Mighty Girl
My face.

contact: maggie at mightygirl dot net

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You'll also find me here:
Mighty Goods
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ReadyMade Magazine Blog
The Morning News

I read:
Bryan Mason
Heather Armstrong
Matthew Baldwin
Sarah Brown
Heather Champ
Matt Haughey
Eden Kennedy
Jason Kottke
Merlin Mann's 5ives
Obscure Store and Reading Room
Post Secret
Andrea Scher
Melissa Summers
Evany Thomas

Couldn't we all use a little John Denver right about now? We could:
Aye Calypso!
The place's you've been to
The things that you've shown us
The stories you tell
Aye Calypso!
I sing to your spirit
The men who have served you
So long and so well
Right. Why am I still at work?
8:47 p.m.
San Francisco Moment:
Guy in a Jeep Cherokee passed me this morning with his radio blaring. He stopped for the light and as the engine roar quieted, I heard, "THE NASDAQ COMPOSITE INDEX PLUNGED TO ITS LOWEST LEVEL IN 15 MONTHS..." He was blasting NPR. Rock on, suburban white guy.
10:16 a.m.
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Stuff that creeps me out, in order of creepiness:
  • Russian grandmother sells her living grandson for organ harvesting.
  • Japanese men are signing up for an online service that lets them woo a virtual woman over email. They must court the woman, and if they're good enough the relationship will, ah, progress. If not, the "woman" dumps them.
  • This museum has an exhibit on the human body that includes fake human feces floating in a toilet. Kids love it.
2:11 p.m.
With my ears plugged from the cold, I mistook an ambulence siren for an aria and looked around for the fat lady.
10:28 a.m.
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I saw a commercial this weekend for an E-Z Bake Oven CD-ROM. Two girls sat side by side giggling in anticipation over the rising cake... on their monitor.

GAHHHH! First they take away candy cigarettes, then toys that spark, and now this? Excuse me, Orwellian Overlords? The whole point of the E-Z Bake oven is to mix the tap water and pseudo-chocolate powder, spill most of the "batter" on the floor while you're pouring it into tiny pans, and let it bake for three hours under the scorching heat of a 60-watt lightbulb. Now that's entertainment. The day I catch my child watching an animated cake and clapping her hands in glee, I'm unplugging the Telescreen and sitting down to wait for the Thought Police to take me away.
3:30 p.m.
You know what's not pleasant? Drinking at the water fountain and feeling the stream of water dip when someone flushes the toilet in the bathroom next door.
1:12 p.m.
Walking me to work this morning, Fred kept nudging me into the parking meters. I finally asked if I could switch sides with him. He seemed frustrated and said, "I know I'm supposed to walk on the curb side, but in San Francisco all the bums are on the inside." Good point.
10:06 a.m.
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When I was in college, I had an art history professor who would dock our papers an entire grade if they didn't have titles. So I wouldn't forget, I wrote "The Coolest Title in the World Goes Here" on my title page. Of course, I never got back to it and I turned the paper in. The best part is, the paper was on "art in public spaces." Tragically, if one leaves the "l" out of public, spell check doesn't catch it. Even if you leave the "l" out two or three times.
11 p.m.
Fat Chicks in Party Hats will make you feel like a creep for laughing. The barely English captions are so incredibly random that you can't stop scrolling. The caption for this one reads, "my date for the prom did taste like choclate! BURP! oh i am so alone."

Stolen from Metafilter.
3:50 p.m.
This site's creators aren't disturbed by the lude nature of amateur porn photography, but the zebra-print drapes must go. Obscene Interiors has painstakingly cropped out all the extraneous nudity, so you can experience the full horror of beaded avacado bedspreads without distraction.
11:04 a.m.
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My nephew Trevor is three, and he's a big fan of nose picking. I said, "Trevor, don't do that, honey. People think it's gross." Trevor looked up at me thoughtfully with his finger buried up to his knuckle. He said in his most earnest, explanatory tone, "No they don't, Auntie Mawget. They think it's yummy."
3:40 p.m.
All right, it's true that I'm sick again for the third time in two months. But if one more chipper, healthy person tells me to take echinacea, I'm going to march into their cube and rub my cold-infested face all over their phone receiver.

