career determinism, please step back, turn around, and walk away. i do not want to face your derisive laughter.

when i got home after the last cringe, i read the beginning of my very first diary (ages 10–11), which i'd previously overlooked as boring, and realized there's some stuff to be mined in there. apparently i was a hypercritical little shit. also, i copyedited my own diary. when i was 11. i can tell the corrections by their different ink color—and it's not just a spelling fix here and there, but things like end parentheses and even pronoun consistency. i find this far more troubling than "The reason I think Sarah B--- is being especially mean to me is because she's jealous that I have parents that are home, and Bill and I are good friends."

liquid asse(t)s

"cash, check, or ass wallet?"

in an awkward, near-surreal twist on the appeals made by the more famous 5th avenue, this electronics shop on 5th ave in brooklyn kindly lets customers use their dimpled flab to purchase a bevy of remote controls, laser-light key chains, and other utility-drawer clutter-uppers.

fitting that the country with the most thongs (and flavors of doritos) per capita would see to it that our asses become the latest engine of consumer growth.

update

in december i finished CRC and am now all graduamated. soon i will get a piece of paper in the mail that calls me 'master' or something. it seems like a tactic credit-card companies should look into. after all, i gave NYU a buttload of money for a bunch of 'credits.'

on monday i start work as a copy editor for a national art magazine, thus fulfilling my vow not to work for any publication that uses the word 'fab.' (it shouldn't be too hard to figure out which mag it is by looking at this blog, but i remain paranoid about anonymity/workplace appropriateness within posts).

the great thing about the job will likely be the people and the (finally) paid magazine experience. working for a cultural publication is exactly what i want, and i'm relieved to get there without a pointless/existentially depraved detour into the slum-trap of women's magazines.¹ the not-great thing about the job is the noncompete agreement, which forbids me from writing for other art magazines. not a huge deal, but i did have my sights set on cabinet, which, now that i'm barred from submitting, is bathed in a glow of allure and untouchability previously occupied only by harper's.

¹incidentally, i did interview at one of these places—a mainstream women's mag with recipes and tips on powerwalking and flower-and-bauble arrangements on the cover (their dotage on vases and round objects is downright reproductive). what cost me the job? perhaps it was the moment my interviewer asked me what i thought of the magazine, and i told her it wasn't as bad as cosmo.

two wrong things

the mary-jane sneaker.
















and the goo-goo onesie.


the buttons below the search field say 'goo-goo search' and 'i'm feeling silly.'

'stache of understanding flaccid in hands of actually good writer

find your latest gleeful tom friedman mockery here.

there's also this older one that's pretty satisfying.

inscrutable post-it i found while cleaning my desk

"what if everything were emergent like wiki or google? toast? dates? once in a while you date a sponger [sponge?] or a spoon that makes it thru, or something."

the NYT has an article today about how the president of kazakhstan is displeased by sacha baron cohen's borat character and his mangled-english portrayal of kazakhstan as a backward place with a narcissistic president.

many kazakhs interviewed thought borat was funny, but one tv editor begged to differ. how did she express her displeasure for cohen's act? by calling it "humor below the waist."

coffee shortcut for hard times

eat chocolate-covered espresso beans.

drink water.