carrying unwanted puppies and kittens and sweet old animals into a room where they either held them down or supported their heads as they gave them lethal injection after lethal injection. With horror we watched as dozens of sweet furry animals went limp and slowly closed their eyes. When the other teachers received their classes after the movie, they were surprised to find not a dry eye amongst us. They had to spend the rest of the day sitting and hugging kids and having meetings about our feelings. At the end of the day they sent letters home to all the parents explaining why their child might be weeping all through dinner.

If only life was like the novels

I am reading "The Birth of Venus" which is about a young woman artist in Florence at the end of the Medici era. She has all these exchanges with a mysteriuos rockstar painter who goes out walking late at night and then traps her against stone walls and whispers secrets in her ear.
A mostly unrelated epiphany: during a 90 minute meeting today consisting mainly of sentences like this one "The PTRS database won't allow mailmerges to include data..." (you get the idea) when a winged visitor stopped by to oversee the goings on. The thing I've forgotten about the Seagull, in my study of Chekhov's play, is that it is a hilarious bird. When I think of its body when flying (or dead) its a little more graceful, but standing up it looks ridiculous. It has a huge fat body and stick legs and a huge nose; not like a Dove or Robin or some such KatieHolmes-esque bird. It's the Cheri Oteri or Rachel Dratch of birds. This particular fellow had to know what he was doing to me. I had to lower my head because the corners of my mouth were turning up and tears were gathering in my eyes. Nobody else was facing the window. As the meeting leader talked, the bird crossed 3 (the magic #!) times in front of the window. From the time he appeared to the time he disappeared he never took his eyes off me. So the bird's body was facing one way as its head was turned to the side. Like a vaudeville act. I would not have been surprised if his third round had included a cane and top hat.

Come see the Quiet Library!

www.juviehall.com