I have a bunch of random bloggy thoughts throughout the week that are too stupid to share with the Internet by themselves. I’ve decided to compile them into a weekly post called “Monday Miscellany.” However, because Mondays are my busiest day of the week, this post will almost never appear on Mondays. Alliteration should always win out over verisimilitude, don’t you think?
I highly recommend making a point of skipping Monday Miscellany, as I can already tell it is going to devolve into navel-gazing nonsense.
Here we go!
-Can I make a suggestion I might have already made but am too lazy to check and see? While at the dentist, I highly recommend listening to Elliott Smith. Something about the two just go together. Pain for the greater good, all that. Plus, several months ago I was receiving a giant shot of Novocaine and he started singing “Shoot me up / It’s my life, Shoot me up / It’s my life” over and over. Even without letting myself think about the reality of his life too deeply, this coincidence really spooked me out. (Also: confidential to iPhone users: have you ever been listening to music at the dentist’s office and your phone rings? It is about 20 times louder than the music and will cause you to jump. It has replaced sneezing as my primary dentist phobia.)
WAIT just a second. Google is telling me that I have been mishearing this song for years and it’s actually “Sugar, lick me up, it’s my lie”? How could this be?
(listening to song again, carefully)
It totally is.
But this guy thought the same thing, for what it’s worth.
I bet everyone in my life thinks I’m lying when I say I can’t do things because I have a dentist appointment, but I have had thirteen since January 2007 (really! I just checked) and will have another four before the year is over, which will complete the dreaded Year+ of the Dentist (and will also complete my financial ruin). In return I will no longer feel searing pain when drinking cold drinks or hot drinks, when eating cold food or hot food, chewing in any one of a dozen danger zones sprinkled throughout my mouth, shuddering in horror if a fork touches a filling (maybe that one was psychosomatic, but replacing metal fillings with tooth-colored ones has made it go away), or waking up with vague toothaches that never go away. I will have also stood up to one of our society’s most prevalent fears – people you barely know injecting you with mysterious substances then using power drills to rearrange the composition of your body. I will have a mouth filled with dead people’s bones, glues, and half-ersatz teeth, which will have replaced a mouth filled with rotting mercury fillings. Woo.
-Do any of you use an online mailing list management company? I’m finally considering sending out professional truffle announcement emails and such, and would like to know what site you use and if you’re happy with them. I’m thinking about going with this company, because Poketo uses them and I like Poketo’s wallets so very much.
-Not to brag or anything, but usually I am the most productive person I know. I mean, if I know you and you think you’re more productive than me that is totally cool and I probably don’t know the realities of your life. But I really pride myself on my focused life, which is why today’s total breakdown of the system has me a little stressed out. Here’s the rundown:
-I woke up about eighty times throughout the “night” (3 am to 10 am) because of a mixture of thunderstorms and the unshakable feeling that my delivery woman didn’t get the 3 am text message to put truffles into a client’s cooler bag of meals (I completely forgot about her truffles until I was home and half asleep). At around 10 I gave up on sleep and called my delivery woman, who of course got the message and of course everything was fine. She also said that her stormy super busy NYC delivery day was going well, which only added fuel to my secret “Megan is not human” theory, since the only time I’ve ever heard her complain about deliveries was one time when she spent fourteen hours in the car.
10-10:15am: IMing my sweetheart:
Him: “In Croatia.
Bus broke down. On the side of a highway. On a bridge. Over a ravine.
Also: stomach flu.
Also: everyone has it.”
Me: “What? What’s happening? Are you OK? What did you eat? What’s Croatia like? Are you getting a new bus? Is Zagreb beautiful? I heard it was beautiful. Can you find good food? Are you throwing up? Is everyone? Are you going to be late to the show? Are you still carrying all your own backline? Hey, can you get the New Paltz Green Party a discount on some organic cotton t-shirts by contacting merch people you know?”
Him: “Bus is fixed, late to show, it is super beautiful, puked once, good luck at dentist, got to go!”
10:15-11: Reading (not responding too, too groggy) email, reading the news (read: the Onion).
11-12: Feeding cats, grooming, eating potato salad, etc.
2:30-8: Home from dentist feeling sprightly but numb. Just as I begin to contemplate all the errands and work and revolutions I am going to accomplish on my day off, the numbness wears off and I retreat to bed with an ice pack, homeopathy, chewable aspirin, soy yogurt, magazines, novels, and two out of three cats (Noodle the cat has to be banished after dentist appointments because of her habit of lightly punching you in the cheek if you don’t pet her enough. When your cheek is on fire with the memory of the day’s mouth torture, it is amazing how much pain a tiny declawed cat paw can cause [and of course we didn’t declaw her. Don’t be stupid.])
For way too long I have been sitting in bed catching up on food porn, The New Yorker, and the special kind of daydreaming that is a result of throbbing pain. Why does The New Yorker Style Issue (did it used to be called the Fashion Issue? Or am I crazy?) engender in me such a peculiar mixture of revulsion and covetousness? I somehow feel this is the effect they are intending. For no less than twenty minutes after reading Patricia Marx’s On and Off the Avenue about shoes (not available online), I just sat and thought about my shoes. I really want a pair of handmade shoes. Does that sound capitalist, or back-to-the-landy? I don’t mean it in the capitalist way. I mean it in a kind of socialist way – if wealth were distributed more equally, people would pay more for shoes and the people who make them could afford to handmake shoes not just for rich people. (Without leather, of course.)
I recently received an email about Cynthia McKinney (the Green Party presidential candidate) where her name was replaced with astericks throughout. When I asked why, I got the following utterly mind-blowing response. I really don’t know what to make of it. Has anyone had similar experiences?
“All my emails with the name of the candidate were being blocked. Removing the name allowed the email to go through. That seems to have ended late yesterday though. The period extended from the beginning of the DNC to the end of the RNC. There are several others involved with the campaign who had similar issues with email and/or list serves. XXX had her MySpace and FaceBook posts about McKinney disappear. XXX reported that their elist on a riseup server had nearly all list member registration deleted including the Admins. I don’t think these are coincidences.
“EVERY email I sent (and there were scores of attempts) from the start of the DNC that had Cynthia’s name in it NEVER arrived at its destination. If I deleted the name and resent it, it would get through immediately. It didn’t make a difference whether it was a YahooGroup, gp.org server, (etc). NOTHING I sent with Cynthia’s name would go through. That ended yesterday with the end of the RNC.”
M*A*S*H, Season 8, Episode 22, “Dreams” – most beautiful/tragic episode of any TV show, ever.
Oh, just one more thing: how great is the Hudson Valley materials Exchange? They accept PEN CAPS. I am not kidding – scroll down and down (or do a search) on their website.
Last thing, I promise: If I ever wanted to run for office in New Paltz, Shari Osborn’s utterly amazing letter has surely put that silly idea to rest: scroll down for it.
And while on the New Paltz Times site, you can’t miss this gem.