it’s banned books week! let’s all celebrate our freedom to read and pick up one of these oh-so-salacious books. well, you can. I’m buried up to my bespectacled eyes with reading for my classes (note: I would totally ban these books) so if you want, you can certainly read one for me. make it really illicit, please.
here’s a list of the 100 most challenged books in the U.S. between 1990 and 2000. I’ve only read 29 of them–mostly the books for kids. and no, I never read ANY of the goosebumps books. I used to really brag about this fact in sixth grade.
I can totally understand why where’s waldo? is on that list, though. all that hiding and shit. it’s really very suspicious. I mean, have you ever wondered why he’s hiding? why is he always on the run? what do we know about him? does he even have a last name? those trustworthy glasses and goofy smile may charm us, but serial killers are charming, too. maybe he’s leading us on a wild goose chase while he’s off on another page, claiming his next victim. maybe those red stripes are actually blood.
for shame, waldo. FOR SHAME.
waldo: serial killer or ramblin' man?
p.s. I looked up the cause of waldo’s banishment, and apparently there’s a boob in one of the crowd scenes. interesting.
pneumatic tube ladies
I wish we would initiate an interstate pneumatic tube system. (for those of you who don’t know, a pneumatic tube is the magical plastic chute that disappears your bank book or money at the bank drive-thru. it makes a sound like ‘shooom!’)
I would use that thing all the time. sometimes I just have something I want to say to a friend, but I don’t want to say it online and I don’t want to say it on the phone. I don’t want to waste a whole sheet of stationery or go buy more stamps because the post office pisses me off and there are always old ladies there who have forgotten their glasses. I just want to say to my friend “boobies, tee hee!” or something sponteneous and witty like that. and that’s all.
a pneumatic tube system would be perfect for this. I could scribble out my little note, put it in the plastic capsule, place the capsule in the tube, and press a button! shooom! there goes my note, all the way across the country. my friend opens it, reads “boobies, tee hee!” and dies of laughter. all because of pneumatic tubes.
apparently, some european countries use(d) this system for mail, but it was abandoned in favor of computers or fax machines/ruined by floods. I believe we should enact a system of interstate pneumatic tubage. I think it would change communication as we know it. bonds between friends and family would become stronger because this method of communication would just be so fun! even computer illiterate old people could use a pneumatic tube! imagine–you could even break up with your significant other via pneumatic tube! strongly worded letters of complaint would have so much more force if they arrived in a plastic capsule and with pneumatic sound effects!
perhaps I will start a petition to this effect. if it doesn’t work, I could always move into a bank. and live off of mints and lollipops.
this is one of the grossest things I’ve seen in a LONG time.
one of these mcdonald’s hamburgers is from 2008. one is from 1996.
after one cold, blustery, virginia autumn day, we think that smokey might already have SAD (seasonal affective disorder). he has taken to moping under a desk lamp–his head wedged tightly between the wall and the desk–acting crazed, reading victoria’s secret catalogs, and eating inordinate amounts of kitty food. soon he’s going to be a real chub. maybe I’ll dress him up like santa claus. that would cure my SAD, at least.
need...light...therapy! oh SAD!
I think our cat smokey is slightly perverted. I caught him perusing the victoria’s secret catalog this evening.
I could be wrong, though. maybe he’s just in the market for a lingerie for a lady cat friend. or himself.
how much do you know about chester alan arthur, most hirsute of presidents? I apparently know a lot. click here to take the quiz and show me up.
p.s. you won’t show me up.
this post is dedicated to natercia–roommate extraordinaire, brilliant interpretive/semi-professional break dancer, and my favorite portuguese-american.
happy birthday, rod, and sorry I forgot to buy you a present. now we’re even.
the baby freeze, natercia style