7/31 -- Buffalo Balls and Farty Shoes.
It's me! Whee!

I still really like my new short haircut (I guess it's not that new now), but I've come to realize that it just doesn't photograph very well. I was having a very good hair day and I took that picture thinking I'd capture it for posterity. And I look like Queen of the Bowl Haircuts. Moe and Shemp got nothing on me, judging from that picture.

So. Take away exciting townhouse fires and I'm just full of insights. Unfortunately, they're of the "The sun is still rising, I still have MS, Bob Levey is still a moron, and I still don't get the big deal about Julia Roberts" variety.

Sadly, the Better Person I tried to be earlier this summer has been crushed to death under the weight of trashy TV shows and books I know I should avoid but just can't. RIP, Better Me. Bill put on "Fear Factor" tonight. For those of you who haven't had the pleasure, "Fear Factor" should probably be called "Boneheaded Americans Try to Kill Themselves for $50,000. God We're Whores For A Few Bucks, Aren't We?" I was puttering around and doing a good job of ignoring it at first.

Bill: "Man. They're going to jump out of a plane and try to bust through these targets on the ground."

Me: "Eh."

"And then they have to sit in this car that gets pushed in the water and rescue a baby doll and get out."

Me: "Whatever."

And then this:

Bill: "Now they have to eat boiled buffalo testicles."

Me: "WHAT!? Now that's just going TOO FAR." And I dropped everything and rushed over to the TV to watch every vile, nauseating, disgusting moment. Both remaining women dropped out of the competition almost immediately after trying to choke down a few bites of boiled buffalo ball. And I don't blame them. That wasn't even close to being worth $50,000. You want me to eat that, you better be promising me a townhouse in Georgetown (away from exploding manholes, of course) and a few million dollars. A year.

When "WWF Raw is War" came on a little while later, it seemed like "Teletubbies" in comparison. Sad, that.

In other news, I finally found a decent pair of summer shoes for that month-and-a-half of summer we've got left. They fit, they look reasonably sharp, and they're comfortable enough for my walks back and forth to the Metro on weekdays. That's the good news.

The bad news is ... they fart. After I've been walking in them for a little while, my feet get a little damp. And that's when the "armpit fart" effect kicks in. My office tends to be extremely quiet in the morning -- the loud people don't come in until after 9. So when I'm walking down the hall you can hear me coming the minute I step off the elevator.

fart ... fart ... fart ... It's so mortifying. The first morning it happened, I came to my desk and saw my cubicle mate looking down the hall with an expression of disgusted shock on her face. "Who the hell is that, and what the hell did they have for dinner last night?"

I've learned that if I do this weird sort of tiptoe-shuffle down the hall, the shoes don't fart. Because it is the shoes. No. Really. Quit looking at me like that.

I'm going back into a full-tilt true crime binge. After holding out for more than a year, I finally broke down and bought Lawrence Schiller's "Perfect Murder, Perfect Town." It's widely regarded as the best book on the JonBenet Ramsey murder case. At least, it's about as good as a book can be when it deals with a murder which hasn't been solved and likely never will be.

I don't know why I still find this case fascinating almost five years after it happened, but after peeking in a few web forums I see I'm not the only one still in its grip. Everybody's got an opinion on the case, and everyone thinks anyone who doesn't share that opinion is a fucking idiot.

Conventional wisdom I've gleaned from other true crime novels says that a body in a house should be the easiest murder to solve. And yet in the Ramsey case, we've got one detective who resigned because he thought the DA was ignoring the evidence and protecting the Ramseys. And then we've got another detective who resigned because he thought the investigation was focusing too much on the Ramseys and disregarding evidence of an intruder. Jesus. What the hell do you make of that?

It seems almost impossible that an intruder could have done everything alleged in this case without being discovered. And there's no denying that from the start, John and Patsy seemed more interested in protecting themselves than in trying to help the police find the person who killed their daughter. But then you get to the fact that there was DNA in this child's underpants and under her fingernails that doesn't match either parent. How'd that get there? It's crazymaking. If I could come up with one scenario that made sense, I think I could let this case go. But I can't do it.

Something possessed me to buy a battered copy of "Coffee, Tea or Me" from the same used bookstore. I remember leafing through it in college and thinking it was really funny. After reading part of it last night, I think I must have done more drugs in college than I remember. The misogyny, homophobia and xenophobia gushing from every page had my jaw on the floor. I can't believe this passed for lighthearted entertainment back in the 60s. Whoa.

The last book I got from the used bookstore was "The Boy Who Could Make Himself Disappear," by Kin Platt. This is another book I really liked as a child. And though it may be flagged as a Young Adult book, it's far and away the most mature and intellectual thing I got this weekend.

Indulging my inner hit slut

(It's probably about time to declare Clix another failed experiment...)

The next entry.

Previously, in Insomniaville ...

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