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I took the entire weekend off from the Internet. Aside from a couple of e-mail checks on my phone, I had a good four days of no Twittering, Facebooking, or Interneting of any kind other than bathtub Hulu watching. I guess if you have a job where you aren’t allowed to do those things, you might want to do more of them in your spare time. But, for me, using Twitter all day on my vacation is akin to filling out personnel reports. Albeit more exciting.

The result of this is that I, apparently, completely missed a supposedly huge news story.

Last night, on the TV at the gym, there were several people discussing an accident involving Tiger Woods. There was discussion of apologies and the media and a bunch of other falderal, but they never actually said what happened. There was a ticker at the bottom that said something like “Tiger Woods Accident Aftermath”.

Then, when I got back on Twitter today, I saw tweets saying “Leave Tiger Alone” and other equally nebulous ramblings.

Whatever happened to background?

In the newspaper world, whenever we wrote an update of a story, we always started the update with a synopsis of the original story. Most likely because newspapers do not assume that their audience is checking the newspaper every 10 minutes on their iPhone. Because it is not possible. Because iPhones don’t hold paper. And you can’t print on an iPhone without destroying the screen.

I am bitter and I am curmudgeonly. Don’t ask me why I don’t just Google the story to find out what happened. Because I want the news to tell me.
Stop assuming that I am also on the 24-hour news cycle.



Elliot has been obsessed lately with having a little brother. Two little brothers, actually. DO NOT TAKE THIS TO MEAN ANYTHING. I am not pregnant, nor do I have any plan to be pregnant in the foreseeable future.
I think it’s more because all of his friends now have brothers and sisters (the last of his only-child friends has a sibling due pretty soon). That, and I’m not that into playing chess, and he wants someone to play chess with.

Tonight he was asking me why I couldn’t make him a brother (or two) now.

“I’m not married,” I told him.

“Then get married.”

“I’m sure I will someday, but not now.”

“Oh yeah, and there’s another reason, too,” he told me.

“What’s that?”

“We don’t have enough money for a baby.”

“Well, I’m not married.”

“Yeah, and we don’t have any diapers here. We would need some diapers. And we don’t have any.”

Here are some of the things that he has told me to encourage me to make his brothers:

“When I watch Attack of the Clones, I will not let those babies watch Attack of the Clones, because it’s too violent. I might be seven when those babies are born, so I’ll be able to watch it, but you know what? It’s violent. It’s way too violent for an instant.”
(It took me a while to realize that instant means “infant”)

“My brothers are really important to me. When they grow up, I want my brothers to grow up to be a nice man. Like, when I grow up to be a nice man. I want them to be the same thing. I want them to be a nice man.”

“I can share my Halloween candy with them. Because there’s enough for two kids in that bowl. Or three kids. Three kids could eat that candy.”

“I know something else. The baby brothers need a name. It can be pretty similar to my name, because I would be like a giant thing compared to the little baby. The baby would be a little instant compared to me. I’m even taller than this couch. And that baby is, like, not even as tall as my legs.”

Giant stick!, originally uploaded by hellopaperclip.

I don’t want to like this. But I have to. Because it’s some straight-up Cremaster-type art and it’s incredible.

And, yes, it was also the featured song on last week’s Gossip Girl.

I know. I’m almost 30. Suck it.

Tonight, when Elliot and I were shopping at Kroger – actually, since this is Michigan, I will refer to it as The Krogers – I saw this man who lived in my neighborhood as a kid. The only reason I remember him is that he looks exactly like George from the Jeffersons.

Hey Weezy!

Well, now that I have Googled a picture of George Jefferson, I realize that neighbor George Jefferson is whiter. But the hair and mustache are right on.

Thing is, he still looks exactly the same. And it has been more than 10 years since I moved out of that house. And he looked the same for the 9 years that I lived there. He’s like some sort of magical, Dick Clark not-aging George Jefferson guy.

And then I wondered, since I have seen him around town over the years and always note his presence, has he ever noticed that I’m looking at him? I never thought about the fact that the George Jefferson guy (he has it a lot easier than another of my childhood neighbors, a crazy woman who wandered up and down Washtenaw Ave. whom we referred to as Saggy Boobs Lady or, for short, Saggy Boobs) may have also been noting my presence this entire time. Like, Hey, there’s that kid who grew up in my neighborhood and never seems to have moved away!

Or, even worse – and somehow more appropriate – Hey, there’s that kid who looked like Blossom!

Yep. It's true. Okay. You can stop laughing now. Really. It's enough.


and I am surfing youtube and drinking beer. And they are both encouraged/provided.
My life has gotten significantly better in the last week.

Hi friends!

Since I no longer have a job where I have to worry about the public dissemination of myself (beyond the norm), I’m back.
Man. This is a little awkward. It’s like when you run into someone you haven’t seen in a few years, and you’re not quite sure how much to talk about.
So I’ll just pretend that we’re all caught up and tell you about what’s going on right now. It’s easier on both of us this way.

Last night after work, Joe and I went to the rec center to practice our ping pong. Okay, so we also worked out, but that wasn’t really the point of the visit.
One of his co-workers is having a ping pong tournament at his house in a few weeks. The guy told Joe that the wives don’t usually play. But, since I’m not a wife, I guess that makes me exempt. But that also means that I have to practice (haven’t you seen a movie where someone is the only girl playing? pssh, she’d better be able to hold her own).

Let me be clear about the level of competition I am expecting: This is the same friend that gave Joe half a deer that he shot with a crossbow, and the two of them processed it together in the garage at his home in Flint. His 14-year-old daughter stood around and complained about being bored while the two men sawed their way through a deer head.
These people don’t mess around.

On the plus side, someone gifted Joe a ping pong table yesterday, so we don’t have to play at the rec center. On the minus side, we don’t have an inside place to put it so, for the time being, we’ll be playing in the driveway. Most likely by flashlight, except on the weekends.

Also, this evening I will be customizing my paddle. I will post photos. And I am trying to plan my outfit. I welcome any suggestions.

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