I’d just about reached the point where I thought the idea of finding the missing chunks of blog archives was merely a delusion when I opened a folder on an old harddrive and found the title page from the ill-fated ezine spinoff of this site. (It’s just a screencapture, no active links).

The next file I opened appears to contain a few hundred heretofore lost blog posts. Not all of them are worth the time to repost, but I’ll get as many of them as I can restored at some point. They’re sitting on my macbook’s desktop now so I can’t forget. I may not get to it anytime soon, but I won’t forget where I put them. Again.

I’m confused. Is CSI: Miami supposed to be a parody of CSI? Not that CSI isn’t already a bit of a parody of itself. Maybe I’m the only one not in on this little joke.

There are definately times when I don’t regret having much time to watch TV.

On an unrelated note, why is anyone surprised that someone is selling t-shirts that say “Virginia is for snipers” – did we not see this coming? T-shirt’s message: one strong opinion (from the Richmond Times-Dispatch)

A sign on the rack reads:

“Our sniper T-shirt will show the world what you think. Don’t be a hostage to fear; pump gas, shop, and do what you want – the odds are on your side. (And, if you do happen to be the unlucky person in his scope, our shirt will encourage a less dangerous body hit – instead of his preferred head shot.)”

It’s not a very long article, but worth reading in it’s entirety if only to reassure you that the human race is every bit as stupid as you’ve always suspected.

I believe that this is my favorite part:

“That little play on ‘Virginia is for Lovers,’ that’s what catches people’s eye,” Lindberg said. “It sounds a little more positive toward the sniper than I had intended, but it was so catchy I just went with it.”

I’m not sure what this guy was thinking, but even more so I’m not sure what the people who bought the shirts were thinking.

Jesusmaryandjoseph how I miss the snakefish. Remember way back when, when all we had to worry about was being flayed and devoured alive by mutant snakehead fish?

Those were happier times, weren’t they?

Incidentally, I heard on the news the other day that thanks to the sniper we’ve all lost our innocence.

I took today off.

I took today off so I could get up at 6 a.m. and go to a Law Conference. This is what passes for fun in my squalid existence. There should be some interesting articles about the conference itself that I can link to later, which is good because I’m too braindead to recount any of the details now and I don’t like to write about work here anyway. So I’ll just jabber about a few random things that got loose in my brain today and then go drink tea and write a lecture.

I didn’t want to try and park at the Law School so I took a bus. A bus full of law students. As if that wasn’t bad enough, they were all talking at once. Not to one another, mind you. They were all using their little earpieces to yap on their cell phones.

Do you have any idea how fucking irritating it is to be on a bus with at least a dozen people all carrying on conversations with invisible beings? It was like being on a bus full of untreated schizophrenics.

And then, because I wasn’t quite on the edge of my sanity yet, the bus driver’s cell phone rang. And he answered it, taking both hands off the wheel to do so and thus driving on the sidewalk for a few moments but never slowing down.

Today I was reminded why I generally avoid buses.

Somehow, we got there without any harm coming to anyone on the bus. They went their way, I went mine.

Coffee. Panel discussions. Coffee. Panel discussions. Coffee. Panel discussions.

I’ve realized something very important about my brain. About 3 hours into panel discussions, by brain goes out of service for a few minutes. No matter how interesting or dynamic the panel is, I hit a wall. It’s like everyone is suddenly speaking Finnish and I have to concentrate very, very hard to translate it all back into English. “section 54 in effect … compulsory … confiscatory … mechanical … disintermediation … rights of the creator … whatwhatwhatwhatwhat?”

Today when I hit that wall I found my mind wandering to the idea that perhaps if I went to a conference in Finland I would find that at the 3 hour mark everyone would start sounding like they were speaking English. Then I checked weather.com and realized it was currently 12 degrees in Helsinki. That snapped me back to reality and I was able to follow the rest of the panel just fine.

At the end of the day I discovered that I had just missed the bus and the next one wouldn’t be along for another half an hour. It was roughly a mile back to my car. All uphill. And I was wearing a long skirt with no walking pleat. And I had my briefcase. And it was starting to get dark. I could walk, uphill, in my skirt, in the growing twilight, carrying my briefcase or I could wait half an hour and then ride the bus with the law students.

It was a nice walk.

And so, in closing, let me say that, although I am of course fascinated by Peter Huber’s brain, I find it hard to make eye contact with him because he has the most amazingly beautiful and interesting hands. He creates a sort of gestural poetry when he speaks.

The verdict is in. Due to some wonkiness on my servers the new location will be www.punkprincess.com/blog. If your link is www.overlycaffeinated.com, you needn’t worry about it. I’m going to redirect that link now.

Also…

Thanks to the fabulous KD and the truly fine human beings at drak.net, I’m pleased to say that fishinnards.com is now live. There’s a lot of stuff yet to be moved over, but it’s live. Go pay him a visit, he’s just the cutest thing on the whole darn planet.

I get letters, oh I get letters!

Dear Skarlet:
On Sex and the City the women have disappearing underwear. They put on sexy drawers and then next thing you see one of them is hiking up her dress and plopping down on a comode without pulling down any panties. Where do their panties go?
Mara

Mara,
I have no idea where their panties go, but I do know what you’re talking about. I accidentally caught a rerun of said program last night. A model was talking to Carrie in the restroom. She had visible panty lines, but then in the middle of the conversation when she turned around, hiked up her dress and sat on the toilet, her panties had magically disappeared.

Maybe their panties are made of a space-age fiber that allows them to pee straight through them without any ickiness. Maybe their panties go to the same place that Diana Prince’s purse goes when she spins around and becomes Wonder Woman. Maybe we just shouldn’t think too much about things like this because it could well lead to a one-way trip to someplace quiet and restful, if you get my drift.

I’m sure you’re all disappointed that your email correspondance are not at the same lofty intellectual level as my own.

I don’t know why people don’t write to ask me about my thesis research. Doesn’t anyone care about taxidermy or animal mummies? What’s this world coming to?

I watched too many eps of the Mod Squad last night and frankly I’m not fit to answer my phone at this point, let alone tackle weighty issues involving scanty undergarments. If I come up with a better answer I’ll be sure to let you know.

[later]

Culture Vulture/Music Critic Extraordinaire Nisa Rant blew my Wonder Woman/Disappearing Panties theory right out of the water, so to speak. She pointed out that if said women don’t turn around 3 times before they park their boney asses on the toilet then their undergarments cannot possibly be a part of the same physical universe as Wonder Woman’s purse. A very good point.

This leaves us with only 2 theories left: space-age polymer panties or completely apathetic continuity people.

(the date on this post might be wrong by a day or two or three, the archival restoration process is a little bumpy)