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Sunday, April 29, 2007

Do me, you filthy bee 

Image hosted by Photobucket.comGood night! I know that flowers are the genitalia of the plant world, but come on! With its heart shaped 'tongue', its lower petals, coyly crossed, looking as if they're wearing thigh high garter stockings pulled up to plump little buttocks - Georgia O'Keefe only wishes she could paint something so suggestive.

By the way, this little strumpet is the Highland Masdevallia.

Friday, April 20, 2007

Mannequin 2 - On the Move 

Image hosted by Photobucket.comI got a call the other day from a man who wanted a local mannequin manufacturer. When I could find no evidence of the company he angrily disputed my spelling of mannequin, insisting the word was spelled "manican." I told him that there was no company with either spelling and he seemed crestfallen. He then asked for the closest manufacturer. He wasn't interested in used mannequins, or mannequin stores. Only a manufactuer would do.

Eeeewwww. I got the creepiest vibe from him. There was this unseemly, yearning excitement in his voice, and I got the impression that he needed to speak to a manufactuere was going to make himself the perfect woman, manufactured to his specifications, one with a specially placed...pocket. Or perhaps he's going to give dress it up in fancy dress and keep a jar with a pickled human head next to it in a car in a storage unit like in Silence of the Lambs.

Mannequins have been the stuff of nightmares to me since that Twilight Zone episode about the mannequin on furlough. Those wretched Andrew McCarthy movies about them certainly didn’t improve my opinion of them either.

Quit staring at me!!! Quit it! Image hosted by Photobucket.com

Thursday, April 12, 2007

The Presumptuousness of Memory 

Image hosted by Photobucket.com
A young man called the other day.

Hello, I’m trying to use the library’s databases to access the Wall Street Journal but the system won’t accept my library card.

All right, let’s try to see what's going. Please read me your library card’s barcode.

He rattled off a long number that wasn't even in the ballpark of one of my system's cards.

Hmmm. That doesn’t sound like one of ours. What you gave me has about 5 more digits than what ours have. Are you sure that the card is from our system? Did you ever lose your card and have it replaced?

No, this is definitely the card for your system. It even had expired and I had it renewed about 2 weeks ago.

Let me look you up by name. Well, you’re in the system, but that’s definitely not your card number. How odd. Let me read you your card number we have for you in our system.

That's definitely not my card number for your system. I couldn't be more sure.

How mysterious. What color is your card? Perhaps it’s some really old card and we’ve changed the system of barcodes to a shorter sequence.

Oh, I don’t know. I don’t have the card in front of me. It’s at home and I’m calling from work so I’m reading the barcode from my memory. I'm sure. I have a photogenic memory.

Photogenic memory? Well, I think we’ve found the problem. (heavy sigh)

Wow. Maybe it’s just me, but when I’m working through my brain’s little troubleshooting flowchart, I at least try to see what I might be doing wrong on my end BEFORE I WASTE SOMEONE’S TIME AND MAKE MYSELF LOOK LIKE A TOTAL JACKASS.

Sunday, April 08, 2007

If you've got a rockin' bone in your body... 



E created this Youtube tribute to Billy Jack after being deeply inspired by John Parr's 80s power ballad Naughty Naughty.

The reviews of John Parr on Amazon are hilarious and appear to be written by Jim Anchower, my favorite Onion columnist.

If I had my own country, this would be the national anthem.That's what my girlfriend recently said to me while we were listening to John Parr's Don't Leave Your Mark On Me. I have to agree. I can imagine it at the olympics. All the other countries are introduced with their bland and boring national anthems. And then...Don't Leave Your Mark On Me. That would be the ultimate.

If you've got a single rocking bone in your body, you need this album in your collection - simple as that.


There was in 1984 and this was the first song on a mixed tape continuing with Don Henley's "All she wants to do is dance", then Glenn Frey's "The heat is on".

Will Ferrell as washed up monster Glenn Frey in the H. is O.

Saturday, April 07, 2007

It’s Hard out Here for an Information Professional 

We work the reference desk in teams. The other day one of the security guards strolled up and leaned into the desk. I was stationed with a colleague who resembles me, enough so that patrons often confuse us.

“A patron complained that one of you, he wouldn’t say which one, is calling his daughter in Los Angeles and telling the most despicable lies about him.”

He motioned his head toward the security gates. A man dressed in a long brown monk’s cowl was peeking out from behind one of the gates, glaring at us.

“Oh, please assure him that we would never do such a thing.”

“By all means.”

The security guard winked at us and returned to the man.

My colleague and I had a good laugh until I thought about how our patron might try to teach one of us a lesson about slander by splitting our skulls open with the hickory walking staff he is allowed to bring in the library. Fatalism is a good philosophy for this job and one of my favorite tenets is “worry is the misuse of imagination" but sometimes it’s hard not to brood to despondency.

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

Career Highlights 

A few years a colleague cut through a rather lonesome, out-of-the-way section of the back offices. When she turned a corner she saw one of the older librarians primly seated at a typewriter typing on index cards. The librarian was so absorbed in her task that she was completely oblivious to the naked man not five feet behind her, curled in a fetal position on the floor, weeping and masturbating furiously.

“Sir,” my colleague hissed as she froze in her tracks. “Members of the public are not allowed in the staff area! You must leave this instant!” He stopped, shot her a poignant, wounded look, gathered his clothes and wandered off, sniffling.

After the man had wandered away the librarian suddenly ceased typing, whipped around and glared at my colleague, as if to rebuke her for disturbing her. My colleague looked at the librarian, a mean, spinsterish, prune faced woman, the kind who had probably never seen an erect penis in her life.

“I'm sorry, but there was a man – oh, never mind. Sorry to disturb you.”

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