2001-01-30
Dear Diary:

I guess that calling them tiny, disease-riddled carriers of illness, pestilence and other biological hazards is not a nice way to talk about pre-schoolers, huh?

No, probably not.

Okay, you didn't hear that from me, then.

Anyhow, I was in contact with a few at the Super Bowl party and while they were not actively extruding mucus or anything, here I am sick again with another cold.

I know it's more likely I got this cold from one of the adults present, but really, it's much simpler to blame babies and toddlers. They can't read, they can't write, and they're not particularly litigious. These are all good things when you're impugning someone, I always say.

Speaking of impugning, I heard back from Johan Moes, aka Red Moose, the Dutch guy who uploaded 500 SETI@home units the same day I did, thereby cancelling my Dutch crushing efforts. (As both my readers know, crushing the Dutch has kept me amused while I wait to hear back from the aliens for whom the SETI program is scanning the skies.)

In his note Johan mentioned his counter hits rose because you both repeatedly visited the link I made to his webpage, and he tracked down the diary entry through the counter.

Was he ticked off about this SETI Dutch crushing business?

Heck no, eh.

He thought the whole thing was funny, even included the phrase "Greetings from The Evil Empire" in his note.

Darn!

How am I EVER going to be able to hold on to my prejudices when the people I try to discriminate against turn out to be kind, open-minded, fun-loving folk? SHEESH.

But don't you worry, I'm not about to give MY prejudices up that easily, nosireebob. I've decided to consider Johan an aberration, The Only Nice Person In The Netherlands. All the rest of them are still warmongering, world domination-obsessed SETI hooligans.

Now I can go back to Dutch crushing without any qualms at all.

You can well imagine my relief, eh.

How can you feel blue in the midst of all this gaudiness, eh? Only now I'm a feverish, stuffy-nosed, headache-y Dutch crusher. There's only one way to deal with this. I've thrown my gaudiest "The '60's Never Died, They Live On In This Tacky Print" sheets on my bed, grabbed a pitcher of tangerine juice, a box of Kleenex and I'm off to wallow in the wonder that is my latest cold.

Don't look for any diary updates for the rest of the week. Any extra energy I have I've got to put into my work.

It's not like I didn't warn you. I DO make Emily Dickinson look like a party animal, eh.

--Marn

Old Drivel - New Drivel


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Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

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2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.