Then I'm going to call to thank them for their sound advice.
11:16 a.m.
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Characters: Friends from my college newspaper.
Subject: Finding a sugar daddy.
Excerpt (minus extraneous inside jokes):

Drew: I've been looking for a Sugar Mama/Daddy to support me while I finish my novel. Now, who the hell's pulling down the most here?

Me: Extremely generous SWF seeks aspiring novelist to share mutually beneficial relationship and writers' nest in city. I'm a wealthy editor seeking a young man to dot my "i"s and cross my "t"s. Can you prove that your sword is as mighty as your pen?

Matthias: The only four words I need to win Drew's favor: Hung like a rhino.

Drew: I'd like to respond to ad box #133256, "SWF seeking aspiring novelist, etc.": SWM, rugged, untamed, unflinching...Alaskan. Seeking a woman to clean game and fish including, but not limited to, caribou, moose, salmon, carp, trout, ptarmigan, grouse, bass, shad, dolly varden, raven, wolf, bobcat, house cat, sewer rat and the occasional feral monkey. Must have own knife and "fat-scraper", must be able to make fire from snow, must weigh at least 195 (for boat ballast). Are you strong enough to be my man? I mean, woman?

Me: Um.. what's dolly varden?

Jessie: That's like Dolly Parton, except minus the gargantuan boobies, and also it's a fish.
2:05 p.m.
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The second definition of "ineffable" is lovely: "Not to be spoken because of its sacredness, unutterable."
9:18 a.m.
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Amusing photos from some guy at Stanford. Youíll find more here.

2:22 p.m.
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As the friend who sent this to me notes, Sally Struthers is always good for a laugh. From Satire Wireís Please, Help Sally Save the Dot-Coms.

With each passing day, dot-coms are finding it increasingly difficult to stay alive. Cut off from further venture funding or bank credit, without access to sufficient revenues, many are forced to make choices about which essentials they can afford: salaries or benefits, marketing or product development, sales or office parties? Choices no one should have to make. Despair takes the place of hope.
10:14 a.m.
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From this weekís Onion:

Hypothetical Question Clearly Not Hypothetical
YUMA, AZ-- Brad Thorstadt was rattled Monday, when hiking partner and longtime friend Ken Daniels asked him a hypothetical question that clearly was not hypothetical. "What the hell did he mean by, 'Hypothetically speaking, if you and Cheryl were into threesomes, would you consider me?'" Thorstadt asked. "That's not the kind of thing you just ask hypothetically." Thorstadt added that he likes Daniels and everything, but damn.
3:08 p.m.
Overheard a city mom talking to her little girl. They passed a produce stand and mom said:

"Look at the all the fruits and vegetables! Do you see the asparagus?" Pointing to a stack of neatly trussed bunches. "You have a toy asparagus at home, but thatís how they grow in the wild."

Iíd like to hear her take on hamburger.
12:40 p.m.
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Some of the things Deepak Chopra says donít reallyÖ mean anything.

"Letting your inner awareness easily feel your body, greatly smooths any sort of stress release."
10:52 a.m.
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From the SF Gate Pic of the Day site. "A Palestinian child looks through a bullet-ridden metal gate in front of a shop in the West Bank town of Nablus."
3:22 p.m.
One of my haiku product reviews appearing in the December collaboration issue of Web Techniques:
Talisma Online Services

Trailing willow branch,
Best-of-breed solution suite,
A sun ripened pear.

I love my job.
11:49 a.m.
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The coolest t-shirt/birthday present ever. Who am I? Margaret.
4:03 p.m.
This is a birth announcement for my friend Jessie's bouncing baby blog. Take a look.
2:07 p.m.
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Ladiesí night was at the Rolladium last night, and someone passed around body glitter while we were lacing our skates. Iíve showered twice since then, and Iím still finding glitter in some inconvenient places. Like under my contacts.
3:47 p.m.
This morningís commute was eventful. I was sitting next to this kid who was booming hard-core gansta rap in the back seat of the bus. Needless to say, the mostly 35-and-over crowd was none too pleased that the music was so loud, or that every other word was an expletive. Finally, someone near the middle of the bus yelled, "Turn that thing off!" The kid turned his boom box up and yelled, "Who said that?" No one answered, so he laughed and turned it up louder. Meanwhile, all of his friends were slumping lower in the kind of perfect embarassment you can only experience when youíre 15. A big, red-faced guy in his mid-50s stood up and charged through the packed aisle screaming "I SAID IT! NOW TURN THAT F----ING THING OFF!" Whereupon the kid made some rather threatening gestures in return. The older guy yelled, "Stop the bus!" and got off. The kid grinned and turned the radio up louder so all of us could enjoy the full impact of the word "niggah" reapeated 15 times per minute on a bus that had suddenly become rife with racial tension. The kid was black, the older guy was white, and letís just say the anger was a little disproportionate on both sides. Fab.

The music fan obviously felt big about having dominated the bus. Apparently, thereís a real sense of power in being the gangsta king of public transportation. Right. What he failed to notice was that his actions just reinforced every racist attitude that anyone on that bus ever had about black people. All his friends, who seemed like decent kids, were lumped in with him because they happened to be sitting next to him. I wanted to smack him upside the head and have a discussion about greater responsibility. However, Iím the whitest white girl that ever walked, and he didnít seem like much of a listener, so I kept my mouth shut. Now Iím stewing about it instead.
10:41 a.m.
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My boss got a press release on the worldís fastest thawing spaghetti . The last line is a classic:

"Spaghetti innovations are rare," said a spokesman for the UCC Ueshima affiliate.
11:18 a.m.
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I donít know what my thumb did in a past life, but the person in charge of thumb karma has gotten around to me. Apparently, I have Atilla-the-Hun thumb. Twice in the last week, Iíve burned it badly. I mean big, oozy blisters that I have to concentrate on not prodding. Ow. Accursed thumb of Cain.
11:18 a.m.
San Francisco moment: a cable car passes filled with 60 drunken, dangling voters who are chanting VOTE-AL-GORE! VOTE-AL-GORE! One dude at the back has a Nader sign.
9 a.m.
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From Matthea Harveyís "One Filament Against the Firmament"

Sight tests had been conducted on them all as
Children these ones could examine a dewdrop
Perched on a furred leaf & not cry when it fell to
The ground
5:41 p.m.
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This new mutivitamin is making my pee glow in the dark. Itís disconcerting.
3 p.m.
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This is good for a few minutes of timekill. Distort the future president.
1:49 p.m.
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A moment of "My Way" wisdom: .

"For what is man?
What has he got?
If not himself,
Then he has not!"
3:13 p.m.
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Stolen from Pith and Vinegar, and I couldn't agree more:

"The Gallery of "Misused" Quotation Marks. Read. Learn. Don't do it any more."
10:19 a.m.
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XanthicóOf, relating to, or tending toward a yellow color.
2:50 p.m.
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Say youíre at a costume party trying to hit on a girl dressed as a Girl Scout. You think, "I know, Iíll ask about her cookies! Girl Scouts sell cookies, donít they? I shall win her with my witty repartee, my sly double entendre." Unfortunately, your cookie joke is not the first sheís heard. She nods vaguely and lumps you with the forty other Cookie Guys sheís met this evening. Some of the better lines I heard:

  • Pure in word thought, and deed?
  • (From the guy dressed as an environmentalist.) Itís not easy being green.
  • Iíll bet youíre prepared for anything.
  • I donít have much to offer, but Iím totally willing to be your good deed for tonight.
10:38 a.m.
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A post I relate to from Onfocus:

"This whole daylight savings time thing is throwing me off. I find myself wide awake at 6:30, trying to do math. The groggy internal dialogue goes something like this: now is it really 5:30 or 7:30? should I be more tired than I am? why am I awake if it's really 5:30? it must be 7:30. should I sleep for a while to try to acclimate to this time? should I just get up? Then I lay around, awake. Not being productive at waking life. Not being productive at sleeping. In a hazy purgatory of hours rolling forward and backward. "
12:40 p.m.
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Things I heard in the Castro last night:

  • Guy in a Renaissance-Faire-type outfit: "That's exactly the kind of Spock costume I want. Blue, the badge... original series."
  • Girl in Viking Hat with Large Group and Large Beer: "I'll be 18 in TWO HOURS! WooooooooHooooooooo!" Much high-fiving.
  • Naked Playing Card Girl: "Have you seen the rest of my deck?"
  • Twelve 20 year olds who had climbed atop the bus stop shelter: "ROCK AND ROLL! ROCK AND ROLL WILL NEVER DIE!!"
  • Luke to Princess Lea: "Where'd I put my light saber? Do you have it? Shit... I think someone ripped off my light saber."

11:22 a.m.
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